Full text of "Top Notch Magazine, February 1, 1922"

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!*|Let $ 1 222 to *3022 a Day 

Be Your Goal 

Let ELECTRICITY 

Be Your Route 

LET ME BE YOUR GUIDE 


A Big-Pay Job is Waiting forYou 


wish any longer, BE a success! 
Be I’ll show you how! 

«i7i . • 1*3 dl^slf you are ready, I am. You don’t have to know the 

Electrical Ar^^first thing about Electricity right now. I will train yog in a 

yy short months so that you can step right into that big 

^° U wan * pay business — the job you have always wanted. 

you want to make more money — Experts are in big demand 

money — Electricity is the field for you 1 It i^W^ more tfi an men *° fill them. It doesn’t 

the big pay profession of today; but you must^^ any difference what you are doing, 

be trained; you must know Electricity from ever^^c or w l iat you h ave been doing, if you 

angle to hold down a big-pay job— the job that pays. want to succeed— i if you want big 

pay — 1 11 show you how because 

C _ <fc ¥ O ton _ rx know I can teach you Electri- 

I^arn ^ 1^ to ^OU a Llav Opportunities in Electricity. 

J great as they are today, are nothing as 

Compare your present salary with these big pay ^^^^K^compared to what they will be tomorrow. Get ready 
figures How does vonr nav envel nno “ctarlT nn” JkJ<l or tomoi ;rowI Get started now! Get in on the 

•♦iT lu <- ? 5 y j r <R?, y * n . PS? sta CK UP . ground floor-ahead of the other fellow-jump 

with that of the trained Electrical Expert? Is his from a “bossed” into a “bossing” job— jump 

pay twice, three or four times as much as you now ^^^^^^from $3 to $5 a day to $12 or $30 a day. I 

earn? Don’t envy him, don’t just wish for pay like VS^^oJk^t^ed’man' - °" Ce y ° U ’ re * 

his-go after it yourself! You can get it because 1 Guarantee Satisfaction 

I 117*11 ni XT’ ¥¥ r*¥X ¥^F¥ There’s no chance for failure 

I Will Show You How rRLL andfVher^Sr^'ree 1 '^ 

Y es n sir — right in your own home in your spare time ¥71, ; iXwC^' “o* return y |ve^ 

I will make you a Certificated “Electrical Expert — | penny you have paid 

a “Cooke-trained man.” As Chief Engineer of the ^ ^ , ’ XJTV 1116, u N ? °!. h 5 r 

Chicago Engineering Works I know exactly the kind f 111 till’ ma ^ e this for vou° 

of training you need and I will give you that train- success still more>^^^^ 

ing. My system is simple, thorough, complete — no big certain I give you free a splendid 
words, no useless theory, no higher mathematics, outfit of tools, materials and supplies^^^^^b^^ 
just compact common sense written in plain English, ^dpick upextra mone/itoing* 

L. L.. COOKK, Chief Engineer, 

ch i.„a« Engineer! ns work., Dop. i 4»* J Save $45.50 by Enrolling Now 

2154 Lawrence Ave., Chicago, 111. I T . ... , /, T ,„ . 6 , 

^ "If you will send this coupon todav. 111 show you how to save 

Dear Sir: Send me at once your IJig Free Book, "How to Become I 145.50. Write today for full particulars— also my big FREE brtok 
an Electrical Expert,” and full particulars of your Free Outfit and I “How to Become an Electrical Expert.” It’s the first step towards 
H< me Study Course — all fully prepaid, without obligation on my that big pay job of yours. 

L.L. Cooke. Chief Engineer. 

N ““~ — ! Chicago Engineering Works 

Addrwfc 180 ‘ Dept. 432 2154 Lawrence Avenue 


THE 'COOKETRAINED MAN IS THE “BIG-PAY MAN’ 





ADVERTISING SECTION 


Amazing Low Price 

For Brand New Oliver Typewriters 

Here is the most wonderful opportunity for buying a typewriter. It saves you 
from paying the usual price. Never has such a liberal offer been made be- 
fore by any other typewriter maker. Get the facts. You’ll be astonished. 


This advertisement brings you an unusual 
opportunity to own a fine new Oliver, shipped 
direct from the factory at a remarkably low 
price — the greatest saving today. 

In addition to the rock-bottom price, *it is 
offered to you on easy payments — over a 
year to pay. 

Furthermore, it is sent to you for Five 
Days’ Free Trial, without your paying a 
single penny in advance. 

These are only several of the remarkable 
details of this great offer. 

You should mail the coupon 
at once for complete iufor- 
mation. We know you will 
agree that this is the greatest 
bargain you’ve heard of in 
many a day. 

FREE TRIAL 

Just think of it — this offer 
includes a free trial of the 
famous Oliver No. 9 In your 
own office or home. We ship 
it direct from the factory, and 
you can keep it or return it. 

We leave the decision to you. If you want to 
keep it, you can pay on unusually low terms, 
just like renting. If you want to return it, re- 
member you’ve not obligated yourself in the 
slightest. 

The Oliver you get on this offer is in every 
way a $100 machine. It is our latest and finest 
model, the identical one used by some of the 
foremost businesses in the country, such as 
The New York Central Lines, Hart, Schaffner 
& Marx, U. S. Steel Corporation, N. Y. Edi- 
son Company, National Cloak & Suit Com- 
pany, Morris & Co., and a host of others. 

Regardless of price, you cannot buy a finer 


SEND NO MONEY THIS^ COUPON 


typewriter, nor one more durable, nor one 
with so many superiorities. This offer is your 
greatest opportunity to own the finest type- 
writer conceivable at the lowest possible price. 

Over a Year to Pay 

Our plan of payment is as liberal as the 
price. You get the use of the Oliver and hardly 
know you’re paying for it. 

Remember, what we offer 
is a brand new Oliver, our 
latest Model No. 9. Do not 
confuse it with rebuilt, second- 
hand or used machines. We 
offer a brand new Oliver for 
less than the usual price for 
rebuilt typewriters. 

It takes only a minute to 
clip the coupon and fill it out. 
Then mail it. Our offer, in- 
cluding beautifully illustrated 
catalog and a startling ex- 
pose, entitled “The High Cost 
of Typewriters — The Reason 
and the Remedy,’’ will be sent 
at once by return mail. 

Remember, this is the most astounding 
typewriter offer ever made and you cannot 
afford to be without the facts. So mail the 
coupon at once. 

T lie OLIVER Typewriter Company 

732 Oliver Typewriter Bldg., Chicago, 111. 

Mail today and Learn all about thU Special Offer 


The Oliver Typewriter Company 

732 Oliver Typewriter Bldg., Chicago, 111. 

Please send me without the slightest obliga- 
tion on my part your special offer, illustrated art 
catalog and the booklet, “The High Cost of 
Typewriters — The Reason and the Remedy.” 

Name 

Street _ 

City State 

Occupation or Business 



Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 



TWICE -A- MONTH MAGAZINE 


CONTENTS 


COMPLETE NOVEL 

DOLLARS ROMANTIC William Wallace Cook . 1 

Scheming to make the money fly ; tale of adventure in Arizona. 

NOVELETTE 

UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS, . . . C. S. Montanye ... 93 

Strange doings in the Big Town. 

SHORTER STORIES 

HIS MILE OF GAB, Charles T. Jordan . . 53 

College running with plenty of smiles. 

IF THE SHOE FITS, David R. Solomon . 60 

A question of evidence, and a governor’s predicament. 

THE MIDNIGHT DIAMOND, ... Frank Richardson Pierce 84 

Baseball unique; a game in the Far North. 

PIGSKIN MAGIC, Freeman Harrison 124 

Veteran trainer inspires a crucial football contest. 

THE WAYS OF TRAPS Harold de Polo . . 130 

Wily fish hawks in a cunning plot. 

THAT STILLY NIGHT, Franklyn P. Harry . . 136 

Something to make you laugh. 


NOVELS 

. Alan Graham 


SERIAL 

TREASURE VALLEY, 

In Five Parts— Purt III. 

Off for the land of mysterious fortune. 

HUNTERS OF THE DEEP, 

In Four Parts — Part I. 

Adventures at sea. ashore and in the air at old Nantucket, 


. 65 

Ethel and James Dorrance 139 


SPECIAL ARTICLE 


□ 

0 


THE WORLD’S SHOP WINDOW, 

Something new under the sun. 

. Henry Wilton Thomas 

. 120 

TIDBITS— VERSE 

LURE OF THE SEA 

Tethering the snilorman's heart. 

AND PROSE 

. Francis Warren . 

. 52 

THE HOME MAKER 

One dear to all. 

. George J. Southwick . 

. 119 

A WINTER NIGHT, 

Starshine on a white world. 

. Jo Lemon 

. 123 

TALKING AND DOING 

Saving your “steam.” 

TOP-NOTCH TALK, * 

Just a Man. 

. Charles Horace Meiers 

Editor and Readers 

. 129 

. 158 

Twice-a-month publication issued by Street & Smith Corporation, 79-89 Seventh Avenue. New York City. Ormond G. 
Smith. President; Geobob L. Smith. Treasurer; George C. Smith. Jr., Secretary. Copyright. 1922. by Street & Smith 
Corporation. New York. Copyright, 1922. by Street & Smith Corporation. Great Britain. All Rights Heserved. Publishers 
everywhere are cautioned against using any of the contents of this magazine either wholly or in part Entered as 
Second-class Matter, January 8, 1916, at the Post Office at New York. N. Y.. under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. 
Canadian Subscription, 84.72. Foreign. S5.44. 

WARNING- -Do not subscribe through agents unknown to you. Complaint* arc daily made by person* who have been thus victimized. 


IMPORTANT-MiOi 0 !-*. agents. and publisher are requeued to not* that thin firm doe* not hold itaelf responsible for 
loaa of unsolicited manuscript* while at thi* office or in transit: ami that it cannot undertake to hold uncalled-for rnanu- 
script* for a longer period than six months. If the return of manuscript is expected, postage should be inclosed. 


YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, $3.60 


SINGLE COPIES. 15 CENTS 


L. 

Published on 1st and 15th. Next Number Out February 15th 


ADVERTISING SECTION 



MOTORS 
engine PARTS 
CARBURETORS’ 
VALVES 

lubrication 


NAME 


Partial List of Contents 

Motor Construction and Repair 
Carburetors and Settings 
Valves, Cooling 
Lubricati o n— Fly-Wheels 
Clutch— Transmission 
Final Drive— Steering Frame 
Tires— Ignition— Vulcanizing 
Starting and Lighting Systems 
Wiring Diagrams — Shop Rinks 
Commercial Garage 
Design and Equipment 
Electrics 
Storage Batteries 
Care and Repair 
Motorcycles 
Commercial Trucks 
Ford Cars— Welding 


POSITION 


AUTOMOBILE 

ENGINEER 


REPAIR MAN 


CHAUFFEUR 


SALARY 


$' 


125 


A 
WEEK] 


*50 A 


WEEK 


A 
WEEK! 


Put \bur Name 
On this Pay-Roll 

Men like you are wanted for big-pay positions in the fascinating field of 
automobile engineering. We have made it easy for you to fit yourself for 
one of these positions. You don’t have to go to school. You don’t have to 
serve an apprenticeship. Fifteen automobile engineers and specialists have compiled a 
spare time reading course that will equip you to be an automobile expert without 
taking any time from your present work. 

AUTO BOOKS 

6 Volumes Shipped FREE 

Now ready for you— at a big reduction in price— an up-to-the-minute six-volume library 
on Automobile Engineering, covering construction, care and repair of pleasure cars, 
motor trucks, tractors and motorcycles. Brimming over with advanced information on 
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Contains everything that a mechanic or an engineer or a motorcyclist or the owner or 
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dollars to compile but that comes to you free for 7 days’ examination. 

Only 1 0 Cents a Day 

Not a cent to pay in advance. First you see the books in your own home or shop. Just 
mail coupon and pay express charges when books arrive. You can read them and study 
them for seven whole days before you decide whether you want to keep them or not. If 
you like the books send $2.80 in seven days and $3.00 a month until the special price of 
$24.80 has been paid. (Regular price $45.00.) Along with the set goes a year’s member- 
ship in the American Technical Society, including consulting privileges and free 
employment service. 

Send No Money Nowggg 

out cost. There is so much profit in this offer for you, that we urge you not to waste 
a moment in sending for the books. Put the coupon in the mails today. SEND 
NO MONEY — only the coupon. 

American Technical Society 

Dept« A-102 Chicago, Illinois 

American Technical Society, Dept. A-102 Chicago 

Please send me a set of Automobile Engineering books in 6 volumes by 
express collect, for a week’s free use. At the end of a week I will either 
send the books back at your expense or send you 12 SO as first payment 
and $3.00 each month thereafter until a total of $24.80 is pnid. 1 under- 
stand that I will get a membership in your society, including consult- 
ing privileges and free employment service if 1 purchase the books. 


Mail The I 
Coupon For 
These Boohs 


Name 


Addma 


City 


Btata 


Reference 


Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 



ADVERTISING SECTION 


Why Love Story Magazine? 

‘Hlllllillllllllllllllllllllllllllllillllllililllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllilllllllllllllllllllllllllillllllillll^ 

Love Story Magazine is published because: 

The life into which love has not entered is barren and empty, indeed. 
Love is the greatest thing in the world. Empires have been built upon 
it. All of the good deeds inscribed indelibly upon the pages of the 
history of civilization were inspired by love. 

Love Story Magazine is published because: 

Everything else which men can possibly desire pales into insignifi- 
cance when contrasted with love. Love, then, is the most desirable and 
greatest blessing in the world. Best of all it is not given to a chosen few» 
but is present everywhere there are human beings — in hovel, in palace, in 
factory, in the fields. No man is so poor that he cannot lavish the riches 
of love upon some worthy object. 

Love Story Magazine is published because: 

There are many different kinds of love, but foremost stands the love 
of the good man for the good woman. In fact, this is the rock upon 
which modern civilization and progress are built. 

Love Story Magazine is published because: 

You need such a magazine in your home, in your daily journey 
through life. It will encourage and cheer you through hours which other- 
wise would be dull. 


Price, Fifteen Cents 


Published Twice Monthly 


STREET & SMITH CORPORATION 

79 Seventh Avenue New York City 


Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 


ADVERTISING SECTION 


Accountant 

Executive Accountants command 
- biff salaries. Thousands of firms 
need them. Only 2,600 Certified 
Public Accountants in U. S. 
Many are earning 13.000 to 
110,000 a year. We train yoa 
tnoroly by mail in spare time 
for C. P. A. examination:! or 
executive accounting positions. 
Knowledge of bookkeepinK unnec- 
essary to begin— we prepare you 
from the ground up. The course ia 
tinder the persocal supervision of 
William B. CaatenhoIz.A.M. .C.P.A.. 
former Comptroller and Instructor. 
University of Illinois: Director of tho 
Public Accountants, and of the 



lationa] Association of Cost Accountanta.assisted by a large staff 
* 1 1 A including members of the American Institute of 


Illinois Society of Certified I 
National As 

•jf O. P. A? 

^A cco untants. Low tuition fee — easy terms. Write now for 
Information and free book of aecountancy facts. 

_ LaSALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY 

The Lamest Business Training Institution in the World 
Dept. 2 65-1 1 CHICAGO, ILL. 


e WJv%jAmmilr 
sy&w jiiihheS 
AJiu sCOUjjtGtvi 


MAKE MONEY AT HIM 


VOU can earn from $1 to $2 an hour in your spare 
1 time writing show' cards. Quicklv and easily 
learned by our new simple method. No canvassing 
or soliciting, we teach you how, and guarantee you 
steady work at home and pay you cash each week. 
Full particulars and booklet free. 

AMERICAN SHOW CARD SCHOOL 

240 Ryrie Building, 

TORONTO CANADA 



Wanted: Railway Mail Clerks, $135 to $195 Month 


UiSjQorwrnment wants hundreds. Men-boys over 17. Write 
IMMEDIATELY for free list of Government positions now open. 

FRANKLIN INSTITUTE, Dept. WSS0. Rochester, N. Y. 


READ THIS! ACT QUICK! 
MAKE MONEY 

MAKE SHOW CARDS & SICNS 


EARN $10.00 to $2S.OO DAILY— 1 

salary, or have own shop and bdoptodtOM, I 
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individual correspondence instruction. I 
Course includes hand lettered show cnrdn.aml I 
MILLERINE COLORS and I 
BRUSHES FREE. Graduates established in I 
paying sign shop, or good paying "Jobs’ ’await I 

. 

Empire Na Art Institute, Inc. 205 g e y%ygg; Av * 



S 


BECOME AN EXPERT 

IEN0GRAPHER 

AND SPEED TYPIST 


A profession that offers 


men and women rich rewards, fascinating work, big ray. 

romotion to high executive positions paying $60 to $100 r 


and opens the way for Dromotion to high executive t- 

week and up. Many of America's biggest business men and women got their si 
cause they mi 
[lists always e 
illoss New Way 
S It 


.. Demand for expert stenographers S3 

typists always exceeds the supply at aalaries of from»30 to $60 


because they mastered stenography. 

’ ds tho supply at 

ikes you an expert, one who < 
horthand and typewriting, n 
■acy. You can write shortham 


, y makes 

Complete course In shorl 
tional speed and accuracy 


pert __ 

180 to $60 a week. The 

who can start in at a large salary, 
new principles, insures excep- 
id tho new way 126 to 160 words 


way 

a minute. You can typewrite 80 to 100 words a minute, and with this speed goes 
accuracy and ease of operation— no fatiguo aa with tho old way. Kemarknhle 
methods— remarkable results. You learn faster the Tulloss New Way. No previous 
~ ng your spare time. Onl" 

dent stenographer— wort 
already a stenographer yo 
ng, for no matter how goo 

s sned position until you gt 

speed, real speed and accuracy on a typewriter Quickly acquired in ten sasy 
lessons. Will send you free our amazing book. How to Be a Big Man’s Right 
Hand." It tella how business men choose their private secretaries, how they 
advance them to executive positions. Send poetal or letter and indicate whether 
you are interested in the complete stenography course or simply speed typewriting. 
No obligation— write today. 

THE TULLOSS SCHOOL, 257 College Hill, SPRINGFIELD, OHIO 


TT takes but a moment— to mark the career 

of your choice, sign your name, clip out 
and mail. 

Yet that simple act has started more than 
two million men and women toward success. 

In city, town and country all over the 
world men are living contented lives in 
happy, prosperous homes — because they 
clipped this coupon. 

In every line of business and industry, 
in shops, stores, offices, factories, in mines 
and on railroads, men are holding impor- 
tant positions and receiving splendid sal- 
aries — because they clipped this coupon. 

You too can have the position you want 
in the work you like best, a salary that will 
give you and your family the home, the 
comforts, the little luxuries you would like 
them to have. No matter what your age, 
your occupation, your education, or your 
means— you can do it ! 

All we want is a chance to prove it. That’s fair, 
isn’t it? Then mark and mail this coupon. There's 
no obligation and not a penny of cost. It’s a little 
thing that takes but a moment, but it is the most 
important thing you can do today. Do it now ! 



TEAR OUT HERE — 

Correspondence Schools 
SCRANTON, PA. 

Without cost or obligation please explain how I can qualify for 
the position, or in tho subject be/ore which I have marked an X 
in the list below: 


International 

BOX 3802- D 


ELECTRICAL ENGINEER 
Elect ric Lighting & Railways 
Electric Wiring 
Telegraph Engineer 
Telephone Work 
MECHANICAL ENGINEER 
Mechanical Draftsman 
Machine Shop Practice 
Toolmaker 

Gas Engine Operating 
CIVIL ENGINEER 
Surveying and Mapping 
MINE FOREMAN or ENG'R, 
STATIONARY ENGINEER 
Marine Engineer 
ARCHITECT 
Contractor and Builder 
Architectural Draftsman 
Concrete Builder 
Structural Engineer 
PLUMBING & HEATING 
Sheet Metal Worker 
Textile Overseer or Supt. 
CHEMIST 
Pharmacy 


BUSINESS MANAGEM’T 
I SALESMANSHIP 
ADVERTISING 
I Show Card & Sign Ptg. 
Railroad Positions 
I ILLUSTRATING 
I Cartooning 
1 Private Secretary 
Business Correspondent 
I BOOKKEEPER 
_J Stenographer & Typist 
□ Certified Public Accountant 
H TRAFFIC MANAGER 
Railway Accountant 
I Commercial Law 
GOOD ENGLISH 
I Common School Subjects 
CIVIL SERVICE 
Railway Mail Clerk 
AUTOMOBILES 
Mathematics 
Navigation 
AGRICULTURE 
Poultry Raising Q Spanish 
i BANKING □ Teacher 


Street 
and No. . . 


Ciky .. State- 


Occupation... 


Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 




ADVERTISING SECTION 


Classified Advertising 


Agents and Help Wanted^ 

HE A DETECTIVE. Excellent oppor- 
tunity. good pay. travel. Write C. T. 
Ludwig. 436 Westover Building. Kansas 
City. Mo. 

MEN— Age 17 to 55. Experience unneces- 
sary. Travel; make secret investigations, re- 
poits. Salaries; expenses. American For- 
eign Detective Agency. 114, St. Louis. 

RAILWAY TRAFFIC INSPECTORS cam 
from $110 to $200 per month and expenses. 
Travel if desired. Unlimited advancement. 
No age limit. We train you. Positions fur- 
ni- e l under guarantee Write for Booklet 
CM 23. Standard Business Training Insti- 
tute. Buffalo. N. Y. 


$10.00 WORTH of llnest toilet soaps, per- 
fumes. toilet waters, spices, etc., absolutely 
free to agents on our refund plan. Lacas- 
aian Co.. Dept. 427, St Loui s. Mo. 

AC ENTS. $00 to $200 a Wick, Free Sam- 
ples. Cold Sign letters for Store and Of- 
fice windows. Any one can do it. Big de- 
mand. Lilieral offer to general agents. 
Metallic Letter Co.. 431T N. Clark Street. 
Chicago. 


SHIRT MANUFACTURER wants agents 
to sell work and dress shirts direct to 
wearer. Big values Exclusive patterns. 
Free samples. Madison Mills, 503 Broad- 
way. New York. 


YOUR name on 35 linen cards and case 
20 cents. Agents outfit free. Big profits. 
John W. Burt. Coshocton. Ohio. 


DETECTIVES EARN RIG MONEY. 
Travel. Excellent opjamunlty. Experience 
unnecessary. Particulars free. Write. 
American Detective System. 1968 Broad- 
way. N._Y. 

MEN WANTED to make Secret Investiga- 
tions and reports. Exi>erience unnecessary. 
Write J. Ganor. Former Gov’t Detective. 120. 
St. Louis. 


FIREMEN, Brakemen. Baggagemen. $140- 
$200 ; Colored Porters by Railroads every- 
where. Exi>erience unnecessary. 915 Ry. 
Bureau. E. St Louis. 111. 


WE START YOU IN BUSINESS, furnish- 
ing everything: men and women $30 to $100 
weekly operating our "Specialty Candy Fac- 
tories" anywhere. Booklet free. W. Ilillyer 
Bggsdale. Drawer 29 . East Orange. N. J. 

U. S. GOVERNMENT wants Railway 
Mail Clerks. Commence $135 month. 
Steady positions. Common education suf- 
ficient. Sample examination questions free. 
Write immediately. Franklin Institute, 
Dept, W-2. Rochester. X. Y. 


BIG MONEY AND FAST SALES. Every 
owner buys gold initials for his auto. You 
charge $1.50. make $1.35. Ten orders dally 
easy. Write for particulars and free 
samples. American Monogram Co.. Dept. 
170. East Orange. N. J. 


AGENTS — Quick sales, big profits. Outfit 
Free. Cash or Credit. Sales In every home 
for our high-class line of Pure Food Prod- 
ucts. Soaps. Perfumes. Toilet Articles, etc. 
Write today for Money-Making Plan. 
American Products Co.. 5727 American 
Bide., Cincinnati, Ohio. 


WE pay $200 monthly salary, furnish rig 
and exi»enses to all who qualify introducing 
guaranteed poultry and stock powders. 
Bigler Company. X 880, Spring field. Illi nois. 


GOVERNMENT needs Railway Mall 
Clerks. $133 to $192 month. Write for free 
specimen questions. Columbus Institute. 
B-3, Columbus. Ohio. 


Automobiles 


AUTOMOBILE Owners. Garagemen. Me- 
chanics. Repairmen, send for free copy of 
our current issue. It contains helpful, in- 
structive information on overhauling, igni- 
tion troubles, wiring, carburetors, storage 
batteries, etc. Over 120 pages, illustrated 
Send for free copy today. Automobile 
Digest. 530 Butler Bldg.. Cincinnati. 


help Wanted— Female 


$6 — $18 a dozen decorating pillow tops at 
home, experience unnecessary : particulars 
for stamp. Tapestry Paint Co.. 110 La- 
Grange. Ind. 


WANTED — Girls— Women. Become Dress 
Designers. $135 month. Sample lessons 
free. Write immediately. Franklin Institute. 
Dept. W 562. Rochester. N. Y. 


Patents and Lawyers 


INVENTORS desiring to secure patents 
should write for our guide-book "How To 
Get Your Patent.” Send sketch or de- 
scription for our opinion of its patentable 
nature. Randolph 6c Co.. Dept. 412. Wash- 
ington. D. C. 

PATENTS. Highest references. Rates 
reasonable. Best results. Promptness as- 
sured. Booklet free. Watson E. Coleman. 
Patent Lawyer. 624 F Street. Washington. 

D. C. 

PATENTS. Trademark. Copyright, fore- 
most word free. Correspondence, solicited. 
Results procured. Charges reasonable. Write 
Metzger, Washington. 

INVENTIONS WANTED. Cash or Roy- 
alty for ideas. Adam Fisher Mfg. Co.. 223, 
St. Louis. Mo. 

INVENTORS: If you have an invention 
and don’t want to spend unnecessary money 
iu securing a patent, write to Inventors & 
Engineers Consulting Co., P. O. Box 344. 
Washington. D. C. 

PATENTS. Write for Record of Invention 
Blank and free guide book. Send model or 
sketch and description for free opinion of 
its patentable nature. Highest references. 
Prompt Attention. Reasonable Terms. 

Victor J. Evans & Co.. 767 Ninth. Wash- 
ington. D. C. 

Personal 

DO You want success V To win friends 
and be happy? Wonderful results. “Suc- 
cess" key and Personality sketch for 10c 
and hirthdate. Thomson -Hey wood, 300 
Chronicle Bldg.. San Francisco. 

ASTROLOGY' — Stars tell Life’s Story. 
Send birth date and dime for trial reading. 
Eddy. Westport St.. 33—74 Kansas City. 
Missouri. 

WRITE THE WORDS FOR A SONG. 
We compose music and guarantee to secure 
publication on royalty basis by New York 
publisher. Our Chief Composer and Lyric 
Editor is a song-writer of national reputa- 
tion and has written many big song -hits. 
Submit poems on any subject. Broadway 
Studios. 275 Fitzgerald Bldg.. New York. 

ZEE Beautiful girl pictures. 10 won- 
derful poses $1.00: 18 specials $2.00. Bair- 
art Co.. 125, St. Louis. Mo. 

ARE YOU INTERESTED in your future? 
Trial reading for hirthdate and 10c. F. 
Crane. 840 Advertising Bldg.. Chicago. 

ASTROLOGY— Stars tell life's story, send 
hirthdate and dime for trial reading. 
Arthur Faber. Box 106, Bridgewater. Mass. 

"INNER Secrets of Astrology Revealed” 
contains Forecast your Destiny, and Horo- 
scope your Life. Prepaid $1. Send Birth- 
date. Prof. H. Hayford, Dept. K2. Orange, 
Conn. 

Short Stories and Photoplays 

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TOP-NOTCH 

MAGAZINE 


Vol. XLIX Published February 1, 1922 


No. 1 



(A COMPLETE NOVEL) 


CHAPTER I. 



COMPLIMENTS OF J. IIARDLUCK. 

I LONG the Black Canon Trail 
Wesley J. Whipple rode sing- 
ing; and when he turned into 
Grand Avenue he scattered 
his husky ballads the full 
length of it, and on past the Five Points 
to Doolittle's corral in First Avenue. 
He was always happy; but he was al- 
ways twice as happy when he had money 
to spend as he was when “broke" and 
with difficult times in prospect. Now 
he had thirty dollars in his pocket, the 
old reliable rabbit’s foot on his watch 
chain, and a note from Uncle Wes un- 
der the sweatband of his Stetson. 

The note was responsible for Whip- 
ple’s arrival in Phoenix that bright, 


sunny afternoon, when all the birds were 
warbling in the tops of the cottonwoods 
along the town ditch, and chaffering 
melodiously among the umbrella trees 
and oleanders of the courthouse plaza. 
For it was springtime and nesting time, 
and there is a difference even in sunny 
southern Arizona at such a season. 

Blind Fate, always conjuring with a 
mortal's affairs, had made of that sum- 
mons from Uncle Wes merely an ex- 
cuse for Whipple to spend two days on 
a trail that had a big town at the end 
of it/ After the monotony of three 
months spent in “dressing down" plates 
and “hanging up" stamps in the Three- 
ply gold mill, the prospect of picture 
shows enjoyed with Katie or Mamie or 
Lorena was not without its thrills. And 
there was all of thirty pesos with which 


2 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


to finance a period of pleasure in the 
city. 

True, Uncle Wes had said in his let- 
ter: ‘‘Pm sick; and this time it’s so 
blamed serious I feel like I wanted my 
only relative handy.” But then, Uncle 
Wes was of the complaining kind and 
enjoyed his ailments. Six times in three 
years he had called his nephew to town 
in the fear that he was already cross- 
ing the Great Divide; but the shadow 
had passed, and the Great Divide had 
receded from Uncle Wesley's sky line. 
And during these supposed crises Whip- 
ple had acted as nurse, without pay, 
thereby saving the canny Uncle Wes 
many dollars which otherwise would 
have gone to some stranger. Uncle 
Wesley Plunkett McDougal was a tight- 
wad and knew how to hang on to his 
money. 

Uncle Wes had never lost any sleep 
worrying about his nephew, so the 
nephew could hardly be blamed if he 
had no hard and fast apprehensions re- 
garding Uncle Wes. Nevertheless, 
Whipple had a warm and sympathetic 
heart. If he had really thought his un- 
cle was critically ill, he would not have 
come singing into town that afternoon, 
and he would not have planned his pro- 
gram of innocent pleasures with such 
joyous abandon. But when an imagi- 
native relative has cried “Wolf !” half 
a dozen times and no wolf has material- 
ized, what logical reason is there for 
thinking that a seventh summons should 
be taken in any other way than cum 
grano sjalis — “with a grain of salt,” as 
the saying is? 

So, in a pleasant frame of mind, 
Whipple rode into Doolittle's corral. 
The bay horse, Baldy, which he had 
borrowed from the superintendent at 
the Three-Ply Mine, he turned over 
to Doolittle in person. The proprietor 
of the corral did not greet Whipple ef- 
fusively; in fact, he wore a sour ex- 
pression and stood watching with 
knitted brows while the newcomer un- 
hitched a dusty suit case from the sad- 
dle cantle. 

“What's the matter, Lafe?” inquired 
Whipple, turning about, satchel in hand, 
to give the corral man a steady look. 


“What means that fishy eye and for- 
bidding manner?” 

“You owe me six dollars, W. J.,” re-, 
turned Doolittle frankly, “and some of 
it has been runnin’ for two years. This 
ain't no free corral, and I can't keep 
things goin' without the dinero. You 
got to pay up what y'u owe or take your 
hoss some other place. Sorry a heap 
I got to talk like this, but business is 
business, and I ain't here for my health.” 

“Well, well !” Whipple pulled out his 
thirty dollars and subtracted six from 
the roll. “What's a little matter like 
that between friends? There's your 
money, Lafe.” 

Lafe Doolittle thawed immediately. 
“I wasn't worried a mite, W. J.,” he 
averred brightly, “but you know how it 
is. Plunk McDougal is down ag'in ?” 

“He writes me lie is.” 

“The old curmudgeon is full o’ funny 
nations that a way. Reg’lar false 
alarm. He's too pesky ornery to kick 
the bucket and leave his boodle to you, 
or any one else. That's the one thing 
that keeps him on the turf — can’t bear 
to give up what he's got.” 

“He's my uncle, Doolittle, and that 
sort of talk doesn’t set well.” 

“I don't care how it sets, W. J. The 
truth never hurt nobody yet. This hull 
town knows that when Plunk McDougal 
goes up the spout he'll take the spout 
right with him. Darn little you'll git. 
Bank on Plunk to fix it somehow.” ^ 

A feeling of loyalty to his only liv- 
ing relative brought a hot rebuke to 
Whipple's lips; but he smothered the 
sharp words, realizing in his heart that 
there was considerable truth in Doo- 
little's remarks. Leaving the corral with 
his suit case, Whipple made his way 
to the Hotel Fordham. 

Felix Vannell, the day clerk, did not 
display much enthusiasm as he watched 
Whipple approach the counter and pick 
up a pen. “Buenos, Felix,” said Whip- 
ple, in his friendliest manner. 

“Howdy,” 

In that little word “howdy,” passed 
from friend to friend, can be wrapped 
up all the pleasant reminiscences of the 
past, a lot of present good cheer, and a 
cordial wish for future joys. But all 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


3 


Felix, the day clerk, wrapped up in it 
was a perfunctory recognition right off 
the ice. 

Whipple hung the inked pen over the 
register and stared hard at his quondam 
amigo. “What’s wrong ?” he inquired. 
“Is it possible I'm not welcome here, 
Mr. Vannell? Are you trying to chase 
me over to The Plaza ?” 

“I got orders to chase eight dollars 
out o’ your clothes, W. J., before ever 
allowin’ you to register here again.” It 
seemed to hurt Vannell to voice this 
ultimatum. “We’ve had you on the slate 
for those eight plunks ever since last 
fall. I’m sorry; but you know Pm only 
a hired man and don’t own the place.” 

“Why, shucks!” exclaimed Whipple. 
“Everybody knows I pay my honest 
debts. This is the first time I’ve been 
in town since last fall.” He took out 
his twenty-four dollars and passed over 
eight of them to the clerk. “Now are 
we all right?” 

The eight dollars worked their in- 
stant magic. All the frost vanished 
from the clerk’s face and manner. 
Heartily he gripped the hand holding 
the pen, placed the register more con- 
veniently, and sounded the alarm for 
Wing Loo the Chinaman bell hop. 

“I’m sure glad to see you, W. J.,” 
babbled Vannell. “Uncle off his feed 
once more, eh? Well, here’s hoping.” 

“Hoping what?” queried Whipple, 
after carefully writing his name in the 
book. 

“Why, that when Plunk McDougal 
does make up his mind to kick off he 
leaves you all his dough; but every- 
body says he won’t, or any part of it. 
Still, we’re all hoping.” 

“It’s my uncle, my mother’s only 
brother, you're talking about, Vannell,” 
Whipple returned, “so you might use 
the soft pedal with me. I don’t want 
his money.” 

“You could use it, couldn’t you?” 
Here was the old siren's song against 
which Whipple had stopped his ears 
ever since he had been old enough to 
realize what money meant in this world. 

“Use it?” he echoed. “Say ” He 

stopped short, however, and did not fin- 
ish. The enthusiasm that had rushed 


into his sun-browned face vanished as 
suddenly as it had appeared. “No 
chance,” he added. “Anyhow, I couldn’t 
be happy if I didn’t stand on my own 
feet. Same old room?” 

“Sure !” VanYiell handed a key to the 
Chinaman. “Fifteen, Loo.” 

“Fifteen,” echoed the careful Loo; 
“awri*.” 

A little later, in room 15, Whipple 
shaved himself, took a hot bath, and 
got into his best clothes, which he had 
brought along with him in the suit case. 
All the gold mills in Arizona could not 
have turned out a finer-looking amalga- 
mator than Wesley J. Whipple as he 
stood, clad in his best, onceymore in 
the Fordham lobby. He stepped into 
a telephone booth and rang up the home 
of Mr. Galusha Mingo. The head of 
the house answered, and his warm voice 
chilled when he discovered who was at 
the Fordham end of the wire. 

“How’s Katie, Mr. Mingo?” queried 
Whipple, just a little unnerved by an in- 
tangible feeling that something more 
was wrong. 

“She’s well as usual, W. J.,” said 
Mingo, still distantly. He was only six 
blocks away, but one might have im- 
agined that he was six miles. 

“Uncle Wes is under the weather 
again,” Whipple went on, “and I’m in 
town for a spell. But this evening is 
mine, and I’d like to make a date with 
Katie to ” 

“You will make no more dates with 
Katie, young man,” and the receiver 
fairly snapped. “I thought you had 
prospects, but I’ve come to the conclu- 
sion you haven’t. You are always in 
debt ; you’ll never get ahead. Out 
at the Three-ply Mine you pull down 
thirty a week, but you never save a 
cent of it, and you owe everybody in 
town. Katie can’t afford to waste her 
time. Good-by.” Bang ! And Mr. 
Galusha Mingo “hung up.” 

Whipple was staggered, but only for 
a moment. His acquaintance among the 
gentler sex was not limited to Katie 
Mingo, although his dreams were more 
about Katie than any other. He called 
the boarding house of Miss Serena Has- 
kins and asked for Miss Lorena Marlin, 


4 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


only to learn that Miss Marlin was out 
of town. Then he had central give him 
Mr. Anson Philbrick’s residence. As 
luck would have it, Miss Mamie Phil- 
brick answered the phone herself ; and, 
although her voice was courteous in the 
extreme, there was totally lacking any 
quality of pleasure. Miss Philbrick was 
sorry, but she had an engagement for 
the evening. 

“Compliments of J. Hardluck,” mut- 
tered Whipple as he replaced the re- 
ceiver on the hooks and left the booth. 

A man was waiting for him — one 
Hathaway, a custom tailor. He ap- 
proached Whipple in the cautious man- 
ner of a hunter stalking an antelope. 

“Hello, Hathaway !” called Whipple. 

Hathaway nodded. He was measur- 
ing the amalgamator with his eyes, tak- 
ing in every detail of the nobby suit 
which had been built in his establish- 
ment and for which, as yet, he had re- 
ceived only a fifty-per-cent payment on 
account. 

“There’s a balance of thirty dollars 
on your bill, W. J.,” Hathaway said, 
“and you told me you would settle next 
time you were in town.” 

“Well, here I am,” Whipple answered. 
“This is the first time I’ve been in 
town since I got these clothes. I’ll be 
here probably for two or three days — 
maybe longer. Before I leave, Hath- 
away, m ” 

But no, that would not do for Hath- 
away. He believed a bird in the hand 
worth a whole flock in the bush. Whip- 
ple was a fine chap, but his money had 
a way of getting away from him. He 
would like a little something on account. 
How about fifteen dollars, just half of 
what Whipple owed him? Expenses 
were heavy and collections hard. Hath- 
away would be very grateful to Whipple 
if he could pay something. Whipple 
was touched with remorse and gave 
Hathaway all he had left — sixteen dol- 
lars. Then Hathaway, cheered and 
grateful, shook hands with Whipple and 
asked him to drop around and look at 
some new suitings which had just ar- 
rived. After this he blithely left the 
hotel. 

“Strapped !” murmured Whipple, 


sinking into a chair. “ ‘All dressed up 
and no place to go/ But I’ve got to 
go some place, or there’ll be more credi- 
tors here, and I’ll have to stand ’em 
off; and I certainly hate to sidestep a 
man to whom I owe an honest debt. By 
George,” he told himself, jumping up, 
“I’ll go and see Uncle Wes. He’s not 
expecting me till late this evening, but 
I’ll give him a surprise. I’ll be safe 
with Uncle Wes. Nobody with a bill 
ever calls on him.” 

He left the hotel humming a song. 
His mood was not so exalted as it had 
been while he was riding into town, but 
he was still happy in a subdued, irre- 
sponsible sort of way. If he had to 
have more money, Uncle Wes might 
lend him some and take his watch for 
security. 

CHAPTER II. 

CATCHING HIS BREATH. 

P OR ten years — ever since he had sold 
* the Letty Lee Mine for three hun- 
dred and five thousand dollars — Wesley 
Plunkett McDougal had tried with con- 
siderable success to convince himself 
that he was a confirmed invalid. He 
was sixty years old, and stood six feet 
three in his stockings, running mostly 
to length and very little to breadth. 
Some said he was “narrow,” others said 
he was “near,” but the majority said he 
was “close.” All these colloquial 
phrases hit the one mark — “tightfisted.” 
His acquaintances referred to him 
among themselves as “Old Plunks.” 
This sobriquet, harking back to the col- 
loquial once more, was derived from 
the word “plunk,” meaning dollar, and 
also from McDougal’s middle name, 
Plunkett. 

For ten years the old man had lived 
in Josh Hopper’s boarding house on 
Fourth Avenue, beating Hopper down 
in his rates a little with each succeed- 
ing year on the score of being a steady 
boarder. So well did McDougal man- 
age that his living had not cost him 
two hundred and fifty dollars a year; 
nor had his “amusements” cost him any 
more. His only amusement consisted in 
patronizing quack doctors and in buy- 
ing advertised tonics and nostrums. 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


5 


Whenever he emptied a bottle he treas- 
ured it, finally selling the bottles in 
dozen lots at five cents a lot. This bot- 
tle money kept him in smoking tobacco. 

Among McDougal’s many queer 
ideas was his hatred of paying taxes. 
He would have had a small house of 
his own, but that would have meant 
dealing with the assessor. He had 
chances galore to invest his money safely 
at a good rate of interest, but the in- 
come tax would have caught him. His 
funds were on deposit, subject to check, 
but just where they were, or how much 
they totaled, no supervisor had ever 
been able to discover. The tax-exempt 
feature of municipal bonds had ap- 
pealed to him once, but he had with- 
stood the temptation to buy such bonds ; 
for he feared that the government 
would pass a law putting a tax upon 
them as soon as it was known that he 
had loaded up with the securities. 

It was five o'clock in the afternoon 
when Whipple made his call upon his 
uncle. The old man was reclining in a 
lazy-back, canvas chair on Hopper's sec- 
ond-story porch. On a table at his el- 
bow were various panaceas in bottles, 
an empty glass, and a pitcher of water. 
The invalid was smoking a corncob pipe 
and looking very pale and feeble. He 
was too long for the chair, and his feet, 
in old carpet slippers, stuck out into 
space from beneath the Navajo blanket 
that sought to cover him. 

“Well, W. J.," said Uncle Wes, ex- 
tending his hand with a painful effort, 
“I reckon this is the last time I'll ever 
call you in from the Three-ply. Pull 
a chair up close. I’ve got to talk to 
you for a spell, and my voice is so weak 
it won't carry far." 

“Oh, I guess you're not so bad off, 
Uncle Wes," returned Whipple cheer- 
ily, placing a chair within confidential 
distance and seating himself. “What 
seems to be the matter now?" 

“Everything," answered Uncle Wes 
gloomily; “but the last thing to put a 
crimp into me is my heart. Doc Flick- 
inger says I’ll last three months. He's 
been right on the job, watching me 
every minute. Why, I've paid him 
eleven dollars in the last two weeks! 


Three months, W. J. ! After that, I’ll 
stop being an expense to myself, and 
everybody else. First I want to tell you 
I've bought a place for myself out to 
the cem'tery. It’s on Ham Biffle’s plot, 
and I got just room enough for one for 
five dollars. Ham was needing money, 
so I picked it up at a bargain." 

Being young, and more or less in love 
with life, these particulars gave Whip- 
ple a gruesome feeling. “I wouldn't 
talk about it, Uncle Weo," he admon- 
ished. ) 

“Got to," insisted the other. “I’ve 
reached a p'int where you’ve got to be 
in the know about every blamed thing, 
W. J. I want everything plain and 
simple; no fuss, feathers or trimmings. 
Understand? Prices are scandalous for 
things like that, and I want you to keep 
down the cost. Promise !" 

Whipple promised hastily, eager for 
his uncle to shift the subject. Mc- 
Dougal, having received the promise, 
drew a long breath of satisfaction, then 
refilled his pipe and lighted it. 

“Your heart would be all right," 
averred Whipple, “if you stopped smok- 
ing so much, and if you cut out all that 
patent dope." 

Uncle Wes frowned. “You've got 
the darnedest notions," he grunted. 
“Tobacco, and the stuff in them bottles, 
is all that’s keeping me alive. I'll be 
around for three months; Doc Flick- 
inger promises me three months." 

“Maybe Doc Flickinger is wrong," 
Whipple suggested. “Why don't you 
get a specialist from out of town?" 

“And throw away good money, huh ?" 
came scathingly from Uncle Wes. “I 
wrote Doc Mixinger, of Prescott, and 
asked what he'd charge to come down 
for a consultation. And what do you 
think he 'wrote back? Five hundred 
dollars! Robber! I offered him fifty, 
and he sent back a postal card sayin' 
'Die in peace.' And, by gorry, that’s 
what I'm going to do. I won't be 
trimmed in my last days; never have 
been trimmed, and I won't let any spe- 
cialist begin It now. Three months, 
W. J. ! That’ll bring it July fifteenth. 
I'll miss the real hot weather, anyway." 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Flickinger seems to have it figured 
out pretty fine,” Whipple commented. 

“He figgered it out for Dan Jipley 
jest like that, W. J. He gave Dan nine- 
teen days and a half, and Dan kept 
the appointment on the dot. Same with 
Steve Suffern. Doc gave him five 
months, and Steve didn’t disapp’int him. 
So I know I’ve got to hike on July 
fifteenth. But that don’t worry me. 
1 11 be cuttin’ off a bill of expense, and 
I’ve always found that cheerin’. Hop- 
per will take it hard, I expect. I’ve 
h e cn a pretty steady boarder here. 

“You know how it was with me, W. 
J. All the time I was prospectin’ in the 
hills I had to live on cottonwood bark 
and niggerhead cactus, mostly. They 
was tough times. I had to skimp and 
save, and I sorto got into the habit; 
then, when I struck the Letty Lee, and 
sold out for a fortune, I didn’t know 
how to spend what I had. And that’s 
kind of worried me. But the publicans ! 
By gorry,” and here Uncle Wes 
chuckled, “I’ve kept away from the pub- 
licans. No tax collector ever got me, 
and no tax collector is ever goin’ to. 

“W. J., I’ve got three hundred thou- 
sand dollars. It’s all in the banks, and 
not in the savings departments, either. 
You re my only heir. If I pass out and 
leave the three hundred thousand to 
you by will, there’ll be an inheritance 
tax to be paid. But if I give you the 
money outright, as a free gift, there 
won’t be no tax — inheritance, income, 
or otherwise.” 

Whipple caught his breath. “You — 
you wouldn’t do that, Uncle Wes!” he 
exclaimed. 

“I’m figgerin’ on it. It’s the only way 
to beat the tax collectors, W. J. I'd 
strain myself a lot to do that. But I 
don’t allow to give it to you all in a 
bunch. I’m aimin’ to scatter it over 
three months, making the last and final 
donation on the evenin’ of Tulv four- 
teenth.” J 

This was overwhelming. Uncle Wes 
had never given Whipple so much as 
a plugged nickel before. And now he 
was going to present him with three 
hundred thousand dollars. 

“I call that mighty generous of you, 


Uncle Wes,” said the nephew, with feel- 
ing. “Only uncle I ever had ! And I’ve 
always thought a lot of you. I won’t 
squander the money; I’ll— I’ll invest it 
and make it grow !” 

“No; you don’t!” Uncle Wes barked 
at him fiercely. “If you invest it, and 
it grows, you’ll be payin’ taxes. I won’t 
have that ! I won’t have a cent of my 
money invested and growin’ into taxes. 
Get that straight, W. J. That’s one 
reason .I’m going to hand the dinero 
to you in installments. I want to watch 
you squander it, and have the good time 
with it that I ought to have had and 
didn t know how. You needn’t squan- 
der the last installment, because I won’t 
be here to watch. The final donation 
I want you to put in a bank in a check- 
ing account, and jest draw on it for 
livin’ expenses. Get the idea? Here, 
look at this.” 

He drew an old wallet from his pocket 
and removed an oblong slip of paper. 
Holding the slip for a moment, he 
looked at it with fond, greedy eves ; 
then, with an effort, he passed the 'slip 
to Whipple. The latter’s fingers trem- 
bled, and his eyes dimmed somewhat. It 
was a check, payable to his order, for 
one hundred thousand dollars. 

"That's certified, W. J.,” said Uncle 
\\ es, ‘ and you can cash it at any bank 
in town. Spend it. I want it all used 
up in thirty days, so you can come back 
to me, broke, and get another check 
like it on June fourteenth. Then, on 
July fourteenth, you get the last one. 
But remember, don’t you lay out even 
a two-bit piece in hope of gain. Those 
are my orders. If you don’t live up 
to instructions, W. J., that first check 
will be the last one. I’ll leave the rest 
of my money to charity — some home 
for superannuated miners and prospec- 
tors, if there is any such thing. You’ll 
have thirty days to spend a hundred 
thousand dollars. Show me how you 
do it. Everybody says you’re a great 
spender, but I never learned the knack. 

I m stakin’ you to a round of pleasure ; 
now go out and make a business of 
bein’ happy. 

“I want you to be a gentleman about 
it, W. J. I know you are an honest 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


1 


soul, and that you have a lot of fine 
sensibilities inherited from your mother. 
Your pa was short of ability as a money- 
maker, and some other things, but you 
got an A i inheritance of character 
from the McDougals. Squander that 
money in a genteel way, but don't let 
one sou of it make anything through in- 
vestments. Report to me often in per- 
son or by letter; you see, Fm aimin’ to 
spend my last days enjoyin' your ex- 
periences. I never was able to get any 
fun out of the money myself, so Fm 
plannin’ to take my fun secondhand. 
Make it snappy, W. J. And if you caQ 
throw in a few thrills, you’ll oblige. 
When a man is packin’ for his trip 
across the Great Divide, same as me, 
a leetle excitement will make him for- 
get the trip ahead of him and be, as 
you might say, soothin’. 

44 As Fm preparing to lay down life, 
I want you to pick it up — real life, 
mind— the kind I’ve missed. I ” 

Faintly, somewhere within the con- 
fines of the boarding house, there 
sounded the musical notes of a triangle. 
Uncle Wes stirred restlessly. 

‘‘There goes the supper call, W. J.,” 
he said. “Hopper charges four bits a 
meal for transients. I’d like right well 
to have you stay and eat with me, but 
Fm short four bits in change. If you 
happen to have it- — ” 

“I haven't a red, Uncle Wes,” put in 
Whipple, “but my credit is good at the 
Fordham.” 

44 Your credit ought to be good any- 
where, with that paper I just gave you ; 
but the banks are closed, and Hopper 
wants cash on the nail. Maybe you’d 
better go to the Fordham. To-morrow, 
when the banks open, you can begin to 
step high, wide, and handsome. I only 
wished I was able to trot along with 
you, W. J., but it’s all I can do to walk 
from this porch to the dinin’ room. This 
heart of mine won’t let me exercise. 
Help me downstairs, and then you can 
go to your hotel and plan your campaign. 
If you put away a dollar of that money 
where it brings any interest, remember, 
you're done.” 

Whipple caught his breath once more. 
He was hardly able to realize his good 


fortune. As one in a waking dream 
he helped Uncle Wes out of the can- 
vas chair, into the boarding house, and 
down the stairs to the door of the din- 
ing room. There he thanked him 
mechanically, left him, and drifted out 
into the bright, beautiful afternoon. 
One hundred thousand dollars, all his 
own! Whipple was so dazed by it all 
that he barely missed being run down 
by a street car in Washington Street. 


CHAPTER III. 

OH, WHAT A DIFFERENCE? 

\^HEN Whipple came into the lobby 
” of the Hotel Fordham, five men 
arose from their chairs and advanced 
upon him. They had learned he was 
in town, and each had a bill. One hun- 
dred dollars would pay every cent that 
Whipple owed ; and while that was a 
large amount to an amalgamator earn- 
ing thirty a week, and with a thousand 
ways in which to lay out that meager 
stipend, it was a mere bagatelle to a 
young Croesus upon whom had devolved 
the pleasant duty of spending more than 
three thousand dollars a day for thirty 
days. Whipple dropped into a chair 
while his creditors surrounded him and 
held out their statements of account. 
Swayed by a spirit of mischief, Whip- 
ple mutely pulled his pockets inside out. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I came into 
town with thirty dollars, and it is all 
gone.” 

Five faces grew very long, and then 
came some peppery comments. Whip- 
ple allowed this to continue until it 
got on his nerves ; then, with a flourish, 
he brought out his certified check and 
held it under five pairs of popping eyes. 

“However,” he went on, “to-morrow, 
as soon as the banks open, I shall have 
the money. Spread the good news that 
Monte Cristo, junior, will be at Hotel 
Fordham at eleven o’clock to-morrow 
morning, loaded to the guards with ma- 
zuma and ready to meet all comers with 
a claim on him.” 

Money has a magic touch. Long 
faces broadened and sour looks faded 
into genial smiles. The boot-and-shoe 
man, the haberdasher, the jeweler who 


8 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


had overhauled Whipple's watch. Cof- 
fee A1 of the short-order cafe, and the 
garage proprietor with a bill for taxis, 
all these nearly smothered Whipple with 
their kindly attentions. One hundred 
thousand dollars! The good will, 
mounting in a direct ratio with the size 
of the check, reached heights that Whip- 
ple found rather annoying. 

He was known to be a good spender, 
whenever he had the cash, or if he did 
not have the ready money, wherever his 
credit was good. But the limit of cash 
and credit, for a thirty-dollar-a-week 
amalgamator, was modest. The wealthy 
Wesley Plunkett McDougal, because of 
his known character as a tightwad, never 
had influenced the merchants in putting 
Whipple on their books. Now that Mc- 
Dougal had “loosened" in such a royal 
manner, however, every tradesman had 
cheerful glimpses of the nephew in the 
role of a princely spendthrift, and they 
began laying their plans accordingly. 
Wrenching himself clear of the enthu- 
siastic group, Whipple went in to din- 
ner. 

Every one, even the waiters, had a 
smile and a nod for him. News of the 
hundred-thousand-dollar cl\eck was 
traveling like wildfire. It hardly seemed 
possible that Old Plunks had reversed 
himself so magnificently, but every one 
who smiled and nodded had seen some 
one who had seen somebody else who 
had feasted his eyes on that oblong 
square of negotiable, certified paper. So 
the check was a fact; and the quickest 
way to get a little of McDougal's money 
was to be on a friendly footing with 
McDougal's lucky nephew. 

Later in the evening, Whipple found 
time to do a little sober thinking. In 
order to be completely strapped by next 
May fourteenth, it would be necessary 
for him to spend three thousand three 
hundred and thirty-three dollars every 
day. And he could make no invest- 
ments; all the money would have to go 
for a good time — a period of pleasure, 
snappy and full of thrills, if the ap- 
proval of Uncle Wes was to be won. 
The problem, when considered at some 
length, gave Whipple a sinking sensa- 
tion. 


On one never-to-be-forgotten eve- 
ning, the previous fall, he, had spent 
fifteen dollars and forty cents. This 
maddening round of pleasure had in- 
cluded taxicab hire, a picture show, a 
dance, and then a little supper ; and 
Katie Mingo had been his companion. 
He had given that jamboree all the 
trimmings he could imagine, even buy- 
ing Katie a bunch of flowers and a box 
of chocolates. He had considered it a 
wonderful plunge; and he recalled how 
Katie had gently reproved him for his 
extravagance. But that fifteen forty 
wasn't a circumstance to the obligations 
that faced him now. How in Sam Hill 
was he going to spend more than three 
thousand dollars a day for the next 
thirty days? 

“It can't be done!" he told himself 
gloomily. “All the pleasures I know 
anything about wouldn’t cost me three 
thousand a month in this man's town." 

Like many another man, Whipple had 
often dreamed of the fun he would have 
if some kind-hearted genie would toss 
a million dollars into his lap. Now, 
faced with cold fact, he couldn't de- 
vise ways and means for getting rid of 
one tenth of a million. He needed help. 
In a flash of inspiration he thought of 
“Concho" Charley Vandeever. By 
George, that was an idea ! 

Vandeever was an old-time friend of 
Whipple's, and his proud boast was that 
he never had anything more than a 
Stetson on his mind. Charley Van was 
a cowboy. An aunt in the East had 
died and left him four thousand dollars. 
The moment he got the money, Charley 
Van had excused himself from the 
ranch ; and in just ten days he was back 
at the Tumbling H punching cows again, 
flat broke. That feat of Concho Char- 
ley's had gone down in the history of 
the cattle country as a performance 
never before equaled ; it had even been 
perpetuated in a song entitled, “Charley 
and the Wad that Wilted," and so had 
been embalmed for all time as a lesson 
to spendthrifts. As soon as he could 
get to a telegraph office, Whipple sent 
the following message, marking it 
“Rush:" 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


9 


Charley Vandeevef, 

Tumbling H Ranch, Prescott, Arizona. 

Got to get rid of one hundred thousand 
dollars in thirty days. Come on and help. 

W. J. 

At the rate of four thousand dollars 
in ten days, Charley's supreme effort 
would have amounted to only twelve 
thousand dollars in a month. If that 
was the best he could do, then Whipple 
was leaning on a broken reed. Never- 
theless, he had confidence in Charley 
Van. His experience would be valu- 
able, and there was no telling what 
prodigal heights he might not attain if 
backed with unlimited funds. The nim- 
ble fancies of a free range would sug- 
gest ways and means for pleasuring not 
to be found within the four walls of 
a gold mill. Two heads were better 
than one in the emergency, anyhow, and 
there was nothing in Uncle Wesley’s 
instructions barring an assistant 
spender. Whipple went to bed that 
night in a fairly comfortable frame of 
mind. 

Next morning at ten o'clock he de- 
posited his check in a checking account 
and drew three thousand three hundred 
and thirty-three dollars and thirty-four 
cents. He would try his prentice hand 
at getting rid of it before midnight. 
Charley Van could not possibly connect 
with the telegram and reach the side of 
his hard-pressed friend before some 
time the following day; meanwhile, 
Whipple could experiment unaided with 
his latent powers as a spendthrift. He 
had a chance to begin just as he turned 
from the paying teller’s window. 

“Hello, W. J.!" called a voice. “Put 
'er there, son ! I've been trailing 
around for two hours trying to find 
you. Congratulations !'' 

A chunky man in a shiny Prince Al- 
bert coat, a slouch hat, and trousers 
bagged at the knees, stood in front of 
Whipple and held out his hand. He 
was middle-aged, had gray chin whisk- 
ers, and wore a pair of large, tortoise- 
shell glasses. This person had the look 
of an amiable owl, and his advances 
were more than friendly. 

“Doc Flickinger !" exclaimed Whip- 
ple, taking the hand. 


“Erasmus T. Flickinger, M. D., by 
special appointment at cut rates physi- 
cian in ordinary to that doomed and 
unhappy man, your uncle." Still cling- 
ing to Whipple's hand, Flickinger pulled 
him close and whispered in his ear : 
“Nobody'll miss him but Hopper, eh? 
Well, such is life, W. J., and we never 
know what minute is going to be the 
next. Auricles and ventricles all shot 
to pieces, and now there's a valvular le- 
sion. July fifteenth, along about three 
in the afternoon, I should say, will tell 
the story. How about a commission ?" 

“Commission?" echoed Whipple, 
freeing himself and drawing back to 
look full at the M. D. 

“Sure," went on Flickinger; “always 
customary. If I hadn’t given him three 
months you wouldn't be pulling down 
a hundred thousand a month. I’m the 
source of your good luck. Ten per 
cent, all right?" 

“You are barking up the wrong tree, 
Flickinger," replied Whipple coldly ; 
“I'm not handing anybody an honora- 
rium for giving my uncle bad news." 

“Make it one per cent then," begged 
Flickinger. “All I can pry out of Old 
Plunks is fifty cents a call. Even it 
up for me. Just a measly thousand for 
shaking this plum tree for you." 

“Fifty cents a call is about half a 
dollar more than your calls are worth. 
Not a cent, Flickinger! This demand 
of yours is worse than unprofessional ; 
it's an attempted holdup." 

With that, Whipple pushed on out 
of the bank. He had no confidence in 
Erasmus T. Flickinger, even though he 
had developed some success as a prog- 
nosticator in a patient's length of days. 
His gorge rose at the brazen demand 
for a commission on the misfortunes of 
•Uncle Wes; but out of his indignation 
there came an idea. 

Making his way to the telegraph of- 
fice, he proceeded to wire five hundred 
dollars to Doctor Mixinger, of Pres- 
cott, and request his immediate atten- 
tion in the matter of Wesley Plunkett 
McDougal. Five hundred dollars, plus 
telegraph tolls, made cheering inroads 
upon the necessary disbursements of 
the day; and Whipple could not have 


10 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


spent the money for anything that would 
have contributed more to his personal 
pleasure. 

On his way back to the hotel, Whip- 
ple’s attention was arrested by the fact 
that all Phoenix seemed to know of his 
good fortune. Somehow, it had got 
into the morning papers. He bought 
one, crossed over to the courthouse 
plaza, seated himself on a bench, and 
read the racy account of what must 
have struck the townspeople as a seven- 
days’ wonder. 

The heading ran: 

W. J. Whipple, from Three-Ply, Strikes it 

Rich. Young Amalgamator at Dowsett’s 
Mine Rides into Phoenix and Drops 
into a Fortune. Easy Come, Easy 
Go, is the String to it. And 
Uncle Wes McDougal Holds 
the End of the String. 

There, on his bench in the plaza, 
Whipple leaned back in the shade of an 
oleander and smiled a little. Was he 
becoming famous or notorious? He 
wondered, and then continued to read: 


Wesley J. Whipple, more power to his 
open hand, is said to be a spender. Well, 
W. J. has now the chance of a lifetime to 
prove it. He must spend one hundred thou- 
sand dollars a month for the next two 
months, solely for his own pleasure and 
without making any investments that might 
bring money returns; and then, if he meas- 
ures up to expectations, there will be another 
hundred thousand dollars for him to put in 
the bank, and draw on only as he needs it 
for living expenses. Query: 

Will he develop such prodigal habits dur- 
ing the two months that his third hundred 
thousand will take wings and, finally, leave 
him stranded in Dowsett’s mill with only his 
salary as amalgamator for a stake in life? 
The experiment will be watched with interest 
by the many friends of W. J. in this town. 

It appears that our wealthy townsman, 
W. P. McDougal, has discovered that he has 
only three months to live. Mr. McDougal. 
as all know, is an old prospector of frugal 
habits, who turned up a fortune when he dis- 
covered and sold the famous Letty Lee Mine 
in the Harqua Halas. Ever since that time, 
ten years ago, he has been in failing health. 
He declares that he knows how to save 


money, but has never acquired the knack of 
spending it for his own comfort and pleasure. 
So, as his days draw toward a close, he turns 
his wealth over to his nephew in liberal 
monthly installments, to be spent at the rate 
of more than three thousand dollars a day 
in the quest of joy and happiness. And Mr. 
McDougal, whose eccentricity is well known, 


asserts that by this method he will be secur- 
ing thrills and excitement by watching his 
nephew riot away a fortune. 

W. J. must be flat “broke” at the end of 
his thirty days; if he is not, the deal is off, 
and he will not receive the second stake for 
another jamboree of thirty days. And he 
cannot invest in anything that will bring 
monetary returns ; every red cent he dis- 
burses must go for comfort and pleasure; 
and the question naturally arises, how may 
a man of ingrained habits, based upon the 
spending of a hundred or so a month, blos- 
som out as the regal spender of a hundred 
thousand a month? It looks easy, but is it 
as easy as it looks? 

We extend our condolences to Mr. W. P. 
McDougal; and to his nephew, Mr. W. J. 
Whipple, also, unless he can prove, as the 
spendthrift days go on, that he is entitled 
to congratulations. 

Whipple was laughing at this story in 
the paper when he looked up to see a 
young man standing in front of him. 

“Mr. Wesley J. Whipple?” inquired 
the stranger. 

“You’ve nicked it.” 

“I am Carter Wainwright, of the Ne 
Plus Ultra Sales Company, Mr. Whip- 
ple. You’ve got a lot of money to 
spend, and the right way to begin is 
by buying a Ne Plus Ultra automobile. 
It will set you back twenty-five hundred 
dollars, but will give you twenty-five 
thousand dollars’ worth of pleasure. 
Six other automobile salesmen are wait- 
ing for you at the hotel, but I have 
stolen a march on them by overhauling 
you in the plaza. Now, the Ne Plus 
Ultra is the classiest car on the market 
to-day. It comes equipped with cord 
tires, has ” 

“All right, Mr. Wainwright,” cut in 
Whipple; “I’ll take one. Couldn’t you 
charge me more by throwing in a few 
extras?” 

“Possibly. Come over to the sales- 
room and we’ll fix you up. By George,” 
enthused Mr. Wainwright, “this is the 
easiest and quickest sale I’ve made since 
I’ve been in the business !” 

“You caught me at what they call 
the psychological moment,” was Whip- 
ple's comment. 

He arose from the bench, the sales- 
man hooked an arm through his, and 
they started for the place where the 
Ne Plus Ultras were to be had. 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


11 


CHAPTER IV. 

MAKING IT FLY. 

THE superintendent at the mine had 
1 a Ne Plus Ultra car ; and Whipple, 
having a “turn” for mechanics, had re- 
paired it, and tinkered with it, and 
driven it, until there was nothing about 
the Ne Plus Ultra with which he was 
not * thoroughly familiar. So he drove 
his shiny new machine back to the Ford- 
ham, and left it out in front while he 
went into the hotel and became involved 
in the designs of a greedy mob that 
filled the lobby and had been waiting 
for him. 

He singled out his creditors and paid 
them off. Three gamblers, led by 
Montgomery King LaDue, otherwise 
“Three-card Monte/’ he summarily dis- 
missed with the emphatic declaration 
that he was “out to get a run for his 
money” and not to enrich the card 
sharps. “Mogollon” Mike Moloney, a 
poverty-stricken prospector whom h$ 
had known for years and who, at that 
moment, was particularly down on his 
luck, he presented with fifty dollars. 
Four mining brokers, with “good 
things,” in which they wanted to inter- 
est him, had their ardor dampened by 
the statement -that he wasn’t allowed to 
invest — a point they would not have 
missed if they had read the morning 
papers carefully. 

At noon he went into the dining room 
for luncheon, thrilled and cheered by 
the fact that, in two hours, he had spent 
more than thirty-two hundred dollars 
and had only a trifle of eighty-eight 
dollars and some cents left. He was 
making good, by George! He hadn’t 
found it difficult at all. 

By the time he had finished his noon 
meal another crowd had gathered in the 
lobby, each member of it primed with 
suggestions for helping him get rid of 
his hundred thousand. Evading these 
callers, he dodged out at a side door, 
reached his waiting automobile with a 
rush and a jump, kicked at the self- 
starter, let in the clutch, and was off 
for a ride through the countryside. 

The car worked like a charm; and 
just to handle the controls, and realize 


that everything from the headlights for- 
ward to the tail light aft was his very 
own, caused him the most delightful 
sensations. His afternoon spin carried 
him out along the Cave Creek Road, 
around by the Indian School, and then 
back to town again. If only Katie, or 
Mamie, or Lorena had been with him 
his enjoyment would have been com- 
plete. But which one of the three would 
he have enjoyed most to have along? 

Ordinarily his answer would have 
been Katie, but Pa Mingo’s hard jolt 
over the phone had rather dazed and 
discouraged him so far as Katie was 
concerned. And Mamie Philbrick had 
turned him down, courteously but not 
with any regret that he had been able 
to discover. Miss Lorena Marlin had 
been out of town. In the absence of 
any disconcerting word from Miss Mar- 
lin, he rather guessed that he would 
have enjoyed most her company on the 
little afternoon spin. 

In the lobby of the Fordham the 
ranks of those with designs on his 
money, had been reenforced by several 
newspaper men who were looking for 
a “story.” He refused himself to all 
of them after Felix Vannell had caught 
his ear and poured into it the informa- 
tion that three ladies were in the parlor, 
upstairs, waiting to see him. 

The wide doors of the parlor, hung 
with portieres, opened at the head of 
the -first flight. As Whipple came close 
to one of the swinging curtains, a voice 
that was very familiar struck on his 
ear: 

“I knew him first, and he’s mine by 
the right of discovery. You two may 
as well be on your way.” 

That was Lorena Marlin speaking. 
Her gurgling, musical voice, which had 
always seemed so cute and childlike to 
Whipple, had lost some of its rich ca- 
dence and was tinged with temper. He 
stopped to debate with himself, and 
more conversation drifted out to him. 

“You may have known him first, 
Miss Marlin, but when he called up last 
night and you had Serena Haskins tell 
him you were out of town, I guess that 
let you out. Oh, I got wise to that! 
Wesley will feel fine when he hears you 


12 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


were in the boarding house all the time 
and didn’t want to see him.” 

“Well, Miss Smarty, since you know 
so much I’ll tell you something that / 
am wise to. He phoned to you yester- 
day, didn’t he? And you told him you 
had another engagement, but you never 
had any callers and weren’t out of the 
house all evening. So I guess we’re 
even.” 

Whipple was terribly shaken by this 
cross fire between Lorena Marlin and 
Miss Mamie Philbrick. He had no 
business standing there and listening to 
it, but he could hardly have avoided 
hearing disclosures. Were these girls 
like all the others? Had Wesley J. 
Whipple become popular with them 
merely because of the hundred thousand 
dollars? He drew out his handkerchief 
and passed it over his moist brows. 

“I think you are just horrid, both 
of you!” 

Here came a third voice, equally fa- 
miliar to Whipple, but vastly more 
pleasing. Katie Mingo was speaking. 
Her tones expressed indignation, and 
there was nothing in them of a spiteful 
quality. Whipple clutched at them as 
at a straw of hope. 

A mocking laugh greeted Katie’s 
words. “We’re horrid, are we?” re- 
turned Lorena Marlin. “Well, how has 
your father been talking about Wes 
Whipple these last few weeks? Noth- 
ing but an amalgamator, and neveT will 
be anything but an amalgamator! Just 
a spendthrift with no eye on his future 
at all ! A good-enough fellow, but lacks 
stability! He’s called on my Katie for 
the last time, if I’ve got anything to 
say about it! That’s how your father 
feels about Wes Whipple, Miss Mingo, 
and he has published his opinions all 
over town. Step lightly, my dear; step 
lightly !” 

Whipple thought it was high time to 
appear on the scene. He coughed, 
flung back his shoulders, and showed 
himself between the portieres. A cry 
of delight welcomed him, and Lorena 
and Mamie sprang up from their chairs 
and hurried forward. Katie remained 
seated by a window and did not join in 
the demonstration. 


Lorena had black hair and black eyes, 
and Katie had flaxen hair and blue eyes, 
while Mamie was neither a brunette nor 
a blonde. All were lovely of feature 
and form, but a flash of revelation had 
shown Whipple that the characters of 
at least two of them were not so lovely. 
He bowed in his best manner. 

“Congrats, Wes!” cried Lorena, put- 
ting out her hand. 

“I always thought your uncle would 
do something for you, Wes,” Mamie 
remarked ; “and isn’t it fine ? How are 
you making it?” 

“I’m making it fly,” Whipple an- 
swered. 

“Oh, we knew you would !” exclaimed 
Lorena in her most bewitching manner. 
“You were always so generous, Wes, 
and such a decided contrast to Mr. Mc- 
Dougal. I’ve come to invite you over 
to Miss Haskins’ to dinner this eve- 
ning.” 

“And I’m here to ask you to our 
house to dinner,” spoke up Mamie. 
“And I was here first, waiting for you, 
Wes.” 

“But I have known you longer than 
any of the others!” said Lorena. 

“You weren’t out of town last night, 
Miss Marlin, and Miss Philbrick had 
no engagement.” Whipple could have 
made these statements of fact very cut- 
ting, but it was not in him to be dis- 
agreeable to the ladies. He smiled as 
he spoke. “So,” he went on, “I am 
sure you will not be very much disap- 
pointed if I tell you that I have other 
plans for this evening.” He walked 
over to Katie. “Miss Mingo,” he in- 
quired, “why aren’t you congratulating 
me ?” 

“I thought I’d wait,” answered Katie. 
“The truth is, I don’t know whether 
you are to be congratulated or not. Time 
will tell about that, Wes. If the papers 
are to be believed, the conditions under 
which your uncle is giving you the 
money may prove a handicap in the long 
run. Father wants* you to come to 
dinner at our house this evening.” 

“Then he has reversed himself? His 
opinions about me have undergone a 
change — since Uncle Wes proved so lib- 
eral?” 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


13 


Mamie and Lorena tittered. Katie’s 
fair face flushed painfully. Whipple 
was sorry at once that he had spoken 
in just that way. Before Katie could 
answer, he went on : 

“Suppose we take a ride in my new 
car and talk it over? Just out around 
Camelback Mountain. I’ll get you home 
in time for supper.” 

He offered his arm. Katie arose, put 
her hand through the arm and crossed 
with Whipple to the wide doorway. 

Mamie had lost the power of speech 
and had dropped into a chair. Not so 
Lorena; she seated herself quickly at 
a piano, thrummed a few notes, and be- 
gan to sing. He; voice followed Katie 
and Whipple as they descended the 
stairs : 

“Be-yu-ti-ful Katie, 

I’ll be waiting at the k-k-kitchen door.” 

“Oh, dear!” gasped Katie, in charm- 
ing confusion. 

“Never mind,” said Whipple cheer- 
ily. “It is a little hard to find out who 
our real friends are, sometimes; espe- 
cially,” he added, “when one happens 
to have a hundred thousand dollars to 
spend. That money of Uncle Wesley's 
is going to prove a great education to 
me.” 

They had a wonderful ride; and not 
the least wonderful part of it was 
Katie’s explanation of the way her fa- 
ther had reversed himself. 

“Father’s sentiments were never 
mine,” she told Whipple earnestly. “I 
know he has always thought well of 
you, but he has had such hard luck all 
his life that he can’t bear to see any 
one squandering money. And he has 
been in debt so much himself, that it 
fills him with horror to see a young 
man starting life — as he says — com- 
pletely surrounded with bills. He has 
watched you carefully for the last three 
years, ever since you began calling at 
our house. You — you didn’t seem to 
improve, Wes, and so he took the stand 
he did. After he talked with you, I 
tried hard to get you at the hotel my- 
self, but couldn’t. Now I’m worried for 
fear you’ll think I’m like Lorena and 
Mamie — inviting you to dinner because 


you have suddenly come into a lot of 
money.” 

“No, Katie; I’d never think that of 
you,” Whipple averred. “I’ll never for- 
get how I spent fifteen dollars and forty 
cents, once, and you called me down for 
being so extravagant. Mamie and Lo- 
rena were always urging me to go the 
limit. You’re different.” 

“Well,” Katie continued, “I don’t 
want you to come to our house to din- 
ner to-night, Wes. Father is desper- 
ately in need of ten thousand dollars, 
and I know he's planning to ask you 
for it. If you come ” 

“Bless your heart. I’ll not come,” cut 
in Whipple. “Your wish is enough for 
me, Katie. But I’d like to lavish some 
of this money on you, if I can. I’m 
to buy happiness with it; and I can’t 
think of any happier way to spend it 
than to spend jt with you.” 

“I do wish you could save it, Wes; 
save it, and use it in getting ahead. It 
isn’t right to throw away so much 
money.” 

It was almost six o’clock when Whip- 
ple halted the car in front of Mingo’s 
door, let Katie out, and then drove on 
toward the hotel. Galusha Mingo met 
his daughter as she entered the house. 

“He wouldn’t come to dinner?” he 
asked. 

“No, father,” answered Katie 
brightly. 

“You told him what I wanted?” 

“Yes,” she answered dutifully. 

Galusha Mingo rubbed his hands. 
“Then you have planted the seed, and 
it will grow and bear flower and fruit, 
my dear. We shall see what we shall 
see.” 

While he was uttering this oraculaf 
comment, Whipple was just crossing the 
street car track to drive into a garage. 
His work of driving was purely me- 
chanical, for his thoughts were all about 
Katie and the delightful two hours he 
had just spent with her. He did not 
hear the jangled warning of an ap- 
proaching street car; and the first he 
knew of his danger was a tremendous 
crash. One side of the Ne Plus Ultra 
doubled up and, wrecked and broken, 
it was rolled and pushed along the track. 


14 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Whipple himself had been thrown 
through the wind shield by the impact, 
and was lying crumpled and unconscious 
in the street in front of the garage. It 
had all happened so quickly that even 
the crowds on the sidewalks were slow 
in realizing that there had been an ac- 
cident. 

CHAPTER V. 

A DAY OFF. 

\VfHIPPLE awoke to find himself ly- 
vv ing on three chairs in a drug 
store. Doc Flickinger was bending 
over him. Both arms and one foot had 
been bandaged, and Flickinger was now 
decorating his face with court-plaster. 

“Get out !” he said to Flickinger. 
“Fm all right.” 

“Light-headed,” remarked Flickinger 
to the druggist and the druggist’s two 
clerks. “As near as I can make out 
he’s got a compound fracture of the 
tibia, lacerated ligaments of both arms, 
and very grave internal injuries. Call 
the ambulance and we’ll send him to a 
hospital.” 

“No; you don’t!” cried Whipple. 
“I’m staying at the Fordham, and that’s 
where I’m going, right now.” 

With that, he got off the three chairs 
and started for the door. Although he 
limped, Wesley J. Whipple walked re- 
markably well for a man with a com- 
pound fracture of the tibia. Flickinger 
chased after him wildly, but he braced 
himself in the doorway, turned and 
shook a bandaged fist under Flickin- 
ger’s nose. 

“You’ll have some internal and ex- 
ternal injuries yourself if you try to 
trail after me,” he threatened. 

Flickinger was intimidated and fell 
back. Hatless, coatless, bandaged, and 
wearing only one shoe, Whipple turned 
a corner and walked half a block to the 
Hotel Fordham. The usual crowd of 
schemers was lying in wait for him, but 
the sight of Whipple in this gruesome 
condition was discouraging, and only 
Felix Vannell and the Chinese bell hop 
accosted him. 

“For the love o’ Pete,” exclaimed the 
clerk; “what’s the matter, W. J.?” 


“Accident,” said Whipple, “but it 
isn’t as bad as it looks.” 

“Want a doctor?” 

“No; all I want is to get up to my 
room.” 

The Chinaman helped him, got him 
to his room on the second floor, and 
would have continued his ministrations 
had Whipple not ordered him out. Then 
Whipple locked the door and proceeded 
to remove the bandages. There was 
absolutely no need of them, so far as 
Whipple could discover. The com- 
pound fracture and the lacerated liga- 
ments, so feelingly mentioned by Doc 
Flickinger, were wholly imaginary. 
Whipple kicked the bandages into one 
corner of the room and aired his opin- 
ion of Flickinger in burning words. 

He realized that he was shaken and 
bruised, and that the glass of the broken 
wind shield made necessary the three 
bits of court-plaster that decorated his 
face. Aside from this, however, he 
had suffered no injuries. Being an ath- 
letic person, and hard as nails, as the 
saying is, he had come through that 
accident remarkably well. A hand tried 
the knob of his door, then the same 
hand drummed a summons on the panel. 

It was Vannell, and he brought a coat, 
hat, and the missing shoe. “These were 
just brought to the office, W. J.,” he 
explained. 

“I’m shy fifty-eight dollars and a 
quarter, Felix,” said Whipple. “See if 
it’s in the coat.” 

It was not in the coat, and Whipple 
was forced to the conclusion that when 
he was thrown from the car he must 
have emptied his pockets into the street. 
He still had his watch and chain and 
the rabbit’s foot charm; and for these, 
and for his wonderful good luck, he 
was very thankful. 

Vannell reported that the car was a 
total wreck, that brand-new Ne Plus 
Ultra which Whipple had owned and 
enjoyed for only a few fleeting hours. 
But the situation had its amenities. 
Whipple was cleaned out of every cent 
of the money which he had drawn for 
the day’s spending. He laughed jubi- 
lantly, while the clerk looked on and 
wonclered if he was right in his mind. 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


15 


“In half an hour, Felix,” Whipple 
instructed, “send my dinner up to my 
room/* 

The clerk retired and Whipple locked 
himself in again ; then he took a hot bath 
and, greatly refreshed, crawled into bed. 
When his dinner came, he ate with a 
heartiness that in no way suggested the 
invalid. About eight o’clock Vannell 
brought him an evening paper and two 
telegrams. The clerk was off duty and 
would have liked to sit down and talk, 
but Whipple made it plain that he was 
in no mood for company. 

“A lot of people have called up and 
asked about you,” said Vannell, “Ga- 
lusha Mingo among others. Mingo gave 
orders that you were not to be dis- 
turbed, and informed us that he is in 
charge of your case. That all right, 
W. J.?” 

It was pleasant to know that Katie’s 
father was taking such an interest in 
him. Whipple informed the clerk that 
it was all right, and was once more left 
to himself. 

One telegram was from Doctor Mix- 
inger : “Will run down Friday and give 
your uncle my best attention.” The 
other message was from Charley Van, 
had been sent “collect” and was charged 
against Whipple on the books of the 
hotel: “Got you, pard. We’ll go out 
and take a bird’s-eye view of the uni- 
verse. Don’t spend a red till I get there 
and show you how. Will arrive Thurs- 
day a. m.” 

Whipple went to sleep that night feel- 
ing splendidly ; but he awoke next morn- 
ing, lame and sore and with an ache 
in all his joints. He tried to get up 
and dress, but toppled back into bed 
again. It was borne in on him that 
he was doomed to take a day off, and 
that his riotous spending would have to 
be broken for a twenty-four-hour in- 
terval. At the end of that time, how- 
ever, Charley Van would be with him 
in person, and there would be two heads 
to plan and four hands to scatter the 
largess of Uncle Wes. It was a quiet- 
ing thought. 

Whipple’s reflections had mostly to 
do with Katie Mingo during that inac- 
tive day. And he happened to remember 


that her father was in need of ten thou- 
sand dollars. It occurred to him that, 
unknown to Katie, he might bestow that 
amount upon Galusha Mingo, win his 
abiding friendship, and get rid of more 
than a three days’ allowance of Uncle 
Wesley’s money. 

Galusha Mingo had studied for the 
law, only to find that he could not earn 
his salt as a lawyer. He had then given 
his attention to assaying, and now had 
a little shop about six doors from Doo- 
little’s corral. The business was not 
prosperous, and Mingo had a hard time 
to get along. He was a psychologist, 
and he brought so much of the shadowy 
science into his business affairs that pos- 
sibly the fact accounted for his failures. 
He had the faculty, nevertheless, of 
seeing good things in a business way, 
and if he had had the funds with which 
to back up his analysis of opportunities 
he might have been a rich man. At the 
present moment he was very busy with 
Whipple’s affairs; and oa Wednesday 
afternoon, about three o’clock, the angle 
of his activities was brought very forc- 
ibly and not very pleasantly home to the 
young man in room 15. 

Mr. Mingo called ; and with him there 
came a little, sharp-visaged man who 
seemed deeply interested in the state of 
Whipple’s health. * Mingo introduced 
his companion as Jules A. Forthering- 
ham, a claim agent. The lawyer-as- 
sayer-psychologist plunged at once into 
the business of the interview. 

Whipple’s brand-new automobile was 
a total wreck. It had cost him, just 
a few hours before the accident, some- 
thing like twenty-six hundred dollars. 
It was a miracle, as you might say, that 
Whipple himself had not been killed 
outright. Seemingly, he had come off 
extraordinarily well. He was feeling 
fairly well at the moment, and yet who* 
knew what might not develop in the days 
or weeks to come? Mingo had visions 
of Whipple walking with a cane or a 
crutch for the rest of his life. That 
was a possibility. The claim agent rec- 
ognized the possibility ; and he was 
ready to give a check for five thousand 
dollars, part to reimburse Whipple for 
the loss of the car, and the rest to in- 


16 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


sure the company against any further 
claims. 

“But I am all right,” asserted Whip- 
ple, “and I don't want to gold-brick 
anybody.” 

Galusha Mingo put up a restraining 
hand. Whipple thought he was all 
right, but time alone could tell whether 
he was or was not. Disease, resulting 
from the accident, might creep into his 
system in course of time and put him 
completely out of the running. 

“Then, again,” Whipple continued to 
protest, “Pm not so sure that the street 
car was at fault. I ” 

Galusha Mingo interrupted hastily to 
state that there were six eyewitnesses 
who would all swear that the street car 
was at fault. 

It is probable that heredity has less 
to do with this matter of “being square” 
than environment. The child of the 
most honest parents in the world will 
be marred for life if abandoned, in the 
tender years, to evil surroundings; but 
he will grow up a credit to those who 
bore him if right teachings are sifted 
into his environment with discrimina- 
tion and care. Whipple, in his extreme 
youth, had been well grounded in proper 
principles, and he now rebelled against 
the course along which Mingo was hur- 
rying him. 

“I don’t care about your eyewit- 
nesses,” he said; “I know that what 
happened was due entirely to my own 
carelessness.” 

That settled it. Jules A. Forthering- 
ham pushed a bundle of papers, with 
which he had been busy, back into his 
pocket. 

“This frankness is — er — most unusual 
where a soulless corporation and easy 
money are concerned,” he remarked. 
“Who was the old chap who went hunt- 
ing with a lantern for an honest man? 
He could have found his prize right 
here in room 15, the Fordham.” He 
shook hands with Whipple. “Son,” he 
went on, as he moved to the door and 
paused there, “let me tell you something : 
You can’t spend or throw away a red 
cent without making an investment ; and 
the returns are bound to be made mani- 


fest in spite of yourself. Just remem- 
ber that. Good-by.” 

Galusha Mingo, to all appearances, 
was bitterly disappointed. He turned 
on Whipple, the moment they were 
alone together, and vented his feelings. 

“Young man,” he said angrily, “you 
haven’t an idea of the value of money. 
If you ever expect to get married, what 
business have you got turning down 
a chance like that? Less to yourself 
than to the lady who will some day be 
Mrs. Whipple you are under an obliga- 
tion to get ahead. On the chance that 
my little girl might somehow be con- 
cerned in your future plans, I was try- 
ing to help you. Flickinger made out 
as good a case for you as he could — 
he was to receive ten per cent of the 
gross — and I certainly pulled the wires 
for you in masterful fashion. Now you 
have knocked everything into a cocked 
hat!” 

He started for the door. “Katie is 
grieved over this orgy of fool spend- 
ing,” Mingo went on. “She is a woman, 
and takes to heart more than she ought 
to the deliberate manner in which you 
are shattering your future. I’m going 
to send her to an aunt in Los Angeles, 
so she won’t be anywhere near this 
scene of criminal extravagance. I feel 
that it will be best.” 

He jerked the door open ; but, before 
he could leave, Whipple stayed him with 
a word. 

“I am trying to give my uncle a lit- 
tle excitement and a few thrills in his 
last days, Mr. Mingo,” he explained, as 
the other turned back. “In that desk, 
over in the corner, is a check book and 
pen and ink. May I trouble you to 
bring them to me?” 

Mingo obeyed orders; and Whipple 
wrote out a check to him for ten thou- 
sand dollars. 

“Katie told me yesterday that you are 
desperately in need of this amount of 
money,” Whipple went on, as he passed 
over the check, “and I am glad to oblige 
an old friend. I would suggest, how- 
ever, that you do not tell Katie anything 
about it. She might not approve.” 

Mingo was touched almost to tears. 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


17 


‘Til — I'll give you my note, W. J.,” he 
said huskily. 

“If you do, Fll tear it up. That is 
a free gift. I am empowered to spend 
the hundred thousand in ways that will 
bring me the most pleasure. Looked 
at in such a way, if the donation means 
anything to you it means infinitely more 
to me.” 

“My whole life turns right at this 
point,” continued Mingo feelingly; “on 
behalf of my family and myself, W. J., 
I thank you from my heart.” 

“Are you still of a mind to send 
Katie to Los Angeles?” 

“On second thoughts,” returned 
Mingo, “I believe 111 leave that move 
to Katie herself.” 

CHAPTER VI. 

STEPPING SOME. 

/^)N Thursday morning Whipple was 
^ feeling much better. He was out 
of bed by seven and torturing his weary 
muscles with setting-up exercises. The 
cold bath and brisk rub down that fol- 
lowed brought a warm glow and a feel- 
ing of exhilaration. The complaints of 
his dependable nerves and sinews were 
very mild indeed, and only just enough 
to remind him that he had been in a 
collision. The patches of court-plaster, 
of course, still remained as souvenirs. 
He was busily shaving when something 
like an avalanche bumped against his 
locked door. He opened it and fell into 
the fond embrace of Charley Van. 

“Here's me, you old seed,” whooped 
the cowboy, “ready to take your little 
hand in mine and go out and put some 
fancy crimps in the big wad. Youpy-yi ! 
Things was gettin’ so monotonous down 
at the ranch that life wasn't popular at 
all. Your call reached me at the physi- 
cogical moment, as the man says. Say, 
honest, W. J., I wasn't never in better 
trim to ramble around and scatter 
simoleons than I am this minute. But 
you ain't stringin' me, are you? If that 
roundelay you're singin' is the goods, 
why are you holed up in a Jim Crow 
room like this when you ort to be in 
the bridal suite? What you shavin' 
yourself for when you ort to have a 

2 A TN 


barber in chief, a hot-towel holder, and 
a bootblack on your pay roll? Seems 
like there's somethin' wror. ; here." 

Charley Van was twenty-seven. His 
eyes were brown, and his hair was an 
auburn shade and had a tendency to curl. 
He wore a wide-brimmed hat, a gray 
flannel shirt and a pair of corduroy 
trousers; and all these various articles 
of wear, it was painfully evident, had 
seen better days. If the clothes had 
fitted him they would have improved his 
appearance, but the hat was at least two 
sizes too small, while shirt and trousers 
were several sizes too large. 

Whipple pushed his friend into a 
chair, gave him a package of cigarettes 
and, while the shaving proceeded, ex- 
plained about Uncle Wes and the 
money. He finished with an account of 
his first two days' exploits as a spend- 
thrift, and Charley almost wept over the 
good money gone with such a miserly 
return in personal enjoyment. 

“Gettin' solid with the father of the 
girl you're aimin' to marry by coughin' 
up ten thousand perfectly good dollars,” 
Charley wailed, “was about as locoed 
a play as any human ever put over. 
W. J., dads-in-law ain't quoted at much 
more than a hundred a throw, if they're 
in the market at all. You been worked; 
and I don't want you to get mad if I 
allow that more'n likely the girl helped. 
But that pufformance, star of its kind 
as it is, ain't much behind vour fool 
refusal to accept five thousand dollars 
from the claim agent.” 

“I’m not at the receiving end, 
Charley,” said Whipple apologetically; 
“I'm a disbursing agent.” 

“And all thumb-hand-side as a dis- 
burse^ I'll tell a man. Uncle Wes will 
prob'ly get excited over the way that 
ten thousand went, but I’ll gamble a 
blue stack he won't be real thrilled. As 
I figger it, you've only got about eighty- 
six thousand left. Now I got to re- 
vise my plans, and sort o' cut 'em down. 
How soon before you can stake me to 
a thousand and turn me loose for a few 
gay hours? You see, I got into a game 
o' draw, cornin' down from Prescott, 
and a tinhorn I played with corralled 
sixteen dollars that was in my clothes, 


18 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


and then the clothes. What I got on 
was donated by a capper — exceptin' the 
lid; and that I took ofFn a guy asleep 
in the smokin' car. I’ll guarantee to 
massacree a thousand plunks for you be- 
fore noon, if you'll stake me; then, 
to'rd evenin', we'll hop the fast train 
for Los Angeles." 

Whipple started. “Why Los An- 
geles?" he inquired. 

“I'm plannin' to hit a place where 
we can get value received in untram- 
meled joy for every dollar we put out," 
Charley expounded. “I'm wise to this 
game, W. J. You see, I been through 
the mill. What could we get for our 
dinero in this man's town, providin' we 
don’t play the game of give-away? 
Nothin’ to mention. We want to go 
where we can hit the ceilin', and even 
lift it a trifle. The blue sky for ours, 
W. J. I ain't had no breakfast yet. 
How long before we eat and I corral 
that measly thousand?" 

“We'll eat now, Charley," Whipple 
returned, “and I’ll give you the thou- 
sand just as soon as the bank’s open. 
Then we'll call on Uncle Wes, and I’ll 
report." 

“Mebby I hadn't better go with you 
to see Uncle Wes," Charley advised; 
“mebby you hadn’t better say a word 
about me helpin’. He might get the 
idee that your money won’t last thirty 
days, if I'm mixed up with it. And 
here's somethin' else: Suppose this new 
doc you've hired discovers that Uncle 
Wes has got thirty years yet instead o' 
three months to be with us ? I wouldn’t 
trust Doc Flickinger to analyze a case 
of distemper in a sick kyoodle — if I 
happened to own the dog." 

“If Uncle Wes is to be spared to 
live to a ripe old age," said Whipple sin- 
cerely, “it will make me happy." 

“Happy!" the cowboy jeered. “Say, 
that old tax-dodgin' skinflint will be 
after you hot blocks to get back his 
money jest the minute he finds Flick- 
inger was wrong with his figgers. We'll 
have to do a fade-out before that hap- 
pens." 

Whipple was ready for the street, and 
Charley got up and looked him over 
with a critical eye. 


“That automobile wreck didn’t do a 
thing to your oufit, did it?" he remarked. 
“You need some glad rags yourself, W. 
J. Let's eat, and then both go after the 
ready-mades." 

They had breakfast in the hotel ; and 
Charley Van sent six times for a fresh 
supply of wheat cakes. After the meal, 
they started through the lobby on their 
way to the street, but were blocked by 
another crowd of schemers with designs 
on Whipple's money. The cowboy 
made short work of them, and plowed 
his way through the press with sar- 
castic comments and a threat of using 
his fists. At an establishment where 
ready-to-wear garments were sold, they 
made their selections. The bill was four 
hundred and sixty dollars, but it in- 
cluded everything from hats to shoes. 
Each climbed into his new outfit, and 
then a clerk accompanied them to the 
bank to make sure the bill was paid. 
Whipple drew’ three thousand dollars, 
settled for the clothes, turned a thou- 
sand over to his friend, and then they 
separated. Where Charley went Whip- 
ple did not know, but Whipple himself 
made his way to Josh Hopper's board- 
ing house to make his first report in 
person. 

Uncle Wes was sprawled on the same 
second-story porch, in the same canvas 
chair, with the same bottles on the table 
and the same look of weary resignation 
in his face. 

“Then it didn’t kill you after ail, 
W. J.," he remarked, as he feebly put 
out his hand. “My money's a curse, 
ain't it? I can’t even pass it on to you 
with the curse wiped off. How much 
you spent? Twenty dollars?" 

“I've spent nearly fourteen thousand 
dollars, uncle," Whipple answered, with- 
out emotion. 

Uncle Wes furnished plenty of emo- 
tion. In fact, he almost dropped out 
of his canvas chair. 

“Another shock like that, W. J.," he 
gasped, “and my heart will stop right 

here. Fourteen thou Say, you 

never! Well, you won't get no more 
out o' me until next June fourteenth. 
You better be careful. I never spent 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


19 


that much in my hull life. How’d you 
do it?” 

The old man filled and lighted his 
pipe and composed himself for a period 
of enjoyment. But he was disappointed. 
The thrills he was expecting did not ap- 
pear. Whipple said nothing about Char- 
ley Vandeever, and dwelt only lightly 
on the amount expended for clothes. 
For reasons of a different nature he 
failed to mention the money given to 
Mingo and the five hundred sent to 
Doctor Mixinger. His story had mainly 
to do with the new automobile and the 
way it had been wrecked. 

“I never took no stock in them go- 
devils, anyways,” commented Uncle 
Wes. “I ain’t enjoyed your experiences 
any yet. What else you done, W. J.? 
Can’t you amuse me at all? There’s a 
lot more that hasn’t been accounted for.” 

Whipple grew uneasy. “My other 
expenditures, for the present, must re- 
main a secret,” he said. “You’ll begin 
to find out about them to-morrow.” 

“I’ve begun to find out about ’em 
already,” was the peppery answer. 
“Katie Mingo was here to see me, last 
evening. Give her father ten thousand 
dollars, didn’t you? That ain’t playin’ 
the game, W. J. I was right warm 
about that when Katie told me. The 
girl’s fine, but her dad is no good. What 
you done worried me last night so I 
couldn’t sleep. If I hear of your givin’ 
another cent away, I’ll make you re- 
turn what’s left. That’s right. Now 
you govern yourself according. I ex- 
pected you to have some fun with that 
money, and to pass the fun along to 
me. All I’ve got out of it, so far, is 
a bad night; and all you seem to have 
got out of it was an accident that nigh 
killed you. If you don’t do better, we’ll 
call off this hull arrangement.” 

Whipple placated his uncle as best he 
could, but when he left the old fellow 
was still garrulous and peppery. At 
half -past twelve, when he got back to 
Fordham, he found a gloomy gentle- 
man in a Panama hat, a loud and ex- 
pensive suit of clothes, and tan oxfords 
waiting for him. The gentleman was 
Concho Charley Vandeever. 


“Had some hard luck, Charley ?” 
Whipple asked. 

“Worst ever!” the other muttered, 
and began to pull money from every 
pocket of his clothes. “Ain’t it plumb 
queer how, whenever you want to lose, 
you’re bound to win? A gang, headed 
by Three-card Monte, was aimin’ to 
trim you at one-call-two. I told em 
you wasn’t built for buckin’ the tiger, 
but that I was your next friend with 
a first lien on your bank account and 
that they could lead me to the slaughter. 
Well, there was a killin’, believe me, but 
the inquest is now bein’ held on Three- 
card and his crowd. I went in with a 
thousand dollars and come out with six 
thousand in cash and I O U’s for three 
thousand more. Toughest run o’ luck 
I ever had. Say, amigo, I jest couldn’t 
lose. Ever’ time there was a jack pot 
I’d draw five and have a straight flush; 
ever’ time I held up a pair, I’d get the 
two that went with it; and if I made a 
four-card draw, like enough I’d find my- 
self with a full house! Gosh!” Charley 
Van drew a pink silk handkerchief 
across his moist and wrinkled brow. 
“Hanged if I understand it!” he mum- 
bled. 

“Serves you right for gambling,” said 
Whipple severely. “If you expect to 
clean me out with the cards, Charley, 
you’ll find it isn’t possible. Now we’ve 
got just that much more to spend.” 

“Well, don’t throw it into me, pard,” 
begged Charley. “Them I O U’s ain’t 
worth a whoop, and I’ve got a way 
to get rid of my winnin’s and to make 
a fair-sized raid on your pile at the same 
time. There’ll be a man here in a 
leather coat at two o’clock. We’ll talk 
business with him.” 

“Who is he, and what has he got?” 

“He’s a bird, and his name is Sim- 
mons, Percival Simmons; Perce Sim- 
mons, jest like that, or Persimmons for 
short. He’s a flyer, and out at the park 
he’s got a three-seater aeroplane. He 
come here to start a passenger-carryin’ 
service to Maricopa, or San Diego, or 
any old place, but no one seems fool 
enough to pay him a dollar a minute to 
get to somewhere they want to go. He’s 
pretty near broke, and all he’s got is 


20 


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the machine. How about travelin' to 
Los Angeles in style ? Don't you reckon 
that would thrill Uncle Wes?” 

“How much will it cost to travel by 
aeroplane to Los Angeles ?” inquired 
Whipple. 

“Well, I reckoned we'd buy the ma- 
chine, and then give Simmons a hun- 
dred a day to run it for us. He'll sell 
for sixteen thousand, spot cash. Here's 
my six, and you'll have to put up only 
what you was fool enough to hand over 
to Mingo. How does it strike you, 
W. J., More fun than a barrel o' 
monkeys to be had out of an aeroplane. 
Always wanted to own one, but it didn't 
seem possible on forty a month and a 
dozen ways for even that. What's the 
matter with you? Feelin' faint?'' 

Yes; Whipple was feeling very faint. 
Buying an aeroplane had never occurred 
to him, possibly because the chance had 
not offered itself before. But high 
places always made him dizzy. Even 
when he climbed the gold mill to put a 
few shingles on the roof he became 
light-headed. But he had his heart set 
on Los Angeles — if Katie was going to 
be there — and he and Charley might as 
well fly as travel in the steam cars. 

“All right, Charley,” he said ; “we'll 
buy it.” 

Charley Van let out a subdued whoop 
of joy. “In this day of science and in- 
vention,” he remarked, “spendin' does 
come easy. We’ll be stepping some, 
as the man says.” 

“Stepping from cloud to cloud,” 
added Whipple; “I wish to thunder, 
Charley, we had the hard ground under 
us.” 

“Oh, it’ll be under us, W. J.,” re- 
turned the delighted cowboy ; “about 
two thousand feet down.” 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE DOCTOR TAKES A HAND. 

/^VN Friday forenoon Wesley Plunkett 
^ McDougal was in a most unhappy 
frame of mind. Dyspepsia was now 
added to his other troubles, and he was 
trying a new medicine for it that cost 
him one dollar and fifty cents a bottle. 
In addition to this cost for the medicine, 


he had been stung for some revenue 
stamps pasted on the carton which con- 
tained the bottle. He could not get over 
those stamps; they struck at his heart 
and sent the bad-temper poison pulsing 
through his whole body. He was in a 
mood to have a row with somebody, 
just on general principles. At nine 
o'clock fate sent him a visitor and gave 
him his chance. 

“Mr. Wesley Plunkett McDougal?” 

A voice with a rising inflection was 
wafted to him from the doorway lead- 
ing out upon the second-story veranda. 
It was a sharp, businesslike voice, but 
Uncle Wes did not look around. 

“What's it to you ?'' he snapped. 
“Clear out and leave me alone. I'm 
a sick man and don't want to be both- 
ered.” 

He poured himself a teaspoonful of 
the new dyspepsia medicine and care- 
fully lifted the spoon toward his lips. 
The next moment the spoon was 
snatched out of his hand, and its valu- 
able contents were scattered and lost on 
the Navajo blanket and the veranda 
floor. Uncle Wes fell back in the can- 
vas chair and glared. He tried to say 
something particularly fierce, but his 
words hung in his throat. 

A woman stood at his elbow. She 
was a middle-aged woman, tall and mus- 
cular and mightily determined. She 
wore tortoise-shell spectacles, and be- 
hind them her eyes seemed to glimmer 
balefully. Her hat was a derby; and 
she had 'on a collar, necktie, and coat 
like a man's. There was even something 
masculine about her skirt, and the com- 
mon-sense shoes just below the hem of 
it. She carried a small, square satchel, 
and her hands were large, and strong, 
seemingly very capable. 

Now the only female who ever called 
on Uncle Wes was Katie Mingo. 
Women, Uncle Wes had discovered 
early in life, were a source of extrava- 
gance and trouble. So he had denied 
himself to them. Even Katie Mingo's 
calls were few and far between. In 
his wrath and indignation he had been 
going to swear, but he held back the 
unseemly language. 

“Now you’ve done it!” he rasped. 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 21 


“All of a dime’s worth of my new 
dyspepsy dope gone to blazes. Lady, 
you’d better hike, or maybe something’ll 
be said that won’t sound well. I’ve got 
to be ca’m and quiet in order to last 
three months. Another shock like that 
you just gave me, and I’m liable to 
flicker out and not go the limit. You 
heard me; I said good morning.” 

“Good morning, Mr. McDougal,” said 
the other easily, and put her satchel in 
a chair and opened it. 

Uncle Wes saw that the interior of 
the satchel bore a faint resemblance to 
a bit of impedimenta Doc Flickinger 
carried, only this outfit was more ex- 
tensive and in better condition. Uncle 
Wes leaned forward restlessly. His vis- 
itor was not leaving, but was making 
preparations to stay. 

“Darn it,” he whooped, “what I meant 
was good-by !” The strength of his 
voice rather surprised him, that morn- 
ing ; it was not as feeble as usual. 
“What’s the idee of your stickin around 
like this?” 

The woman had been bending over 
the case. She straightened erect with 
an object in her hand that had two 
rubber tubes hanging from it and writh- 
ing like a pair of black snakes. 

“I’m Doctor Mixinger, of Prescott,” 
she replied calmly, “and I’m here to 
find out what’s the matter with you.” 

This was another shock to Uncle Wes. 
He gasped and gripped the arms of his 
chair. “You can’t run in no rhinecaboo 
like this!” he cried wildly. “I know 
what’s the matter with me, and I won't 
even pay you fifty dollars to make a 
guess.” 

“Don’t let that trouble you, Mr. Mc- 
Dougal,” said Doctor Mixinger. “I’ve 
already been paid the full fee; if I 
hadn’t been, I shouldn’t be here. Now 
that I am here, I intend to do my pro- 
fessional duty. I shall be pleasant about 
it, unless you make yourself disagree- 
able; in that event,” and here her fea- 
tures sharpened and her eyes gleamed, 
“I am going to be firm and transact our 
business just the same.” 

She picked up the dangling tubes and 
pushed one into each of her ears. 

“Who paid you? Who sent you?” 


Uncle Wes cringed as he demanded the 
information. 

“Mr. Wesley J. Whipple.” 

Uncle Wes went into a tantrum. So 
that’s how Whipple was spending his 
money ! He would tell him things, next 
time he came to report. 

“Say ‘ah-h-h,’ ” said Doctor Mixinger 
quietly, bending over him and pushing 
something against his heaving chest. 

“I won’t say a blamed thing but 
what’s on my mind !” barked Uncle Wes, 
rolling his eyes. “I don’t want no lady 
doc fussin’ around me! I won’t have 
any ” 

Doctor Mixinger straightened erect 
and fire flashed in her eyes. “Don’t 
you call me a ‘lady doc/ ” she admon- 
ished; “I’m a lady, and I’m a doctor, 
but J . draw the line at doc.’ Now calm 
yourself and say ‘ah-n-h !’ ” 

Here was a command, and it was 
spoken in such a tone that Uncle Wes 
said “ah-h-h” again and again, while 
all the time Doctor Mixinger pushed 
something over his chest, and half 
closed her eyes and listened; but, while 
he was saying “ah-h-h,” Uncle Wes was 
thinking in terms that were not pretty. 
Finally the doctor smiled a quiet smile, 
pulled the rubber tubes out of her ears, 
and carefully replaced the stethoscope 
in the case. 

“That’s all, ain’t it?” queried Uncle 
Wes eagerly. 

“Not quite,” was the answer. 

Doctor Mixinger pulled up a chair, 
seated herself, leaned forward, and 
looked him full in the eyes. It was a 
probing look, and Uncle Wes felt a 
shiver going through him. 

“Give me your left hand,” said the 
doctor. 

“You ain’t goin’ to hold my hand! 
I never yit ” 

Uncle Wes yielded his left hand, and 
cringed again as the lady doctor’s soft, 
firm fingers caressed his bony wrist. 
“H’m,” mused the doctor, sitting back 
a moment later and studying the pa- 
tient with a speculative stare. 

Uncle Wes grabbed at his pipe and 
tobacco. Savagely he filled the bowl 
and struck a match. “How much longer 


22 


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you goin’ to stay ?” he asked, as he sur- 
rounded himself with a fog of vapor. 

“Just long enough to get you on your 
feet, so be patient. Who has been look- 
ing after you?” 

“Doc Flickinger.” 

A faint smile showed at the corners 
of Doctor Mixinger’s lips. “What does 
he say?” she inquired. 

“He gives me three months. Next 
July fifteenth, sometime along in the 
afternoon, I'm a goner.” 

“What are those bottles on the table ?” 

“All that keeps me alive,” returned 
Uncle Wes sharply. 

“Does Doctor Flickinger prescribe 
that stuff for you?” 

“Well, he says it's helpin’.” 

“Helping to kill you.” Doctor Mix- 
inger got up, stepped to the table, and 
lifted the bottle containing the dyspep- 
sia medicine. She looked at the label, 
removed the cork, and smelled the con- 
tents ; then coolly, deliberately, she 
threw the bottle over the veranda rail, 
and it smashed to fragments on the 
ground below. “That’s the best place 
for that,” she observed calmly. 

Uncle Wes went into a flurry. He 
raged about the dollar and a half and 
the extra few cents for the stamps. 
While he was raving, three other bot- 
tles went over' the rail. He grabbed 
for the last one, but was not quick 
enough. Utterly beside himself with 
rage, the old prospector jumped out of 
his chair and began prancing up and 
down the veranda; now and then he 
would pause and look over the railing 
and moan at the sight of the broken 
glass and wasted medicine. 

“Say,” he quavered, “if I had a gun 
I surely would ” 

Doctor Mixinger drew a small, gleam- 
ing automatic pistol from one of her 
pockets. “You haven’t one handy ?” she 
said. “Well, I always make a practice 
of carrying one. You see, I have to 
travel a good deal and meet all kinds 
of people. Sit down, Mr. McDougal.” 

The automatic was pointed carelessly 
in the general direction of Uncle Wes. 
He grew quiet instantly and slumped 
into his chair again. 


“How long have you been like this?” 
went on the doctor. 

Uncle Wes moistened his lips with his 
tongue and tried twice before he could 
answer; then he managed to say: “Ten 
years.” 

“Ten years lost,” murmured Doctor 
Mixinger, “and just when you ought to 
be in your prime. Any appetite ?” 

“Not a particle,” returned Uncle Wes, 
his fascinated eyes on the automatic 
which the doctor continued to hold in 
her hand. “All I can eat for breakfast 
is about six slices o* bacon, a couple 
o’ slabs of bread, three or four eggs, 
and two cups o* coffee. That’s every 
last thing my stomach’ll take in the 
morning. Can’t eat enough t® keep life 
in a chipmunk.” 

“How about dinner and supper ?” the 
doctor went on. 

“I do better at dinner, quite a little 
better. Supper’s only jest a snack — 
mebby a hunk o* cold roast, and a pot 
o’ tea, and two or three pieces o’ pie. 
Last night I had cakes and sirup, and 
I never slept a wink. I’m turrible bad 
off to-day, and now you’re makin’ me 
a lot worse. W. J. has sent you up to 
kill me,” he added accusingly. 

“How much exercise do you take, 
Mr. McDougal?” 

“I don’t dast exert myself too much, 
Doc Flickinger says. If I was to try 
to walk around the block, I’d drop in 
my tracks before I got halfway. ’Bout 
all I navigate is to the dinin’ room for 
breakfast, out here till dinner, then to 
the dinin’ room ag’in, then back here 
till supper, then the dinin’ room, then 
along about nine I totter off to bed. 
All I can do to make it, sometimes. 
Plumb shot to pieces, that’s the trouble 
with me. I reckon you can see it, can’t 
you ?” 

“Get up, Mr. McDougal,” ordered 
Doctor Mixinger. “You and I are go- 
ing to take a walk around the block. 
Never mind your shoes; those slippers 
will do. You don’t need a hat, either. 
Come on.” 

“No!” shouted Uncle Wes, horrified. 
“You’re aimin’ to lay me out cold. 
Don’t p’int that gun at me! Go ’way, 
or I’ll call the police. I can’t ” 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


23 


“Come on !” 

Doctor Mixinger’s eyes flashed, and 
she leveled the automatic. Uncle Wes 
staggered to his feet. With the doctor 
right behind him he reeled across the 
veranda and through the doorway into 
the hall. 

“Brace up !” ordered the doctor. 
“Throw your shoulders back, breathe 
deep. Don’t hang on to the banister as 
you go downstairs. There, that’s right. 
Now, then, keep step with me.” 

Down on the sidewalk, the neighbors 
had a glimpse of Uncle Wes, hatless 
and in his old slippers, moving along at 
the side of Doctor Mixinger. Josh 
Hopper stared after the two from his 
front steps. He wagged his head fore- 
bodingly. 

“She’s killin’ him !” he said to him- 
self ; “I reckon I might as well call the 
undertaker. This is awful !” 

As Doctor Mixinger and Uncle Wes 
rounded the block, the doctor steadily 
increased the pace. When they got back 
to Hopper’s front door Uncle Wes had 
to gallop to keep up; but he noticed, as 
he climbed the stairs and returned to 
the second-story veranda, that he was 
not breathing much faster than usual. 
He was astounded. 

“Well,” remarked the doctor, with a 
laugh, “you didn’t drop, did you? Mr. 
McDougal, either Flickinger has scared 
you or you have scared yourself. You 
haven’t any more heart trouble than I 
have. What you need, and all you need, 
is exercise — physical and mental. That 
is your proper tonic. Forget your 
health, take on a hobby, or find some 
compelling purpose, and follow it with 
all the enthusiasm you can muster. You 
must have an object in life that will 
make you think and stir around.” 

“Then — then I ain’t goin’ to die in 
three months?” asked Uncle Wes, faint 
with wonder. 

“You are going to die in about thirty 
years, providing you smoke less and 
stop dosing yourself with those patent 
nostrums. You are perfectly sound ; 
and that is quite remarkable, consider- 
ing the way you have coddled yourself 
for ten years. I never saw a man of 
your age who was potentially more ca- 


pable of getting the utmost out of life. 
But cut loose and be active. This is a 
bright and happy world, and you are 
perfectly competent to get your full 
share of the brightness and happiness.” 

While talking, the doctor had been 
closing the little square case. Straight- 
ening, she turned and held out her hand 
in a friendly way. 

“I was paid five hundred dollars to 
come here and tell you this,” she con- 
tinued, “and you ought to be grateful 
to your nephew, for it is the best ad- 
vice you have ever had. I beg your 
pardon for displaying the pistol, but I 
think you’ll admit that you were a dif- 
ficult case and hard to handle. I trust 
there are no hard feelings. Good-by.” 

Uncle Wes took the offered hand; 
then, startled by the great truth that 
had suddenly dawned upon him, he 
.watched wide-eyed while Doctor Mix- 
inger vanished through the doorway. 

“Ten o’ my best years plumb wasted !” 
he muttered, kicking over the canvas 
chair. “Run around that block without 
so much as ketchin’ my breath ! Nothin’ 
the matter, not a thing, except the want 
of exercise! I ” 

He broke off abruptly as his eyes, 
happening to cross the veranda railing, 
encountered Doc Flickinger moving on 
the boarding house from up the street. 
Flickinger was coming to make his cus- 
tomary morning call on Uncle Wes. 
The eyes of the old prospector nar- 
rowed, and his face grew hard. 

“There’s the cimiroon that done more 
to make me waste them ten years than 
any one else on earth !” he growled. “I 
reckon I’m due for a little more exer- 
cise,” he finished, and crouched beside 
the door leading to the second-story 
veranda. 

CHAPTER VIII. \ 

A COMPELLING PURPOSE. 

A SERIES of shocks that jarred the 
boarding house from underpin- 
ning to roof lifted Josh Hopper out of 
his chair and carried him at a double 
quick to the second floor of his estab- 
lishment. Mrs. Hopper, and Pedro, the 
man of all work, joined him as he 
raced. When the three of them arrived 


24 


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on the upper veranda, what they saw 
made them almost doubt the evidence 
of their senses. 

Uncle Wes, the confirmed invalid, had 
Doc Flickinger flat on the porch floor, 
and was pinning him there with two 
knees on his chest. In a fury, Uncle 
Wes was bumping Flickinger’s head on 
the hard boards while Flickinger begged 
for mercy. 

“Yes,” roared Uncle Wes; “I'm 
feelin’ quite well this morning, doc. 
No; this exercise ain't hurtin’ my heart 
a particle, but seems to be right soothin'. 
I reckon you needn’t call any more. 
You see, I’ve made up my mind to live 
thirty years instead of jest three months. 
I'm convalescin’ fast. Ain’t you glad 
to see how I’m recuperatin' under your 
treatment ? Ain't you ?” 

Mr. and Mrs. Hopper and Pedro 
flung at him and, with their united ef- 
forts, managed to heave him clear of 
the prostrate Flickinger. The latter, 
bounding to his feet, fled for the stairs, 
the street, and safety. He left his hat, 
spectacles, and his medicine case behind. 
Uncle Wes flung them after him over 
the railing, and the medicine case jingled 
merrily as it struck the ground. 

“What on earth is the matter ?” wailed 
Mrs. Hopper hysterically. 

Uncle Wes leaped into the air and 
let off a whoop. “I'm a well man, that’s 
what’s the matter!” he declared. “I’ve 
come to, and got wise to how Flickinger 
was stringin' me along. That lady doc 
— doctor — sort of opened my eyes. She 
made me do things that Flickinger said 
I couldn't do without passin’ out. Oh, 
my gorry, what a fool I’ve been! You 
can have your second-story porch, Hop- 
per; I’m done with it.” 

He ran to his room, kicked off his 
slippers, and began putting on a pair 
of shoes. Then he got into clothes 
which he had made it a practice to wear 
only on Sundays. He had a compelling 
object in mind. Now that he was a 
healthy man with thirty good years 
ahead of him, he realized his mistake 
in giving the hundred thousand dollars 
to his nephew. His business was to 
overhaul W. J. and recover as much of 
the money as possible. Dinner was 


ready by the time Uncle Wes was ready 
for the street, but delaying to eat while 
W. J. was spending with an open hand 
was out of the question. Uncle Wes 
reasoned that the faster he hurried the 
more of his good money he would re- 
cover. 

The sight of Wesley Plunkett Mc- 
Dougal, traveling at speed along the 
streets of Phoenix, caused the old-timers 
to rub their eyes and wonder if they 
were “seeing things.” It was ten years 
since anything like that had happened 
before. It was an incredible perform- 
ance for one whose days were said to be 
numbered. “Must be flighty,” was the 
general comment; “he ought to be cap- 
tured and taken back to Hopper’s.” But 
no one tried to capture him. There was 
a look in the old prospector’s face that 
warned against interference. 

He came to the Hotel Fordham, 
dashed through the street entrance, and . 
ran to the counter behind which Felix 
Vannell stood and blinked. 

“Where’s my nephew, W. J. ?” de- 
manded Uncle Wes. “Tell him I’m here 
and want him pronto. Get a move on, 
young feller, because this is mighty im- 
portant.” 

“W. J. left here bright and early this 
morning, Mr. McDougal,” replied the 
clerk. 

Uncle Wes dropped his elbows on the 
desk and bowed his tall form across it. 
“Where’d he go?” he barked. 

“Him and Charley Vandeever started 
for Los Angeles, where the chances for 
spending money in a big way are a lot 
better than they are here.” 

This was a terrible wrench for Un- 
cle Wes. He stifled a groan. Physi- 
cally there had been a change in him, 
a complete transformation, but men- 
tally he was the same old tightwad. The 
thought that W. J. had already escaped 
and was on his way to a big and ex- 
travagant city, where the rest of the 
hundred thousand would melt away like 
dew in the morning sun, was a blow be- 
tween the eyes. Uncle Wes came out 
of his daze to inquire: 

“Wh — what train did he take? I can 
overhaul him with a telegram. Hurry 
What train did he leave on? And 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


25 


what’s he doing with Charley Van- 
deever ?” 

“I think he called in Vandeever to 
help him get rid of his money ; and they 
didn’t leave by train. They bought one 
of these aeroplanes for sixteen thousand 
dollars and hired the chap that owned 
it to take them to Los Angeles. They’re 
paying that pilot a hundred dollars a 
day. Didn’t you see the papers this 
morning? They’re full of it.” 

Uncle Wes groaned again. He stag- 
gered. Then he thought of the bank in 
which W. J. had deposited the money. 
On a forlorn chance he went there and 
instituted inquiries. He was informed 
by the cashier that Whipple had drawn 
out all the money in his account, taking 
it in thousand-dollar bills. 

When he left the bank, Uncle Wes 
felt like a beaten man. He had his 
health, and he had a lot of money left, 
but it hurt him to the soul to see the 
remains of that hundred thousand dol- 
lars getting away from him. Back at 
Hopper’s he made his plans to go to Los 
Angeles by train, and be there to meet 
W. J. and Vandeever when they ar- 
rived. Hopper, however, explained to 
him that the aeroplane traveled so fast 
that it would probably be in Los An- 
geles before Uncle Wes could get a 
train out of Phoenix. Uncle Wes sud- 
denly had an idea. 

‘Til send a telegram to the chief of 
police in Los Angeles,” he said, “and 
have W. J. and Vandeever arrested the 
minute they come down. That’ll stop 
’em. They won’t be able to spend any 
money if they’re in jail. Jest as soon 
as I learn they’ve been arrested, I’ll go 
to Los Angeles myself, get back what’s 
left of my money, and tell the police 
to turn ’em loose.” 

He went to the courthouse and talked 
with the sheriff; then the sheriff got 
busy and wired the Los Angeles police 
department. Following this there was 
a period of waiting. Feeling that he 
had made an excellent move, Uncle Wes 
grew calm. He read the papers, and 
learned how W. J., accompanied by the 
irrepressible Charley Vandeever, had 
bought the aeroplane, hired the pilot, 
and taken flight from the city park. 


This sensation divided honors, in the 
daily press, with a big bank robbery at 
Eudora, Arizona, in which three ban- 
dits had made a daylight raid and es- 
caped with sixty thousand dollars in 
cash and Liberty Bonds. The bank was 
offering five thousand dollars for the 
capture of the robbers, and ten per cent 
of all cash and bonds recovered. This 
affair interested Uncle Wes only be- 
cause it claimed the attention of the 
local sheriff, and gave him less time to 
devote to W. J. and Vandeever. Uncle 
Wes haunted the sheriff’s office, waiting 
for news of the arrest of his nephew 
and Vandeever, and made himself a 
nuisance. 

One day, two days, passed and still 
the aeroplane had not reached Los An- 
geles; nor had it reached any other 
known port of call, east or west, north 
or south. A deep, dark mystery had 
suddenly fallen over that aeroplane. 
After leaving Phoenix it had neither 
been sighted nor heard of. Probably, 
the opinion ran, it had been wrecked 
somewhere on the deserts or in the 
mountains and would never be heard of 
again. 

Then, on the third day after the fly- 
ing machine had left Phoenix, among 
the suspicious characters brought in by 
the sheriff and his posse to be questioned 
regarding the Eudora robbery, was a 
weazel-faced ne’er-do-well known to be 
a side partner of the gambler, Three- 
card Monte. He told a story, after a 
session of the third degree, that let in 
a flood of light on the spenders bound 
for Los Angeles. 

Three-card Monte, it seemed, had 
subsidized the pilot of the aeroplane and 
won his consent to land his passengers 
on Saddleback Flats at the edge of the 
Estrella Mountains. This was a lonely 
hole in the hills, inhabited solely by 
scorpions, tarantulas, and sidewinders. 
But the gambler and some of his friends 
would be at Saddleback Flats, if not 
when the aeroplane arrived at least 
shortly thereafter, and their plans were 
to annex every dollar carried by W. J. 
and Vandeever by fair means or foul. 
The discovery that Three-card Monte 
and his confederates had left by fast 


26 


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automobile in the general direction of 
Saddleback Flats, the very morning the 
aeroplane had hopped off, corroborated 
the story told by the informer. 

Deputy sheriffs started at once for 
Saddleback Flats. They refused to let 
Uncle Wes ride in their car, but his 
enthusiasm for an active role in recov- 
ering his money spurred him to hire a 
flivver and follow on to the Flats. Ga- 
lusha Mingo went with him; and, al- 
though it was manifestly no work for 
a woman, Katie Mingo insisted on going 
with her father. Katie was wild with 
apprehension over W. J., and Uncle 
Wes had not the heart to insist that 
she stay at home, especially since Mingo 
was bearing rather more than his share 
of the flivver's hire. 

This second party got away three 
hours after the deputy sheriffs had 
started. 

“We'll all be too late," hazarded Ga- 
lusha Mingo gloomily. “More than 
likely, Three-card Monte and his gang 
have got the money and are in parts 
unknown by this time." 

“I've had a lesson," mourned Uncle 
Wes; “I'M hang on to my money, after 
this, and not fool it away on a spend- 
thrift nephew." 

“But, oh, what do you suppose has 
happened to W. J.?" wailed Katie. 

“Don't fret about him, Katie," said 
Uncle Wes, with whom Mingo's girl 
was a prime favorite ; “he'll be back in 
Dowsett's gold mill, before many days, 
working for thirty a week, as usual. 
He's a McDougal, after all's said and 
done, and nobody ever yet made him 
hard to find." 

CHAPTER IX. 

NO CHANCE TO GET OUT. 

T'HE aeroplane had been named by 
1 Percival Simmons the Ace High ; 
and since a hand in a poker game with 
nothing but ace high seldom wins, Sim- 
mons' name for his flyer was not much 
of a recommendation. Neither Whipple 
nor Vandeever, however, drew their 
speculations out so fine. The former 
paid ten thousand, and the latter six 
thousand, and when the Ace High 


hopped off at Phoenix that bright Fri- 
day morning it was their property ; and 
the former owner was on their pay roll 
at one hundred dollars a day. 

Whipple had turned the balance of 
his bank account into cash, and he had 
with him, on taking the air in his fly- 
ing start for Los Angeles, seventy-five 
one-thousand-dollar bills and a hundred 
plus in small change. It was enough, 
certainly, to finance a tolerable round 
of pleasure for two wandering spend- 
thrifts. 

The three passengers were distributed 
in separate cockpits along the backbone 
of the Ace High — Simmons in front, 
just back of the propeller, then Whipple, 
and then Vandeever. Just before the 
take-off, Whipple had overheard Sim- 
mons making inquiries about the Es- 
trella Mountains and Saddleback Flats. 
This struck him as queer, and he had 
asked the pilot why he was so interested 
in that particular part of the country. 
Simmons answered that he merely 
wanted to use the mountains and the 
flats as a landmark while conning his 
course. 

Whipple was surprised to discover, 
as soon as they were in the air, that he 
was not in the least dizzy. There was 
a deafening clamor in his ears. This 
was continuous and made conversation 
impossible. And when he got out from 
behind his wind shield to look overside, 
a frightful rush of wind tore the breath 
out of his lungs. But there were no 
unpleasant sensations, and all his doubts 
about the aeroplane being a good “buy" 
were dissipated. 

Thirty minutes after the start, a sun- 
baked wilderness, destitute of human 
life, was unrolling beneath the Ace 
High at the rate of a hundred miles an 
hour. Whipple knew that a mountain- 
ous country lay below, but viewed from 
overhead it seemed flat, and every high- 
flung butte and peak had no more vis- 
ible elevation than a cactus clump. 

Simmons kept constant watch, pre- 
sumably looking for landmarks. Why 
this was necessary, at that stage of the 
journey, was incomprehensible to Whip- 
ple. A compass course due west was 
all that was needed. The pilot, never- 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


27 


theless, seemed anxious and worried, 
and at last confused. He dipped lower, 
in order to get a clearer view of the 
country; and then he lifted higher, cir- 
cled, and cut figure eights miles long, 
twisting and turning and falling and ris- 
ing until Whipple lost all sense of di- 
rection and could only judge the way 
they were traveling by taking a slant at 
the sun. 

Charley Van was likewise puzzled by 
these maneuvers. He leaned over to 
yell something in Whipple's ear. After 
several attempts he made it manifest to 
Whipple that he did not like the pro- 
ceedings, and that they were losing time 
with all those curlicues when they ought 
to be whooping it up on a straightaway 
course; and wouldn't W. J. just yell 
that into Simmons' ear, order him to 
point for Los Angeles, keep going, and 
oblige. 

Whipple leaned over his wind shield 
and shouted at the aviator’s helmeted 
head the joint objections of the two 
owners of the machine to the man they 
had hired to run it. Simmons answered 
something, but Whipple could not un- 
derstand what it was. With one hand 
on Simmons’ leather-clad shoulder, with 
the other Whipple indicated a westerly 
direction. The pilot nodded, nosed the 
machine skyward, and started again on 
the proper course. 

For ten minutes everything went 
beautifully; and then, all at once, the 
terrific din of the propeller failed in 
a swift diminuendo. Presently, only 
the screech of the wind could be heard 
among the taut wires and stays. There 
could be talk now that was clearly heard. 

“What’s the idee, Simmons?" de- 
manded Charley Van. 

“Engine trouble of some kind," an- 
swered the pilot, his hands passing 
swiftly over the controls; “motor's 
dead, and I can’t get a kick out of it.” 

“Then what?" inquired Whipple, with 
a sinking sensation. 

“We've got to volplane down. Look 
for a place to land, both of you. If 
we can't find the right kind of a place, 
we're all done for." 

This was pleasant news! The Ace 
High was corkscrewing downward in 


wide circles, and the ground below 
seemed to be jumping up at it, greedy 
for a collision. With wide, fearful eyes 
Whipple and Vandeever were trying to 
discover a level stretch of ground among 
the tumbled mountain peaks. 

“Can you see anything of Saddle- 
back Flats?" yelled Simmons wildly. 

“We’re miles to the west of them 
flats !" Charley Van roared at him. 
“The country down there looks to me 
a heap more like the Gila Bend Divide 
than the Estrellas. Oh, by glory ! Sim, 
you've sure got me all mixed up. Hit 
the flat desert, can't you ?" 

“We can't hit anything but those 
peaks,” was the pilot's answer; “can't 
you see anything that looks level and 
smooth, down there? Use your eyes!" 

With sickening rapidity the saw-tooth 
crests of the hills leaped at the Ace 
High . 

“There’s a canon !" cried Whipple, as 
the flying machine cut across the yawn- 
ing mountain chasm at perhaps five hun- 
dred feet. 

“And a flat at the bottom of it!" 
added Vandeever. “Can you drop into 
that gash and 'light on the flat?" 

“I got to,” answered Simmons, be- 
tween his set teeth; “if I don’t it's all 
over but payin' the bets." 

He manipulated the falling machine 
in such fashion that the nose of it was 
brought in line with the north and south 
trend of the canon; then, straightening 
out, the plane rushed downward. They 
cleared the two steep walls of the gash 
and, by a turn to the left, hit the flat 
with a shock that almost threw Whipple 
and Vandeever out of their cockpits. 
The flyer lurched and wabbled over the 
rough ground, finally halting with a 
crash. Whipple took a header into the 
air, landed on one of the wings, rolled 
down the steep slope of it, and off the 
end in a six-foot fall on a nest of 
bowlders. There he curled up quietly 
and went to sleep. 

He awoke to find Charley Van throw- 
ing water in his face. “How you feelin', 
W. J. ?" inquired the cowboy anxiously. 

“A good deal like I did when the 
street car hit me," answered Whipple 


28 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


in a faint voice. “Don’t waste all that 
good water, Charley ; give me a drink.” 

Vandeever limped away, bent down 
over a small stream, refilled his Stetson, 
and came back. 

“Ain’t this fierce?” he commented 
gloomily, as Whipple gulped the water 
over the hat’s brim. “I reckon this 
flyin’-machine deal was a mistake, W. 

J” 

“Where’s Simmons?” asked Whipple. 

“Who cares a hoot about Sim?” 
snapped Vandeever. “He sold us a sky 
boat with a bum engine, and now see 
what’s happened. I allow if he broke 
his neck we wouldn’t be much more’n 
even.” 

“No such luck,” came the melancholy 
voice of the pilot. 

He was sitting on a bowlder, minus 
his helmet and leather jacket, and was 
knotting a handkerchief around his left 
forearm, using his right hand and his 
teeth. 

Whipple had been dragged clear of 
the rock pile, and he now sat up and 
took a look around. He was at the 
edge of a flat, and the flat was at the 
bend of the canon. The walls of the 
defile were high and straight up and 
dow T n — merely smooth precipices. A 
small stream babbled over the rocks of 
its narrow course, and in the sandy 
stretches were rank growths of mes- 
quite. The Ace High had run head on 
into the canon’s east wall. The left- 
hand planes had been crumpled up by 
a big cottonwood tree, and the front 
end of the machine had been crushed 
as far back as the pilot's cockpit. Sim- 
mons surely had been lucky to escape 
alive. 

“Think you can fix up the old cata- 
maran, Sim?” inquired Vandeever. 

“Not hardly,” was the sarcastic re- 
sponse; “she’s a total wreck. Landing 
gear all smashed, propeller all in pieces, 
port planes in smithereens, and engine 
knocked into a cocked hat. When we 
get away from here we’ll have to walk.” 

“Walk!” yelled the exasperated Van- 
deever. “Do you know what sort of 
country lies between us and civilization ? 
’Bout 'steen hundred miles of desola- 
tion, with nothin’ to feed on but chuck- 


wallas and nothin’ to drink but the juice 
of niggerhead cactus. Walk! Man, 
we never could make it. If your old 
pop bottle had to give out, why didn’t 
it pull the play within hailin’ distance 
of Phoenix? Here’s an elegant mess o’ 
fish!” 

Whipple got up and balanced himself 
dizzily on his legs. “Let’s look around 
and get our bearings,” he suggested. 

“That’s somethin’ to do, anyways,” 
Vandeever assented. 

They moved northward toward the 
upper end of the canon. Simmons did 
not go with them, but sat disconsolately 
on his bowlder and began spiritlessly to 
manufacture a cigarette. 

“He don’t need to worry a hull lot,” 
remarked Vandeever ; “he’s got his six- 
teen thousand, so bustin’ up the Ace 
High don’t mean a thing in his young 
life. It didn’t take us long to get rid 
o’ that bunch o’ money, anyways. Plumb 
wasted, and nothin’ to show for it. W. 
J., this is a right discouragin’ canon, if 
anybody asks you. Look at them walls ! 
A hundred feet straight up, and even 
a squirrel couldn’t get from here to the 
rim rock. And there’s the north end 
— it is just like the side walls. I move 
we take a look over south.” 

The north end of the canon was 
closed by a sheer precipice. The little 
stream, hitting the wall, sank out of 
sight under it, flowing through a sub- 
terranean channel. 

“Wait a minute,” called Whipple, 
halting his companion who was about 
to turn back. “What's this?” 

On the smooth surface of the end 
wall some hand had rudely inscribed 
with red pigment: “Lost Creek Canon. 
No chance to get out. Bottled up. — 
Johnson Blue.” 

Vandeever read the inscription, gave 
a howl of despair, and threw up his 
hands. “Lost Creek Canon ! By glory, 
that does settle it! W. J., we’re planted 
for keeps.” 

“What do you mean, Charley?” 
Whipple asked. 

“Ain’t you never heard tell of John- 
son Blue over to the Three-ply ? Ain’t 
no one ever mentioned Lost Creek 
Canon around Dowsett’s mine ?” 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


29 


“Not that I remember.” 

“Say, listen. This here is a pocket 
there ain’t no gettin’ out of. Once here 
you’re here to stay. Only it’s as hard to 
get into as it is to get out of, mostly. 
Johnson Blue got into it with ropes, 
explorin’ like, and the ropes got loose 
and come down on him. A carrier 
pigeon he had with him got back to 
Prescott with the news, but the message 
was weather-beaten and dim in spots. 
The location of Lost Creek Canon 
wasn’t readable, and people hunted for 
it for months, hopin’ to save Blue. But 
he wasn’t never saved. I reckon, if 
we look, we’ll find what’s left o' him 
around here some’rs.” 

Vandeever took off his hat and 
slammed it down on the rocks; then 
he leaned against the sheer wall and 
laughed huskily and mirthlessly. 

“And here’s you and me,” he went 
on, “loaded to the brim with dinero and 
aimin' to cut loose with it in Los An- 
geles, bottled up in Lost Creek Canon, 
without no carrier pigeon or ropes or 
nothin'. We’re jest plumb cast away, 
that’s all ; and when we’re laid out cold, 
the birds'll get them thousand-dollar 
bills and line their nests with 'em.” 

He laughed again, and the walls of 
the canon gave back the nerve-wracking 
echoes. 

CHAPTER X. 

A MESSAGE FROM THE PAST. 

'T'HE north end of Lost Creek Canon 
* was cheerless, forlorn, and offered 
a despairing prospect; but a “find” was 
made around the bend in the south end 
that put heart in the three castaways. 

The walls here were steep and un- 
scalable, and a lofty barrier thrown 
across the defile made of it a complete 
cul-de-sac. Here Lost Creek found it- 
self, bubbling up from beneath the foot 
of the barrier, flowing the length of 
the canon, and losing itself again at the 
other end of that tremendous blind 
alley. 

The surroundings south of the bend 
were not so depressing. The walls were 
hung with trailing vines, which gave a 
bowerlike aspect to that part of the 
mountain prison; and there was a flat 


covered with a thick growth of oaks and 
pinons; and in the heart of this grove 
Whipple and Vandeever stumbled upon 
their big surprise — a small but comfort- 
able log cabin. 

That cabin could not have been built 
by Johnson Blue, discoverer and origi- 
nal castaway of Lost Creek Canon. It 
was seven years, according to Van- 
deever, since Blue’s homing pigeon had 
fluttered into Prescott, and the cabin 
was plainly of very recent construction. 
It stood empty and deserted, and there 
was no path leading to its door. The 
door was not secured in any way, but 
opened readily to Whipple’s hand. 

The single room within was marvel- 
ously equipped for comfort. Three 
bunks furnished with blankets and pil- 
lows were built against the walls. Three 
chairs stood around a small table; and 
in a cupboard, plates, cups and saucers, 
knives, forks, and spoons continued to 
carry out this remarkable grouping of 
threes. 

Charley Van pulled off his hat and 
ran his fingers through his hair. “Looks 
like somebody had been gettin' ready 
for our party,” was his comment. 
“Wouldn’t this jest nacherly rattle your 
spurs, W. J.?” 

In a second cupboard was found a 
bag of flour, strips of hacon, a box of 
potatoes, and a generous supply of 
canned goods. There was a stove, too, 
in one corner of the room, with pots 
and pans hanging all around it, and 
even a supply of firewood piled beside 
it. 

Charley Van collapsed into one of 
the chairs. “Here’s once, I’ll say, that 
our cup was right-side-up and caught 
a little good luck when it rained trou- 
ble. W. J., we didn’t outfit ourselves 
with so much as a ham sandwich when 
makin’ that start for Los Angeles in 
the sky-hooter; so if Mrs. Class A. 
Luck hadn’t dropped this cabin and con- 
tents down in the canon for us, we’d 
sure have starved plumb to death. 
Everything's so new the worms haven’t 
even got in the prunes. We can draw 
out the agony for quite a spell, I’m 
figgerin'.” 

“Charley,” returned Whipple, “this 


30 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


pocket in the hills isn't so blamed in- 
accessible as you have been trying to 
make me believe. Somebody came here 
and fixed up this place, calculating to 
make a home out of it” 

“You've seen for yourself, W. J.,’’ 
Vandeever returned, “that there ain't 
no gettin' out of here unless we sprout 
wings. I’ll admit that hombres could 
come down on a rope, same as Johnson 
Blue done, but without that same rope 
gettin' out is goin' to bother a heap." 

“Three men built this cabin and got 
it ready to live in," Whipple went on; 
“and that wasn't so long ago, because 
everything is fresh and new. They 
must be planning to come back here 
very soon. Well, Charley, when they 
come, we'll use their means for getting 
into the canon to get out of it. All 
we have to do is to wait." 

“Cheer-o !" exclaimed Vandeever. 
“Here's hoping toe get our chance to 
pull out before your thirty days are up 
and you are left stranded with that 
bundle of kale. We'll have to spend 
faster than I reckoned on when we do 
hit Los Angeles. Now, bein' hungry 
and the like o' that, how about gettin’ 
Simmons over here? He was braggin’ 
about how he can cook. Suppose we 
start him in?" 

“All right; go get him." 

Vandeever found Simmons still sit- 
ting on his bowlder, very much cast 
down. “Don't you forget," were his 
first words to Vandeever, “that I'm still 
drawing my hundred a day." 

“That's a mere baggytelle, Perce," re- 
turned the cowboy; “was you stringin’ 
us when you said you could cook?" 

“I’m a regular chef," boasted Sim- 
mons ; “and I was sitting here thinking 
how I could eat if there was only any- 
thing eatable in sight." 

“Well, chirk up ; we're goin’ to feed. 
Come on and I'll show you." 

When the cabin and its supplies burst 
on his vision the aviator was astounded. 
Whipple was building a fire in the stove, 
but Vandeever pulled him away from 
the work. 

“Sim tells me that he expects us to 
pay him the hundred a day, whether 
we're flyin’ or laid up in this canon," 


said Vandeever. “By doin’ the cookin'* 
and taking care of the ranch I calcu- 
late that he’ll make all of five dollars 
a day, anyways, so I move we let him 
do it You and me, W. J., will jest sit 
around and fret because the spendin’ 
is so poor. Get busy, Sim !" 

Among the supplies were two or three 
dozen packages of cigarettes, several 
pounds of smoking tobacco, and half 
a dozen decks of cards. Vandeever 
made these discoveries and announced 
them joyfully. 

“W. J.," he whispered to his friend, 
“with my luck at the pasteboards, it’ll 
be blamed little of that hundred a day 
Sim'll ever see." 

Simmons proved that he was really 
a capable cook by preparing an excel- 
lent meal. All were in better spirits 
after they had eaten their dinner. While 
Simmons was clearing away the empty 
dishes, Vandeever tumbled into one of 
the bunks for a nap, and Whipple 
roamed around the flat. 

It seemed to Whipple as though there 
must be some way into that canon and 
out of it. The stories about Johnson 
Blue’s imprisonment in that mountain 
pocket might be far-fetched. Whipple 
was not so credulous as Vandeever 
seemed to be, so he went hunting for 
a possible avenue of escape. 

He failed to find it. The walls, 
masked with trailing vines, were as pre- 
cipitous as the bare rock faces in other 
parts of the canon. Whipple wondered 
if the vines were strong enough to bear 
his weight. He learned that they were 
not; for, essaying a climb by means of 
the festooned creepers, he sustained a 
fall of a dozen feet and gave up his 
attempts. 

As he moved around the edge of the 
flat his foot kicked against something, 
and he stooped and picked up a small 
tin box. The box was scarred and 
worn, and locked. He broke it open. 
Inside of it was an open-face silver 
watch, with a leather fob and an elk’s 
tooth charm attached to it, eighteen 
cents in change, a comb and brush, a 
pocket knife, and a memorandum book. 
Sitting down at the foot of an oak he 
fell to examining the various objects. 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


31 


On the back of the watch was the 
monogram, “J. B.” The same initials 
were engraved on the handle of the 
knife. 

“Relics of Johnson Blue,” thought 
Whipple, and picked up the little book. 

On the flyleaf he read this, written 
in a firm, businesslike hand: 

Johnson Blue, late of New York City, now 
of Nowhere in Particular: His impressions 
of life, based on the way in which he lived 
it, and written for his own amusement while 
he slowly starved to death. 

This was gruesome, but it held a 
fascination for Whipple. Blue really 
had been bottled up in that canon. He 
had sent out his carrier pigeon, hoping 
for rescue. Rescue had not come, and 
famine had claimed him for a victim. 

“What you got, W. J.?” 

This was Vandeever. Having fin- 
ished his nap he had gone searching for 
Whipple. The latter told him what he 
had found, and how he had chanced 
upon it. 

“By glory !” the cowboy exclaimed, 
sitting down at his friend’s side and 
looking with deep interest at the watch, 
the knife, the military hair brush, and 
the comb. “Eighteen cents! He was 
mighty nigh busted flat, wasn’t he?” 

Whipple read from the flyleaf of the 
book. 

“Purty tough !” commented Van- 
deever, with feeling. “And we might 
have starved allee same as Blue if some- 
body hadn’t built that cabin for us and 
filled it with supplies. Poor old Blue! 
He must ’a’ been blue them last days. 
I can’t imagine nothin’ worse than 
havin’ hunger get you. Read about 
them impressions of his, W. J.” 

Whipple began to read : 

“No help has arrived, and I have come to 
the conviction that the carrier pigeon failed 
to reach Prescott. That means that my days 
are numbered. The chuckwallas are not very 
plenty, and not very appetizing. In the hey- 
day of my wastrel year, I remember how 
squab on toast, chicken a la Maryland, and 
roast canvasback duck palled on my jaded 
appetite. If I had my million back, I would 
give all of it for one dinner at Shanley’s! 
I have kept pulling up my belt a notch until 
it makes a circle no bigger than a dog’s col- 
lar — and not a very large dog’s collar at that. 

“But why repine? I have had my fling, 


and here I am holed away among the bleak 
mountains with my large fortune dwindled 
to a pitiful eighteen cents ! I’m a good ex- 
hibit in the case of Gal Life versus A Sen- 
sible Existence; I am a horrible example in 
the matter of what not to do with a million 
dollars; and I feel the urge to put some of 
my philosophy down with pen and ink. No 
one will ever see it, but the mere writing 
will be a relief to my mind, and will serve to 
beguile this period of waiting for the end. 
And I have an idea that I can make my finish 
the finest things I have done in all my riotous 
year.” 

“Gosh!” exclaimed Vandeever, as 
Whipple paused reflectively. “Now 
whyever do you suppose he was writin’ 
like that, W. J.?” 

“I’ll read on,” answered Whipple, 
“and see if we can find out.” 

“I was a happy man before my Uncle Ezra 
died and left me that million dollars in hard 
cash. Kept books for Halloran & Beezley, 
and received a hundred dollars a month for 
it. Got along beautifully; put aside a little 
every week for a rainy day, and had enough 
left to ride over to Coney of a Saturday 
afternoon and take some real enjoyment. 
And I’d get away to the Polo Grounds oc- 
casionally, and yell myself hoarse over a 
good ball game. 

“And there was Ethel! There are fine 

f 'rls in this land, but none finer than Ethel. 

wish she might know what has finally 
happened to me, but that is hardly possible. 

If I had taken her advice But I’m not 

sobbing about that, or anything else. I 
mixed this dose of medicine for myself, and 
I’m going to swallow it with a smile. 

“Back in the old days, though, I was happy. 
And I didn’t know it! I lived in a little 
paradise all my own, and I was getting 
ahead at the rate of about three hundred a 
year. Then a snake crawled into my para- 
dise, a snake with glittering golden scales 
and diamond eyes — Uncle Ezra’s million dol- 
lars. 

“I didn’t have to work any more. That’s 
what I told Halloran & Beezley. Work was 
for those poor fish who had no uncle to die 
and leave them a million. I started out to 
put some new brightness in the Gay White 
Way. They said I made good. I had friends 
everywhere, and they did their best to make 
me forget I had ever been a hundred-dollar- 
a-month bookkeeper. 

“Is it much of a trick to run through a 
million in a year? Not in a town like New 
York, wet or dry. When a man who, now 
and then, has to walk to save car fare, wakes 
up with a million in his mitt, maybe he’ll 
still walk to save car fare — but I doubt it. If 
he is young, as I was, and if he has abilities 
as a spender, as I had, he’ll probably buy 
himself a flock of automobiles and never 
walk any more than he just has to. 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


I scattered the million in twelve months: 
and now here am I, I, far from the bright 
lights, a prisoner in these hills and with 
only eighteen cents in my pocket. I’ve a fine 
case of dyspepsia— and roasted chuckwallah 
doesnt agree with a finicky stomach. I’m 
all rusty from lack of exercise— and I came 
to Arizona for the mountain cure everlast- 
ingly too late. It’s time I died, and— r-” 

Vandeever reached over, jerked the 
book from Whipple’s hands and threw 
it angrily out across the flat. 

“I reckon that’ll be all of that!” he 
growled. “Now that we got our pock- 
ets full o’ money, I ain’t in any mood 
to listen to such stuff. Gol-ding-it, I 
hadn’t a notion Blue was that kind of 
a ciiniroon.” 


“Looks like he was hitting at us, eh, 
Charley ? ’ queried Whipple. 

“I’ll tell a man ! And it ain’t a fair 
go, either. Why inmlazes did you have 
to kick that tin box out o’ the brush, 
W. J.? , But Blue wasn’t the same as 
you. It’s in your uncle’s contract that 
you got to spend. Blue wasn’t obliged 
to do what he done. He was goin’ on 
his own when he got down to them 
eighteen cents. Ain’t some people 
plumb foolish?” 


Whipple and Vandeever, at the foot 
of the oak in Lost Creek Canon, sat 
brooding in deep thought over the fool- 
ishness of Johnson Blue. What angle 
was taken by their vagrant thoughts is 
no matter ; but presently the cowboy got 
up, walked sheepishly over to the little 
book, and picked it up and dusted it off. 

“Take care of it. W. J.,” he said, 
handing the. melancholy record to his 
friend. “Like enough, after all, you 
and me will get eighteen cents’ worth 
o’ fun out o’ readin’ it. If he goes 
into his spendin’ habits, maybe there’ll 
be a tip for us when we get to Los. 
W’e’ll have to work fast if we’re held 
up here for much of a spell.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

A CHANGE OF PLANS. 

r pHAT little book of Johnson Blue’s 
wielded an uncanny influence. 
Two days after it had been found all 
three young men in the canon had come 
under its mystic spell. When Whipple 


was not reading it aloud to his compan- 
ions, either Vandeever or Simmons was 
sure to have it and to be deeply im- 
mersed in its contents. 

The sorry chronicle was less than five 
thousand words in length. In giving so 
much time to it, therefore, the cast- 
aways were continually rereading parts 
of the manuscript. Each had his fa- 
vorite passages; and Whipple, curious 
to know just what appealed most to 
Vandeever and Simmons, took up the 
little book as each laid it down. In 
Vandeever’s case, his clews were vari- 
ous leaves bent at the corners ; and, in 
Simmons’, a pencil checking of sundry 
paragraphs. 

It developed that the cowboy’s inter- 
est was held by Blue’s ingenious meth- 
ods of extravagance. He would charter 
a sumptuous private train, for instance, 
and take a large party of friends to 
some prize fight in the Middle West; 
or he would buy a private yacht, spend 
a riotous month in the West Indies, and 
then sell the yacht for less than half 
what he had paid for it. He would 
give dinners to boon companions, at 
which diamond and platinum stick pins 
were passed around as favors. Once, 
in Florida, he had rented an entire ho- 
tel for a week, living in it in lonely 
grandeur with every employee at his 
beck and nod. An extravagant eccen- 
tricity was never to wear the same suit 
of clothes twice, but give away each 
suit when it was taken off. 

Simmons’ marked passages consisted 
largely of philosophical deductions. "A 
false friend is one who shares your 
bounty, battens on your favors, and then 
fails to recognize you when your money 
is gone. He is a deceiver and a thief.” 
And this : “A crook is the physical mani- 
festation of a crooked soul, warped by 
greed and a hunger for easy money. 
Better that a man should have a mill- 
stone hung about his neck and be flung 
into the sea than to profit in such a 
way.” And again: “Not money, but 
the love of money, is the root of all 
evil. Because of this we betray a trust 
and land in jail, or we commit murder 
and hang. One who loves money for 
itself is capable of any atrocity.” 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


33 


Whipple, on his own part, was en- 
tranced with the whole tragic story, 
but his pet paragraphs were some of 
Blue’s platitudes, such as: “Waste not, 
want not,” and “Be careful with what 
you earn, and doubly careful with what 
is given you and “Stand on your own 
feet; he beholden to no man for so 
much as a nickel;” and “Spend wisely, 
but save with even more wisdom; for 
a tightwad is anathema and a wastrel 
is a lost soul ;” and, lastly, this price- 
less ruby in the casket of diamonds: 
“Be not lured by relatives or friends 
or strangers into ways of wasteful ex- 
travagance ; for an act repeated becomes 
habit, and habit becomes second nature, 
and second nature becomes character, 
and character makes us what we are 
for better or for worse.” 

All this, to some minds, would have 
been a mere collection of rubbish. It 
is quite possible to understand why the 
last writings of Johnson Blue might 
appeal to Whipple, and why a cowboy, 
eager to master all the fine arts of get- 
ting rid of money, might be interested 
in them, but that Percival Simmons 
should ponder such passages as he had 
marked was an incomprehensible mys- 
tery. 

Johnson Blue, with just money 
enough left to get him to some out-of- 
the-way corner of the country, had come 
to Prescott. Like Timon of Athens he 
yearned for some desert place where he 
could forget the ingratitude of those 
whom he had believed to be friends and 
kill all thoughts of the girl Ethel who 
had married a better man. So he bought 
a burro, a grub stake, several hundred 
feet of rope, a homing pigeon in a 
wicker cage, and set out for the heart 
of the hills. His idea was to immure 
himself on an island in the air, a sup- 
posedly unscalable mesa called Encan - 
tada that had come to be a legend in 
the Southwest. His purpose was to get 
away by himself, burn all his bridges, 
and even cast off the ropes by which he 
had hoped to gain the mesa's top. Then, 
if he tired of his hermitlike existence, 
he would send word back to Prescott by 
means of the carrier pigeon, and some 
one would come and effect his rescue. 

3A TN 


It was a wild fancy. He failed to 
find Mesa Encantada, but he did hap- 
pen upon a pocket in the ground as dif- 
ficult of access as any island in the air. 
With his ropes he managed to get into 
it, but the ropes loosened and came down 
on him before he had lowered the re- 
mainder of his supplies into the canon. 
Weeks later, his half -starved burro wan- 
dered into Wickenburg; this, however, 
was long after the carrier pigeon had 
made its home port with a damaged 
message that told of Blue’s plight, but 
failed to define his exact whereabouts. 

So, from Blue’s last writings and in- 
formation given by Vandeever, Whip- 
ple pieced the story together. Some- 
how, the thrill of it grew on him as 
the days passed. It seemed to grow on 
the cowboy and the aviator as well. 
Knotty problems offered themselves to 
the castaways. 

Were they destined to reach the end 
of their provisions and come to a 
wretched end, there in Lost Creek 
Canon, as Blue had done? Who had 
built and furnished that cabin on the 
flat with supplies for three? On the 
answer to this second question hung 
their hopes of deliverance. A week 
passed, however, without bringing the 
owners of the cabin. Vandeever, for 
once in his life at least, had something 
more than his Stetson on his mind. 

“By glory,” he complained, “we’ve 
lost a hull week, here in this hole in 
the hills, waitin’ for some one to come. 
We’ve got to stop coolin’ our heels, 
W. J., and try to find a way out. Grub 
is goin’ fast, and I move we meander 
around and try to find them ropes of 
Blue’s. Maybe they haven't rotted clean 
to pieces, and we can use ’em in gettin’ 
clear o’ this blamed pocket.” 

So they went hunting for the ropes. 
But they had vanished completely. 
When absolutely certain that they were 
not to be found, further attempts were 
made to climb the wall by means of the 
hanging vines. The vines were fragile, 
and after Vandeever had taken a bad 
tumble the maneuver was given up as 
hopeless. 

Simmons raided the wreck of the 
Ace High and removed and spliced to- 


34 


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gether a number of guy wires. The 
resulting cable proved too stiff and un- 
wieldy and nothing could be done with 
it. In desperation, another forlorn 
search for the ropes was begun. It was 
while this was going on that Simmons, 
creeping along at the edge of the flat 
under a festoon of trailing vines, found 
a small wicker cage with its door un- 
latched. 

This recalled Blue to the minds of 
the castaways. Here, undoubtedly, was 
the very cage in which he had kept his 
carrier pigeon. Vandeever, fired with 
a sudden thought, dropped to his knees 
and continued investigations at that part 
of the foot of the cliff. He crept 
through the vines, was lost to sight for 
five minutes, and at last emerged into 
view with a white face and wild eyes. 

“I touched ’em,” he gasped, drawing 
his sleeve across his wet forehead, “and 
they — they rattled. Oh, my glory!” 

“What rattled?” demanded Whipple. 

“Bones ! He's in there — Blue, what's 
left o' him. Never had such a start in 
my hull life, W. J. He's layin' under 
a bit of an overhang, and he grinned 
up at me all white and — and — well,” he 
finished, “I jest had to have air. Mil- 
lion-dollar Blue is jest a pile o' bones 
in a khaki suit. Say,” muttered Van- 
deever, “don't it give you a start, W. 

J.?” 

“Sure,” answered Whipple, “but 
we’ve got a duty to do, Charley. That's 
a great little book he wrote, and the 
least we can do is to bury these bones 
away in the pleasantest part of the flat. 
Look ! Here's his fountain pen. I want 
it for my own, this and the eighteen 
cents. You can take the watch and 
knife, and Simmons can have the fob 
and the elk-tooth charm.” 

“Who gets the book?” 

“We’ll draw cuts for that. Get Sim- 
mons now. We’ve got to do the best 
we can, Charley.” 

The three men got to work, and in 
a short time all that remained of John- 
son Blue had been decently interred, to 
the best of their ability. 

Poor Johnson Blue! For one brief 
year everything he had wanted had been 
his. Now there he lay, and of what 

i 


use to him were all the millions in the 
world ? 

Whipple sat down. “Everything has 
been said that can be said, I take it,” 
he remarked, “about a fool and his 
money. Now and then, at the bitter 
end, a fool wakes up and says, or writes, 
a number of wise things. And we three 
would be fools if we did not profit by 
them. If we ever get out of this canon, 
Charley, I make a solemn vow to give 
back to Uncle Wes the rest of his 
money. I'm going to tell him that I'm 
not fitted for the job he set for me.” 

“Then — then you ain't goin’ to Los 
Angeles at all?” inquired Vandeever 
plaintively. 

“I'm going back to the Three-ply 
Mine to work in the gold mill.” 

“Then me for the ranch, if that’s how 
you stack up,” said Vandeever. “I've 
got mucho plenty of this canon and that 
book of Blue's. His writing’s have 
plumb robbed me of all the pleasure I 
might have had helpin’ you spend your 
uncle's money. I reckon the boys will 
gi'me the laugh, but they can't sing that 
old chantey about the Wad that Wilted 
— because it won’t stick.” 

Simmons was having a struggle with 
himself. At last he managed to get the 
better of his feelings and observed, in 
a strained, unnatural voice : “I got some- 
thing to say, men. Three-card Monte 
LaDue hired me to drop you on Saddle- 
back Flats. He and two of his pals 
were to be waiting there and corral the 
kale you two had with you. I was to 
have a share in it. But I missed Sad- 
dleback Flats, somehow ” 

In two jumps Vandeever was in front 
of Simmons. “I had a notion more’n 
once you was playin' crooked !” he 
yelled. “Now, then, you two-faced 
sidewinder, right here’s where I beat 
you up !” 

Whipple hastened to step between 
them. “No,” he said sternly; “hands 
off of Simmons, Charley. He didn’t 
make anything by his treachery; and 
here, where we’ve put away Johnson 
Blue, let’s bury our animosity along with 
some of our fool ideas.” 

Vandeever was red and wrathful. 
Not ordinarily could he have been 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


35 


halted, in such a manner, by the restrain- 
ing hand of a friend; but there was a 
spirit of peace abroad in the canon at 
that moment — the spirit of Johnson 
Blue. 

“All right, Simmons," said Vandeever 
to the aviator, “you ain't the only one 
in this bunch that made a stumble. You 
must not " 

At that instant, Whipple leaped at 
Vandeever and Simmons and pulled 
them down. He was excited, and a wild 
light gleamed jn his eyes. 

“Look!" he whispered, pointing to- 
ward the vine-clad wall. “They're com- 
ing! The men who built and stocked 
that cabin are here! Watch!" 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE PART OF WISDOM. 

'T'HE descending sun, slanting over the 
* western rim of the canon, bright- 
ened the eastern wall. The brightness 
was rising toward the top of the wall, 
leaving the foot of the cliff in shadowy 
twilight. Some thirty or forty feet up 
the face of the precipice, full in the 
sun's rays, the mask of greenery had 
been opened and men could be seen 
working through the gap. 

Evidently these men had found foot- 
hold on a shelf concealed by the hang- 
ing vines. At the distance from which 
they were viewed by Whipple and his 
companions the forms were indistinct, 
although it could clearly be seen that 
there were three of them. 

“Say, this is bully!" exclaimed Van- 
deever, all the joy of a prospective de- 
liverance rising in his soul. “As they 
climb in, we’ll climb out. Like enough, 
horses brought them through the hills 
to the canon; well, we'll arrange to use 
them caballos for the trip back to 
Phoenix. Here's luck !" 

He started across the flat in the di- 
rection of the cliff where the newcomers 
were at work, but Whipple caught his 
arm. 

“Not so fast, Charley. Let’s wait 
here and watch for a while. There’s 
something about that cabin that never 
looked just right to me. It will be bet- 
ter, I think, to let those fellows get 


down into the canon before we show 
ourselves to them. They might decide 
not to come on if they found strangers 
here." 

Vandeever looked thoughtful. 
“Strikes me you’re too blame cautious. 
W. J.," he said, “but mebby it’s jest as 
well to play safe." He drew back into 
the tree shadows and continued to fix 
his gaze on the wall. “There’s a path 
down that cliffside, back o' them vines, 
right to the p'int where them hombres 
are workin'," ran his comment, “and 
mebby that's the way Johnson Blue got 
in. But how do you reckon they found 
it? We never guessed there was a shelf 
part way up the wall, did we?" 

“It wouldn't have done us any good 
if we had," put in Simmons. “That shelf 
is all of thirty-five feet straight up, and 
we had no way of getting to it. By 
Jupiter, look at that!" 

Something was tossed out through 
the gap in the vines. It twisted, 
writhed, unfolded, and dropped down-, 
ward, resolving itself into a long rope 
ladder. As soon as it was in place, the 
three men descended from the shelf, 
one by one, and landed on the flat. By 
that time the whole canon was plunged 
in gloom, although the eastern rim rock 
still glimmered under the sun's rays. 

“Wait till they get to the cabin," 

Whipple suggested, “and then we’ll walk 

in on them. They'll light up, and we'll 

be able to give each other a good siz- 
• _ »> 
ing. 

“We’ll give ’em a big surprise," 
chuckled Vandeever, “if I know any- 
thing about it." 

The newcomers trailed like shadows 
across the flat, making straight for the 
cabin. Whipple, Vandeever, and Sim- 
mons followed them at a distance. 

“I'll bet a blue stack," the cowboy 
hazarded, “that they’ve got a mine down 
here; placerings, like as not." 

“There’s no gold in Lost Creek 
Canon," averred Whipple; “I've been 
keeping an eye out for that ever since 
we got here, and the formations aren’t 
right." 

“What’s their idee in cornin’ here, 
then?" 

“That’s what I’d like to know. Men 


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aren't going to all this trouble in Lost 
Creek Canon unless they have some- 
thing up their sleeves. It doesn’t look 
right, Charley.” 

The newcomers had reached the cabin, 
and lamplight suddenly glowed in the 
cabin windows. Whipple and his two 
companions pushed on hurriedly and 
stepped in through the open door. They 
were greeted by a yell that indicated 
surprise and anything but friendliness. 

“I'm a Digger if it ain’t Concho 
Charley, the cattle-puncher gent as got 
to us for all that dough in the back 
room at Hennessy’s !” whooped a voice. 

“Sure it’s him !” cried some one else. 
“And he’s bringin’ his pard, Monte 
Cristo, junior! Surprisin’ luck, if any- 
body asks you.” 

“Simmons,” a third person demanded, 
“how did you happen to miss the flats, 
the other morning? And how did you 
happen to know about this canon, and 
get here and be waiting for us with 
these lambs of the golden fleece? You 
seem to have played your cards pretty 
well, but I’ll be hanged if I can under- 
stand it.” 

Whipple was amazed. The last 
speaker was Three-card Monte LaDue, 
a trim-looking blackleg in fancy moun- 
taineer clothes. The two with him were 
his roughneck pals, “Pecos” Pete 
Geohegan and “Silver” Sam Horna- 
day. All in all, they were about as hard 
an outfit as ever drifted through the 
Arizona hills. Each of the three was 
well armed and, at the moment, had a 
vicious six-gun on display. 

What weird turn of fate had brought 
these men into that lonely canon? 
Whipple wished, then, that he had been 
even more cautious. Bound for Los 
Angeles on a quest for spendthrift 
pleasures, neither he nor his companions 
had carried anything in the way of fire- 
arms. Three-card and his partners were 
holding all the trumps, that hand. The 
surprises were mutual, but every ad- 
vantage lay with the newcomers. 

“You’re a fine lot of coyotes, ain’t 
you now?” Vandeever remarked with 
fine sarcasm. “You planned to trim me, 
there in the back room at Hennessy’s, 
but I galloped off with every sou you 


three had in your clothes — matchin’ my 
run o’ luck ag’inst every nickel-plated 
holdout in your tinhorn crowd. Then 
you schemed to get it all back, by one 
way or another, and missed the bet. 
Oh, you’re a fine outfit of sobbers!” 

Three-card Monte smiled in the oily 
way characteristic of him. “We’re not 
missing any bets here in Lost Creek 
Canon, Concho,” he purred. “Why 
didn’t you come down at Saddleback 
Flats according to agreement, Sim- 
mons?” he demanded, whirling on the 
aviator. 

“They got wise to me” — here Sim- 
mons nodded toward Whipple and Van- 
deever — “and it wasn’t safe. Then the 
engine of the old boat went back on me, 
and we just happened to land in this 
canon. I’m glad you got here, Three- 
card. It’s the best piece of luck that 
ever came my way. Whipple and his 
pard would have killed me, I guess, if 
I hadn’t had help.” 

Cold rage rose in Vandeever’s heart. 
“Ain’t you sorry now, W. J.,” he asked, 
“that you didn’t let me beat him up? 
Sim has been playin’ off on us.” 

Whipple was nonplused. At the 
grave of Johnson Blue, such a short 
time before, he had felt that Simmons’ 
confession and regrets were sincere ; 
but now he had executed a direct about- 
face, and was one of Three-card 
Monte’s crowd. He made this certain 
by stepping to the other side of the cabin 
and joining the ranks of the gamblers. 

“How much have they got with them, 
Simmons?” queried LaDue. 

“Seventy-five thousand in cash,” was 
the prompt reply. 

“Good ! I didn’t know but they might 
have hidden it away somewhere. Put it 
on the table, Whipple, every last stiver 
of it.” 

“Don’t you never, W. J. 1” roared 
Vandeever. “Let’s show ’em our teeth. 
If they get that dinero, make ’em fight 
for it!” 

He picked up a chair and backed into 
a corner. 

“Concho,” remarked LaDue calmly, 
“when you and your outfit dropped into 
this canon, you came within one of put- 
ting a crimp into the smoothest cam- 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


37 


paign I ever planned. You found a neat 
little cabin here, well stocked with sup- 
plies. You and your friends jumped 
right in and took possession of it. I'm 
not finding any fault with that; but I 
want to assure you that while we're 
here you and Whipple are going to stay 
here. I expect to make this place my 
headquarters for the next six months. 
Show fight, Concho, and we’ll drop you 
in your tracks. Put down that chair." 

“Don’t be foolish, Charley/’ said 
Whipple; “all the odds are against us." 

This easy yielding wasn’t at all like 
Whipple, as Vandeever knew him; so 
the latter reasoned that his friend had 
something at the back of his head in 
the way of a ruse. Strategy, that was 
what it must be. Building his hopes 
on that, Vandeever lowered the chair, 
sat clown in it gloomily, and watched 
while Whipple put all of Uncle Wes- 
ley's money on the table. 

“That’s the part of wisdom, Whip- 
ple," observed Three-card Monte with 
unctuous approval. “You might also 
sit down, for the moment. Pecos,” he 
went on, “you go back to the shelf and 
pull up the ladder. You'll have an un- 
comfortable night, up there, but we've 
got to make sure that Whipple and 
Concho don’t clear out and tip off this 
new roost of ours to the sheriff. We 
can’t let that happen, you understand, 
until we’re through with the canon. 
Silver will relieve you in the morning, 
and to-morrow night Simmons or I will 
pull up the ladder and sleep on the 
shelf. Don’t forget, Pecos," LaDue 
finished, “that there’s a bundle of money 
in this for all hands." 

The mention of money stifled the 
grumbling of Pecos. He put away his 
gun, pulled up his belt, and left the 
cabin. Three-card Monte approached 
the table and coolly appropriated the 
crisp bank notes that lay there. 

“This should mean little to you, 
Whipple,’’ said he easily. “You’re get- 
ting rid of it quickly, and with a few 
thrills that ought to interest Old Plunks. 
Sorry to dispossess you, but we’ve got 
to have the cabin. You and Concho can 
bunk down on the flat. We'll see that 
you don’t starve; at least, while we're 


here in the canon with you. When we 
leave for good — well, that will be an- 
other matter." 

“Got a mine here, Three-card?" in- 
quired Vandeever. 

Hornaday laughed hoarsely. 

“Well, you might call it that,” re- 
turned LaDue with a twisted smile. 
“Pecos must be on the shelf by now," 
he added, “so you two can clear out. 
Don’t try any foolishness, either of 
you." His voice sharpened as he 
launched the warning. “I’m playing for 
a big stake, and won’t stand for any 
nonsense on your part. Good night. 
I’ll send you something to eat in the 
morning." 

Whipple and Vandeever walked out 
of the cabin, followed by the jeers of 
Silver Sam Hornaday and Percival Sim- 
mons. As they moved away across the 
flat, leaving behind them the cabin and 
its comforts, the cowboy complained bit- 
terly about the aviator. 

“He ort to be killed ! W. J., I’d have 
evened up our score jyith him if you’d 
only have let me alone a while back. 
Now see how he has turned on us. 
Johnson Blue’s book never got to him 
the same as it did to you and me." 

Whipple drew closer to his irate 
friend. “Charley," he whispered, “I 
believe Simmons is still on our side, 
and that he’s pretending to stand in with 
LaDue in order to be of help to us." 

“Never in this world !’’ declared Van- 
deever emphatically. “Was that the rea- 
son you w r as so pesky meek in shellin’ 
out them thousand-dollar bills? If I’d 
’a’ thought you was bankin’ on that. I’d 
’a’ fought till I dropped. Simmons is 
a two-faced, measly coyote. It’s all off 
with that noble idee o’ yours to give 
back the dinero to your uncle. But that 
ain’t worryin* me so much as gettin’ 
clear o’ this tough outfit and takin’ a 
slant for Phoenix.” 

“We’ll get back the money before we 
leave the canon," asserted Whipple. 

“How?" 

Whipple did not know how, but he 
believed there would be opportunities 
and they would be able to manage it. 
He led the way through the gloom to 


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the overhang where Johnson Blue had 
pitched his dismal camp. 

“Aimin' to sleep in there, W. J.?” 
demanded Vandeever. 

“Why not? It gets pretty cold at 
night, and we must have some kind of 
shelter. What was good enough for 
Blue ought to be good enough for us." 

Whipple went down on all fours and 
crawled through the swinging vines. 
The cowboy followed him, finally, but 
not without many protests. 

“Pll bet the place is ha’nted," he mut- 
tered. 

“Well, it couldn't be haunted by a 
kindlier spirit than Blue's. I'm greatly 
obliged to Johnson Blue, Charley. He 
has shown me how to look wisely at 
some of the problems of life." 

“Huh !" grunted Vandeever ; “he was 
only a spender that got cold feet when 
his money was gone. Mebby you'll 
sleep, but I'll be hanged if I think I'm 
goin' to. 'Night, pard." 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A BIT OF ACTING. 

A FLAT rock was all that Whipple 
** and Vandeever had to sleep on, 
there under the overhang. But they 
were men of hard fiber and used to the 
hardships of the hills. The chastened 
spirit of Johnson Blue seemed to fill 
the place. To Whipple this unseen 
presence was as a benediction ; nor was 
it as disturbing to Vandeever as he had 
fancied it might be, for when morning 
came he was sleeping so soundly that 
his friend had to shake him into wake- 
fulness. 

“See anything last night, W. J. ?" in- 
quired the cowboy, as he sat up and 
rubbed his eyes. 

“Not a thing." 

“Same here. Glory! I never reck- 
oned I'd sleep like that. Let's crawl 
out o' this hole in the wall and find the 
sun." 

A morning in Southern Arizona is 
one of the most cheering wonders of 
the country. The mounting sun has 
a glory all its own, and the air has a 
tonic warranted to put to flight all the 
blue devils that lurk in a human heart. 


Vandeever was in a more hopeful mood 
than on the preceding evening. 

“If we could get hold of a couple o' 
them six-guns," he remarked, while he 
and Whipple were dipping their heads 
in the creek, “we needn't ask no odds 
of anybody, W. J." 

Whipple shook the water out of his 
hair and dried his face on his handker- 
chief. “We'll play a waiting game, 
Charley," he said, “and see what turns 
up. They're busy getting breakfast 
over there at the cabin,” he added, his 
speculative gaze on the smoke that was 
rising from the chimney. 

“I could mow away a man's size share 
o' grub if I had the chance. Seems like 
LaDue might invite us in for the morn- 
ing's snack." 

“He won't do that; he's planning to 
keep us at a distance from the money 
and the guns, and will send breakfast 
out to us. There comes Sam Horna- 
day, now," Whipple added. 

“And he ain't totin' any chow," 
grumbled Vandeever disappointedly. 

Hornaday, however, was not coming 
in the direction of the two at the foot 
of the vine-clad cliff. He looked in 
their direction, grinned unpleasantly, 
and kept on toward the eastern wall. 
There he halted and yelled for Pecos. 
The latter looked out from the open- 
ing among the vines, answered the hail, 
and then threw down the rope ladder. 

“We could capture the ladder from 
them two if we had any kind o’ luck," 
Vandeever suggested. 

Whipple shook his head. While 
Pecos was descending the ladder, Horn- 
aday stood at the foot of it, on guard 
with a gun in each hand. 

“You're having a dream, Charley," 
said Whipple. “LaDue would be glad 
to have us try something like that. 
After the dust settled, there would be 
one amalgamator and one cow-puncher 
to keep Johnson Blue company on this 
flat. And what good would the ladder 
be to us if we had to use it and leave 
the money behind?" 

“I got to have action," Vandeever 
fretted. “Walkin' lame and jumpin' 
through the hoop at LaDue’s orders is 
a heap more than I can stand.” 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


39 


“Take it easy; there’ll be plenty of 
action when the right time conies.” 

Pecos, stepping from the rope ladder 
to the ground, did a brief round of 
sentry go while Hornaday climbed to 
the shelf and hoisted the trailing ropes; 
then Pecos made his way to the cabin. 
Everything, so far as LaDue’s clever- 
ness could devise it, had been made se- 
cure. 

Presently Simmons appeared at the 
cabin door carrying a basket. He struck 
out briskly across the flat, moving in the 
direction of Whipple and Vandeever. 
The latter, breathing hard, jumped to 
his feet. 

Whipple caught him and pulled him 
back. “Hang on to yourself, Charley,” 
he admonished. “You don’t want to 
spoil our breakfast, do you?” 

“I can’t begin to tell you how the 
sight o’ that traitor grinds me,” mut- 
tered Vandeever. “I’ll see that he gets 
his if it’s the last thing I ever do.” 

Simmons halted a few feet away and 
set down the basket, warily eying the 
cowboy as he did so. “Charley is get- 
ting me wrong,” he said, pitching his 
voice low. “I’m with you two, but I 
can be of more help by pretending to 
stand in with LaDue. That’s straight. 
Kick up some kind of a row so I can 
have an excuse to stand here and talk 
for a minute. LaDue is watching from 
the cabin, and Hornaday from the shelf. 
At the first suspicion that I’m not really 
throwing in with them, I’ll be as help- 
less as you two are — maybe worse off.” 

Whipple jumped to his feet and ad- 
vanced a step. “You’re worse than a 
sidewinder to turn us down like this!” 
he shouted, apparently in great anger. 

“All I want is a club!” roared Van- 
deever. 

Simmons jerked a revolver from his 
pocket; seemingly, he was holding the 
two wrathful men at bay. What he 
said, still in an undertone, was this: 

“LaDue, Hornaday, and Geohegan 
robbed the bank at Eudora, and they 
are hiding out here with sixty thousand 
dollars in cash and Liberty Bonds. 
They have fixed up this canon for a 
hang-out, and have some more robberies 
they are aiming to pull off. When they 


found us here it sort of spilled the beans. 
Go easy, you two. And be watchful. 
Bullets are apt to come your way at any 
time. I’m not done yet. Do something ; 
make it look as though there is bad 
blood between us and you are trying 
to ‘get’ me. I was told to shoot at 
the first sign of trouble.” 

Vandeever started to make a rush. 
Crack! went Simmons’ revolver. The 
bullet flew wide, but Vandeever clutched 
at his left arm and reeled back. 

“I’m to be on the shelf to-night, 
guarding the ladder,” Simmons went on, 
speaking hurriedly. “It’s our chance 
to do something. I’ll come down around 
midnight, and we’ll see what we can 
do at the cabin. It will be desperate, 
though; make up your minds to that.” 

Simmons whirled on his heel and 
started back across the flat, turning 
again and again to flourish the revolver 
and shout wild threats. 

“I reckon that play looked like the 
real thing,” said Vandeever; “and I’m 
sure surprised at that Sim! At that, 
mebby he’s only stringin’ us along.” 

“Give him the benefit of the doubt, 
Charley,” urged Whipple. “He’ll prove 
to your satisfaction whether or not we 
can rely on him — to-night.” 

“It don’t seem right sensible that La- 
Due would send him here with that 
grub, unless there was some kind of 
a hen on,” mused the cowboy darkly. 

He was rolling up his sleeve and bind- 
ing a handkerchief about his arm, a red 
silk handkerchief with which he had 
supplied himself in Phoenix. Having 
pretended to be wounded, it was im- 
portant to keep the deception alive. 
While eating breakfast, he did not use 
his left hand, but kept it tucked away 
between the buttons of his coat. 

The meal was a generous one, consist- 
ing of coffee, crackers, bacon, and fried 
potatoes. As the two friends ate, they 
considered this new turn of events. 

Three-card Monte, widely known as 
a crooked gambler, had blossomed into 
an out-and-out robber and holdup man. 
A safe retreat from the law was that 
hidden and inaccessible canon. How 
LaDue had found it was a mystery ; but, 
having found it, he was not slow to 


40 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


recognize its value from a lawless view- 
point. If pressed by officers of the law, 
he could come down his rope ladder; 
and, if the canon were found, he could 
pull down the ladder as a last resort. 
From that out-of-the-way spot he and 
his confederates could make their raids 
and then return to a rendezvous that 
was almost one-hundred-per-cent proof 
against discovery. 

Naturally, finding Whipple and his 
companions in the canon was a dis- 
agreeable surprise to LaDue. The un- 
pleasantness, however, was tempered by 
the seventy-five thousand dollars which 
Whipple had been forced to give up. 
For a little while, and because of Un- 
cle Wesley’s money> the gambler might 
bear with the castaways; but, in due 
course, as Whipple knew, Three-card 
Monte would tire of the trouble Whip- 
ple and Vandeever made him and would 
seek to eliminate them. Before this 
tragic move was deliberately attempted, 
the amalgamator and the cowboy would 
have to strike and strike hard, with 
Simmons’ help. 

“To-night is the time,” averred Whip- 
ple, “for we are taking grave chances if 
we wait longer than that.” Having fin- 
ished his breakfast, he lighted a pipe 
and arose to his feet. “Let’s go over 
to the bend and see if the wreck of 
the Ace High has anything to offer us 
in the way of a makeshift weapon. If 
we come to close quarters with the gang 
to-night, Charley, we ought to have 
something besides our fists to fight 
with.” 

“Good idee, W. J.,” assented Van- 
deever. 

As they started north along the creek, 
LaDue suddenly appeared from the 
cabin. He carried a rifle. “Where have 
you started for?” he shouted. 

“Jest takin’ a little amble to stretch 
our legs,” Vandeever answered, with a 
scowl. 

“Well, amble around the flat, but keep 
clear of the cabin. Try to leave the 
flat, Concho, and we’ll open up on you. 
That goes as it lays.” 

Vandeever hesitated, clenching his fist 
and grinding his teeth. “Fust time on 
record I ever took orders from a tin- 


horn !” he growled. “But I reckon there 
ain’t anything else to be done.” 

He turned and began following Whip- 
ple back toward the vine-clad cliff. 

“And here’s something else,” LaDue 
yelled. “You two have got to cut out the 
rough stuff when I send some one over 
with your meals. Simmons ought to 
have laid you out, Concho. Just for 
what you did this morning you men will 
get no dinner. If you prove to be 
peaceable, and obey orders about stay- 
ing on the flat, I’ll take some supper 
over to you myself.” 

Vandeever was furious, but he had 
sense enough to smother his feelings. 
Most certainly he and Whipple were 
under the thumb of this smooth, tricky 
card sharp; and, hard though it was, 
the situation would have to be borne 
for the present. 

The morning passed with another 
reading of Johnson Blue’s book, and the 
discussions to which the various philo- 
sophical gems gave rise. In view of 
the melancholy circumstances that pre- 
vailed in the canon, the last words of 
the wastrel castaway were more impres- 
sive than ever. 

Noon passed, and LaDue was as good 
as his word about withholding dinner. At 
one o’clock, Pecos relieved Silver as 
guardian of the ladder, and both ruf- 
fians, in going and coming, jeered the 
two hungry men as they passed them. 

“This is fierce, I’ll tell a man!” 
grunted Vandeever. “Hit me anywhere 
but where I live; I can stand anything 
but that.” 

“We ought to be able to miss a meal 
with good grace, Charley,” said Whip- 
ple. “Think what Blue had to put up 
with.” 

“Oh, I’ll stand it,” returned the cow- 
boy hastily, “but I’d like to eat a hun- 
dred dollars wuth o’ ham and eggs in 
front of Three-card LaDue, and him 
famishin* and laced to a post with a 
reata.” 

The afternoon dragged horribly. 
LaDue and Hornaday and Simmons 
played cards in the shade of the cabin, 
guns close at hand. They were care- 
ful to take up a position from which 
they could watch Whipple and Van- 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


41 


deever every minute. As the sun 
dropped low over the rim of the canon, 
the card playing ceased, and Hornaday 
and Simmons went into the house to 
get supper. When LaDue was called 
by Hornaday to “Come in an’ eat,” he 
stood up and looked in the direction of 
the amalgamator and the cowboy. 

“I’ve changed my mind, Conho,” he 
called. “You and your pard stood it so 
well without dinner that I'm going to 
hold back ypur supper.” 

Vandeever gave an ugly laugh as 
LaDue vanished inside the cabin. “Even 
a smooth tinhorn like him can play the 
fool now and then, W. J.,” he remarked 
to his friend. “The worst fighter I ever 
seen was a guy just hungry enough to 
be mad and not starved sufficient to be 
any ways weak. Because of losin' them 
two meals, I’d walk in on the hull gang 
this minute, alone and with my bare 
hands. It’s going to be some fight when 
we pull it off.” 

CHAPTER XIV. 

TURNING THE TABLES. 

CIMMONS had played well a very 
^ difficult role. It was no easy ma- 
neuver to deceive Three-card Monte 
LaDue, and yet this is precisely what 
Simmons had done. The gambler was 
convinced that the aviator was faithful 
to him and his lawless, plottings, and 
believed fully that no love was lost be- 
tween the aviator and Whipple and Van- 
deever. So Simmons was trusted with 
the work of guarding the rope ladder. 

He relieved Pecos and went on duty 
while the sun was still flashing brightly 
on the vine-clad wall ; but he had not 
been fifteen minutes on the shelf be- 
fore LaDue and Hornaday ran swiftly 
across the flat and took up their posi- 
tions at the foot of the cliff. 

“Hey, Simmons !” shouted LaDue. 
“What are you doing with two extra 
six-guns? You’ve got a brace of re- 
volvers more than you need or are en- 
titled to. Drop them into the blanket.” 

As he finished speaking,* he and Hor- 
naday stretched a blanket between them 
and waited for the weapons to be 
thrown into it. But they waited in vain. 


Whipple and Vandeever guessed what 
had happened. In his zeal to help them, 
Simmons had appropriated the extra 
revolvers and taken them with him when 
he climbed to the shelf. He was not 
minded to give them up and so yield an 
advantage gained by his cleverness. Be- 
sides, Ladue's faith in him was shaken, 
and temporizing with a man like this 
gambler when he was in such a state 
of mind would have been suicidal. Sim- 
mons kept well back on the shelf and 
hung on to the guns. 

Hornaday lost patience and swore 
heartily. LaDue had better command 
of himself. 

“Put over the ladder, Percy, and come 
down,” requested the gambler, his tone 
and manner not at all suggestive of the 
emotions that filled him. 

Simmons, however, was too knowing 
to let down the ladder and descend and 
place himself at the mercy of Three- 
card Monte. 

“Come down!” the gambler ordered 
at last, dropping his mask of friendli- 
ness and proceeding to threats. “I'll 
give you two minutes, and if you're 
not down by that time Silver and I will 
riddle the face of the cliff with bul- 
lets.” 

No word or sign came from Sim- 
mons ; then, promptly when the two min- 
utes were up, a merry fusillade stirred 
wild echoes in the canon. Pecos, a cup 
of coffee in one hand and a sour-dough 
biscuit in the other, came to a corner of 
the cabin to watch the excitement. 

Whipple was not slow to see that 
a situation had developed which, if 
quickly and properly used, would be 
highly advantageous to himself and 
Vandeever. 

“Charley,” he whispered, “while 
LaDue and Hornaday are busy with 
Simmons, and while Geohegan is giving 
all his attention to that side of the 
canon, no one seems to take any interest 
in you and me. Come on! We'll de- 
tour to the west and reach the cabin 
door while Geohegan is facing the other 
way.” 

“That scheme is a lulu, W. J. !” mut- 
tered the cowboy, with enthusiasm. 


42 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


A quick run to the left brought the 
two around the western side of the 
cabin. Whipple was almost at the open 
door when Pecos awoke to what was 
going on behind him. The coffee cup 
went one way and what was left of 
the biscuit went another. 

“No; y’u don’t !” he roared, dashing 
for the open door and juggling with a 
revolver as he came on. “Back up, or 
I’ll drop y’u where y’u stand !” 

Whipple shifted his line of advance, 
and instead of entering the cabin he 
plunged straight at Pecos. The latter 
halted, planted himself firmly and lifted 
the revolver. Whipple was desperate, 
and Geohegan equally determined. A 
distant report shattered the still air, 
breaking a lull in the target practice of 
LaDue and Hornaday. Geohegan gave 
vent to a hoarse yell of pain, and the 
revolver fell from his fist. 

“Score one for Sim !” shouted Van- 
deever jubilantly. “That was as neat 
a bit of drop firin’ as I ever seen.” 

Simmons had come into action, and 
at the very instant his services could 
best serve his friends. Whipple reached 
Geohegan’s side at a jump, and in a 
flash had gathered up the fallen weapon. 

“Into the cabin with you !” he or- 
dered, prodding Pecos with the muzzle 
of the gun. 

“Monte !” yelled Pecos, as he gripped 
his injured right arm with his left hand ; 
“Sam! Thar’s trouble at the ca ” 

Whipple gave Pecos a push that sent 
him through the open door headlong. 

“I’ve got him, W. J. !” cried Van- 
deever, from inside the cabin. “Get in 
here, quick ! Once the door is closed 
we can hold this shack ag’inst all com- 
ers.” 

That move, however, effective though 
it might be, was not for Whipple. 
LaDue and Hornaday had lost all in- 
terest in Simmons, for the moment, and 
were racing back toward the cabin. A 
revolver cracked, and a bullet buzzed 
angrily past Whipple’s cheek. He found 
himself looking into the gambler’s cool, 
murderous eyes. 

“I told you what to expect if you cut 
any capers,” snapped LaDue, “and now 
here’s where you get yours.” 


His first shot had missed because he 
was in too much of a hurry. Now he 
was more deliberate, and laughed jeer- 
ingly when Whipple, flexing his finger, 
brought down the hammer of 
Geohegan’s gun on an empty shell. 
LaDue, no doubt, felt that he could 
afford to take his time and make sure. 
Whipple was nearer the Great Divide, 
at that moment, than Uncle Wes 
had ever been in his life. But 
LaDue wasted three seconds ; and, while 
his weapon hung fire, a cabin window 
on his left crashed outward and, in the 
midst of the flying glass came Vandeever 
over the sill, falling on the gambler and 
bearing him down. 

“That’s the best ever, Charley!” ex- 
claimed Whipple, and immediately gave 
his full attention to Hornaday. 

LaDue selected his lawless aids with 
care and discrimination, and Geohegan 
and Hornaday were the pick of those 
men who regarded the law lightly and 
were of proved ability and courage. The 
tide was setting against LaDue, but 
Hornaday ran true to his traditions and, 
while possibly dismayed, he was ready 
for a last-ditch fight. Flinging himself 
down behind a small heap of firewood 
a few yards from the corner of the 
cabin, he began taking pot shots at 
Whipple from cover. 

Indian fashion, Whipple took to a 
tree ; thus screened, he “broke” the 
weapon that had failed him in the con- 
test with LaDue and examined the shells 
in the cylinder. All were empty and 
useless — a piece of carelessness on 
Geohegan’s part which, in other circum- 
stances, would have won a rebuke from 
LaDue. 

Vandeever had dragged LaDue into 
the cabin; and there, judging by the 
sounds that came through the open door, 
he was fairly busy. With a useless gun, 
and no cartridges at hand with which 
to replenish the cylinder, Whipple was 
at an impasse. Hornaday, watching 
weasel-eyed, was waiting for him to 
show enough of himself to make a tar- 
get worth while. 

This blockade was lifted by Sim- 
mons, as unexpectedly as Vandeever had 
crashed through the window and inter- 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 43 


fered with LaDue. Watching from the 
shelf in the gathering half gloom, the 
aviator had realized how badly he was 
needed by his friends; so he had low- 
ered the ladder, crossed the flat, and 
come up noiselessly on Hornaday’s side 
of the woodpile. The first Whipple 
knew of this was by a startled yell from 
Hornaday. The yell was followed by 
sounds of a furious struggle, and Whip- 
ple left the oak tree and ran swiftly to 
give Simmons a hand. From that point 
on the struggle was as brief as it was 
decisive. 

When Hornaday, at the revolver’s 
point, was marched into the cabin, La- 
Due was discovered flat on his back on 
the floor, Vandeever’s two knees on his 
chest, one hand compressing his throat, 
and the other hand, gripping LaDue’s 
revolver, threatening and holding 
Geohegan at bay. A little work on the 
part of Whipple and Simmons made 
the victory complete. 

Ropes were found, and the gambler 
and his confederates were firmly lashed 
and rendered helpless. Geohegan’s 
hands w r ere left free, because of his 
wounded arm, but his feet were bound, 
and it was clear that he had lost all 
relish for further combat. 

‘That was short and snappy, I’ll tell 
a man!” Vandeever exulted. “About 
twice as short and snappy, Three;-card, 
as if you had treated me and W. J. 
white and given us our grub. If you 
want to make a reg’lar panther out of 
a man, jest give him a touch o’ famine. 
Didn’t that never occur to you?” 

“If you fellows want your seventy- 
five thousand dollars,” said LaDue, 
“take it and get out of here.” 

“We want more than that, LaDue,” 
spoke up Whipple. “There’s the loot 
from the Eudora bank. You don’t think 
for a minute that we’ll leave that be- 
hind ?” 

The gambler scowled. “Simmons told 
you about that, I reckon. And Concho 
wasn’t nicked at all, this morning?” 

Vandeever laughed as he held up both 
hands. “That was jest a possum play, 
LaDue,” he answered. “How does it 
feel, havin’ the boot on t’other leg? 
Sim,” he added turning and giving his 


hand to the aviator, “you are the clear 
quill.” 

“Thank Johnson Blue for that,” said 
Simmons humbly, as he shook the cow- 
boy’s hand; “the writings in that little 
book have given me a brand-new out- 
look upon life. I’m glad we fell into 
this canon.” 

“Same here,” supplemented Van- 
deever. His glance roved reflectively 
over the supper table, and the remains 
of the meal left by LaDue and his men. 
“You strike a light, W. J.,” he went 
on, “and I’ll stir up the fire and rustle 
some hot chow. Honest, I was never 
so hungry in all my born days. Poor 
old Blue! For half a day we’ve been 
under his pack o’ trouble here in star- 
vation Gulch. It brought us right close 
to him, don’t you think?” 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE LAST ORDEAL. 

T'HE supplies in the cabin were raided 
* for a bountiful meal, and it was 
served piping hot. When Vandeever at 
last pushed back from the table and 
lighted a cigarette, he was in a genial 
and happy mood. 

“There’s a satchel under that east 
bunk, Whipple,” remarked Simmons, 
“and you will find your money and the 
bank loot inside. LaDue was cashier 
and took charge of all the boodle.” 

Whipple found the small satchel, 
cleared a space on the table, and began 
checking over the contents of the 
satchel. All his thousand-dollar bills 
were, of course, intact; in addition to 
these, he found twenty thousand dollars 
in bank notes of twenty, fifty, and one- 
hundred-dollar denominations, all 
banded in packets. Also, there were 
Liberty Bonds to the amount of forty 
thousand dollars more. 

“This is fine!” exclaimed Whipple 
happily. “Now I can give my uncle’s 
money — the most of it — back to him, 
and we can turn over the stolen loot 
to the bank.” 

“You’re a pinhead, Whipple, if you 
do anything like that,” spoke up LaDue. 
“Why don’t you three men divide it up 
among you and take a trip abroad?” 


44 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Whipple laughed, Vandeever glared, 
and Simmons looked uncomfortable. 

“What you need, you thievin’ tin- 
horn,” said Vandeever, “is a course of 
study in Johnson Blue’s book. Forty 
a month and found is all I’m lookin’ 
for’ard to; and I’ll tell a man that the 
prospect is more pleasin’ to me than 
ever it was in my old careless days. 
Funny how a batch of writin’s like 
Blue’s gets under a feller’s hide, ain’t 
it? ” 

Whipple, Vandeever, and Simmons 
passed their last night in the canon 
cabin. While two of them slept, one 
was always on guard. The prisoners 
were resourceful and desperate men, 
and no chances were to be taken with 
them. Next morning there was an early 
breakfast, and the three friends made 
their preparations for leaving the cabin 
and getting out of the hills. 

Three canteens were filled with cool, 
clear water from the creek, and three 
packs of supplies were made ready. 
Three revolvers belonging to LaDue and 
his partners were appropriated, and 
their cylinders replenished with fresh 
ammunition. 

Whipple had tried hard to learn some- 
thing about the situation of the canon, 
the route to be followed in getting back 
to Phoenix, and the method by which 
LaDue and those with him had reached 
that part of the rough country. The 
gambler had nothing to tell him, and 
neither had Hornaday nor Geohegan. 

“You’ll never make it on foot,” La- 
Due had said ; “your grub and water 
will be gone before you are halfway out. 
A stray prospector may find your bones, 
some time in the future, but even that 
is a hundred-to-one bet.” 

“Then,” returned Whipple coolly, “it 
will be as hard on you as it is on us; 
for when we leave here, LaDue, we’ll 
haul up the rope ladder. If we get out, 
we’ll send a sheriff and posse back after 
you. That’s better, isn’t it, than starv- 
ing to death in this canon?” 

A gloomy expression crossed the faces 
of Hornaday and Geohegan, but the 
gambler seemed utterly unmoved. 

“Not according to my way of think- 
ing,” said LaDue. 


All the firearms in the cabin were 
carried away by Whipple and his 
friends. Geohegan was left with his 
hands free, and it would be only a short 
time before he released LaDue and Hor- 
naday of their bonds. Carrying off the 
guns was to prevent further trouble 
while the homeward-bound party 
climbed to the rim rock and set out on 
the eastern trail. 

Whipple, who was the last man to 
reach the shelf, found himself on a 
broad, smooth ledge which had a down- 
ward pitch to the place where it joined 
the cliff. Simmons explained how easy 
it had been to keep clear of bullets 
launched from the flat merely by hug- 
ging the rear wall. 

“And there’s the way up,” he finished, 
indicating the lip of a fissure that angled 
steeply toward the top of the wall, back 
of the swinging vines. “I had a mind 
to explore that, only LaDue didn’t give 
me time.” 

The rope ladder was drawn up and 
piled on the shelf, and all the extra fire- 
arms were laid beside it; then, Whip- 
ple leading, the climb for the top was 
begun. Steady nerves were demanded 
for this, and the amalgamator was glad 
that the festooned vines hid from his 
eyes the dizzy depths of the canon. In 
due course he came out on the crest of 
the bank, and paused to let his gaze 
rove over the flat. 

All the prisoners were free of their 
ropes and standing in a forlorn group 
by the cabin, their faces no more than 
white patches against the greenery be- 
low. Hornaday and Geohegan shook 
their fists; LaDue coolly lighted a cig- 
arette. 

Whipple’s gaze moved toward the 
left, where a sandy mound lifted itself 
among the trees. All that was mortal 
of Johnson Blue was there — a mis- 
guided man who found wisdom in the 
spot where death overtook him. 

“Kind o’ rough on Blue,” remarked 
Vandeever, halting at Whipple’s side, 
“leavin’ him with that bunch of tough 
customers. You got his book, W. J. ? 
And his eighteen cents?” 

“I have, Charley,” replied Whipple, 
“and let us hope that the spirit of his 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


45 


last writings will be with us and nerve 
us for our fight in getting out of these 
hills.” 

He turned to look eastward. It was 
a discouraging vista, for all that could 
be seen in that direction was peak after 
peak. Whipple descended an easy slope 
on his way to a seam that opened be- 
tween two of the hills. He stopped 
suddenly, his eyes on the sand in front 
of him. 

“One secret is out, anyway!” he ex- 
claimed. “LaDue got here in an auto- 
mobile. Here's where the machine 
stopped to let him and his two partners 
off; and there's where it turned to take 
the back track.” A note of cheer crept 
into his voice. If an automobile could 
get here,” he went on, “I don't see how 
we’re going to run into any very hard 
traveling. All we've got to do is to 
follow the tracks.” 

The tracks were easily traced, and 
led into the seam, wound tortuously 
about the bases of the hills, and then 
climbed a ridge and descended into a 
wide, shallow valley. 

The sun was mounting toward the 
zenith, a brazen, fiery shield whose rays 
grew hotter as the day wore on. Heat 
waves, rising from the baked earth, 
quivered in the furnacelike air. Clumps 
of cholla cactus and greasewood danced 
grotesquely when viewed through the 
wavering, transparent veil. Simmons 
was first to give out. He staggered to 
his knees with a groan. 

“I'm no good at this kind of travel,” 
he complained. “This pack on my 
shoulders weighs a ton.” 

For the dozenth time he uncapped his 
canteen and put it to his lips. Van- 
deever snatched it away from him. 

“You're waterlogged, Sim,” said the 
cowboy. “We got to be careful o' the 
stuff in the canteens. And, anyways, 
you could drink like a fish and it 
wouldn’t help none. Get up and try 
ag'in; I’ll help you.” 

With Vandeever on one side and 
Whipple on the other, lending him their 
support, the aviator reeled on. Over 
his head the amalgamator and the cow- 
boy exchanged significant glances. Sim- 


mons was not toughened to the deserts, 
as they were, and they realized that he 
was going to be a tremendous handicap. 
But he had played a man’s part in the 
canon. Whipple's face set hard, and 
Vandeever’s lips tightened. What one 
thought was at that moment in the mind 
of the other: They would all win clear 
of those scorched, waterless hills, or 
they would all stay in them to the end 
of time. 

When Simmons' feet refused to move 
another step, Whipple found a great, 
bare pinnacle of rock, and in its shadow 
all three sat down for a rest. They 
ate some of their food, washing it down 
with a few sips from the canteens. 
When the time came for them to start 
on again, Whipple and Vandeever 
scanned the sky with ominous eyes and 
decided to remain where they were. 

The hilltops to the north were blurred 
with a haze of ghastly yellow. The haze 
thickened into an opaque curtain and 
drew onward with a rush. A puff of 
wind, blistering hot, stirred the sand of 
the valley until the ground seemed to 
be smoking. 

“Here's an elegant row of stumps, 
W. J.,” growled Vandeever; “a thing 
like this couldn't happen only right now, 
could it?” 

“What's the matter?” queried Sim- 
mons. 

“Sand storm,” answered Whipple 
briefly. “Hug the lee of that rock, 
Simmons; and pull off your coat and 
have it ready to put over your head.” 

They all knelt and pushed close to 
the rock pinnacle. The flying sand whis- 
pered against its worn sides; then, as 
the wind increased in fury, gusty blasts 
eddied around the huge bowlder and 
drove the sand stingingly against their 
faces. The yellow fog was all around 
them, and the smothering heat made 
breathing almost impossible. With 
heads muffled in their coats they gasped 
and choked and almost stifled. 

The physical torment brought by the 
storm gave the impression that it was 
hours in passing, but its duration could 
have been measured in minutes. After 
reaching its height it breathed itself out, 
leaving three mounds of sand from 


46 TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


which the travelers extricated them- 
selves. 

“That was shorter than usual, W. J.,” 
remarked Vandeever, shaking the sand 
out of his sleeves and wiping it from 
his grimy face. 

“The worst thing it did to us was 
to blot out the tracks of that automo- 
bile, said Whipple; “now we’ve got 
to head east, and go it blind.” 

When their packs were disinterred, 
it was discovered that Simmons’ can- 
teen was missing. He could remember 
nothing, about it. All three spent an 
hour kicking around in the loose sand, 
and were compelled at last to give up 
the search. 

Losing the canteen was a calamity, but 
nothing was said by Whipple or Van- 
deever to make Simmons feel worse 
about his carelessness than he did. They 
struggled on down that interminable 
valley, their only blessing the lessening 
heat of the sun as it dropped toward 
its setting. 

Another halt was made at sundown. 
The aviator, by that time, was in a 
sorry state. His eyes were puffed, his 
tongue and lips were swollen, and the 
last particle of energy had been sapped 
from his body. But there was a grow- 
ing coolness in the air that was most 
refreshing, and Simmons slumped to 
the ground, closed his eyes and slept. 
Whipple aroused him, after a while, 
and gave him his rations from the 
packs. He ate, gulped down the little 
water he was allowed to have, then went 
to sleep again. An hour later his two 
companions got him to his feet once 
more, and they continued their weary 
plodding onward under the brilliant 
Arizona night sky. Whipple conned 
their course by the stars and pressed 
the pace. 

There was now a very decided chill 
in the air which would have been most 
uncomfortable had the three travelers 
not been constantly moving. Simmons 
bore up better than he had done during 
the day, but his strength was flagging 
even while Whipple and Vandeever 
were going at their best. 

“I’m no good at this,” he panted ; 
“you fellows go on and leave me here. 


When you get out, send somebody back 
to pick me up.” 

“Not on your tintype, Sim!” returned 
the cowboy with emphasis. “We all go 
or we all stay, and that’s flat. Buck 
up! We can make five miles at night 
a heap easier than we can do one by 
day. Here, we’ll help you.” 

Whipple and Vandeever took turns 
carrying Simmons’ pack and helping to 
support him. They managed to keep 
him on his feet until after midnight, 
and then found further attempts use- 
less. Dropping to the ground on the 
very spot where Simmons gave out, all 
of them slept, dog weary and worn to 
the point of exhaustion. 

They awoke with the blazing sun 
once more in their eyes, and the blis- 
tering heat growing as the sun mounted 
toward the higher heavens. Then be- 
gan such a struggle as neither Whipple 
nor Vandeever had ever known in all 
their Arizona years. 

Simmons grew light-headed and be- 
came hard to manage. He fought to 
get hold of the canteens and the few 
drops of water that remained in them; 
he discarded his pack ; he sat down 
obstinately and refused to move; in 
short, he did everything his irrational 
mind suggested to delay the journey. 

The amalgamator and the cowboy 
grappled with him, dragged him, car- 
ried him, their one consuming desire 
to get onward at any cost. Simmons be- 
gan to see visions of flowing water and 
green trees. He babbled about them, 
and tried to crawl to the shelter of the 
groves and reach the streams. 

Vandeever, sprawled in the hot sand, 
gave vent to a croaking laugh. He 
reached out gropingly with his hands. 
“Where’s my canteen, W. J.?” he asked 
faintly. 

“Right in front of you there!” ex- 
claimed the startled Whipple. “Can’t 
you see it, Charley?” 

“See nothin’; I’ve been sun blind for 
an hour. Poor old Blue never went 
through anything like this, old-timer; 
he had Lost Creek with him all the 
way. Jest uncap one o’ the canteens, 
will you, W. J.?” 

Whipple uncapped both canteens. 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


47 


One was dry and in the other there re- 
mained no more than a swallow of 
water. He pressed the canteen to Van- 
deever’s lips. 

“Now you better take a swig,” sug- 
gested Vandeever. 

“Sure,” said Whipple, and tossed the 
canteen away. 

Once more Vandeever laughed. 
“Ain’t we the gay spenders for you?” 
he croaked. “A hundred and thirty- 
five thousand dollars in our jeans — and 
we couldn’t buy a glass o’ water with 
it. All gone, you old seed; you can’t 
fool me. Made me take the last drop, 
didn’t you? Well, that’s about like you 
is all I can say, W. J. !” 

There was no answer. With an ef- 
fort, Vandeever got to his knees and 
crawled over the hot sand, groping with 
his hands. He found what he was 
hunting for, at last: a still form, crum- 
pled and motionless. He felt the face, 
and with his hand he patted one of 
the shoulders. 

“Best pard a man ever had !” he mut- 
tered. “If here’s where we take the 
Long Trail, W. J., I couldn’t ask for 
no better company.” 

CHAPTER XVI. 

HARD TO BELIEVE. 

Y^hipple rode back to conscious- 
ness on a sea of troubled dreams ; 
and a voice, which had an oddly familiar 
sound, caused him to sit up quickly and 
take notice. 

It was night, one of those splendid 
nights for which the desert country is 
noted. The stars were so big and 
bright that it seemed as though one had 
only to reach out a hand in order to 
get hold of Orion’s Belt, or of the Big 
or Little Bear. There was a lush smell 
of standing water, and Whipple low- 
ered his eyes and saw a good-sized 
water hole, surrounded by a dusky chap- 
arral of mesquite. How the moonbeams 
played and danced over that stretch of 
water ! In the nearer distance was a 
glowing camp fire. A very tall man in 
sharp silhouette was jerking a bag from 
the teeth of a scrawny, crop-eared burro. 
Tossing the bag on a heap of camp 


plunder, the man hauled the burro away 
on a picket rope. 

“I’ll picket you where you won’t be 
so handy to the grub, Handsome,” said 
the boss of the camp, and he and the 
burro lost themselves temporarily in the 
chaparral shadows. 

Whipple’s wandering glances took in 
his closer vicinity. Vandeever lay on 
one side of him, his eyes bandaged with 
a white cloth. On the other side lay 
Simmons. 

“Hey, Charley!” called Whipple 
softly. 

“On deck, sport,” answered the cow- 
boy promptly. “How you stackin’ up?” 

“All right. Feel so comfortable I’ve 
a notion I’ve been watered and fed.” 

“Plumb comfortable myself, except 
my eyes. The old geezer put somethin’ 
on ’em and tied ’em up; he says it’s a 
sure cure, and that I’ll be able to see 
things by sunrise.” 

Whipple turned to the aviator. “How 
are you, Sitnmons?” he queried. 

“Sort of hazy,” Simmons told him. 
“I’ve had a particularly bad dream and 
can’t remember a thing since the sand 
storm till I woke up here.” 

“This prospector must have found us 
and brought us to the water hole,” 
Whipple went on. 

“That’s what he done,” said Van- 
deever ; “he told me about that while 
he was bandagin’ my lamps. He allows 
we was all three purty badly done up 
when he happened upon us.” 

“Who is he? I’ve heard that voice 
of his before somewhere.” 

Here the tall man himself drew near 
and stood at Whipple’s side. “You’ve 
heard this bazoo of mine many a time, 
W. J.,” he put in. “Give me a good 
look, T>oy.” 

Whipple turned his head and stared. 
Then he rubSed his eyes and gave a 
gasp. “Uncle Wes?” he said incredu- 
lously. “Well, it can’t be Uncle Wes! 
Can it?” 

The tall man laughed. “It’s me, all 
right. That doctor you sent down from 
Prescott found out that my heart was 
as good as anybody’s, and that all I 
needed was exercise. Her prescription 
was to stir around and be active. That’s 


48 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


what I’ve been doin', W. J., ever since 
you sailed away in a flyin’ machine and 
dropped plumb off the earth. Pm not 
feelin' more than thirty years old, this 
minute. This spell of desert ramblin' 
has chirked me up wonderful. That 
lady doc— doctor — sure knows her busi- 
ness." 

For a minute or two Whipple was 
so overwhelmed that he lost the power 
of speech. At last he found his tongue. 

“Lady doctor!" he echoed. “Is that 
Doctor Mixinger a lady?" 

“In every sense o' the word, W. J.," 
declared Uncle Wes ; “and she's a right 
competent lady, if anybody wants to 
ask you. As soon as I found I had 
thirty years to live instead of only six 
months, of course my deal with you 
was off. I had to get back my money 
before you had spent it all. Believe 
me, I did stir around ! I figgered that 
every day I lost while lookin' for you 
cost me more than three thousand dol- 
lars. And I lost a lot of 'em, mainly 
because you and your party had climbed 
into the sky and nobody had any idee 
where you had come down. The guess 
was pretty general that you were all 
killed by an accident to your machine 
and were lyin' in the mountains some- 
where. Naturally, I wanted to beat the 
coyotes to my money. Three-card 
Monte LaDue had put up a job on you, 
W. J., and " 

“We know about that, Uncle Wes," 
cut in Whipple. 

“So Charley Vandeever was tellin’ 
me. Well, the sheriff and a posse 
started for Saddleback Flats," Uncle 
Wes continued ; “and Galusha Mingo 
and Katie and me, we got an automobile 
and followed ’em up, but " 

“Katie!" murmured Whipple. “Did 
she try to find me, too?" 

“I never saw a girl feel so bad over 
anything as she did over the way you 
disappeared. She and Galusha are still 
looking for you, but they are staying 
at Jimmie Haight's cabin in Apache 
Draw, and doin' their searchin' from 
there. You see, there was no sign of 
you at Saddleback Flats, and no sign 
of LaDue and his crowd; but we all 
had a notion you had been wrecked in 


the mountains, so we began to hunt, 
each in our different ways. I borrowed 
Jimmie Haight's burro, Handsome, and 
got a grub stake off of Jimmie, and put 
off into the hills on my own. The sher- 
iff and his bunch are usin' an automo- 
bile, and Galusha and daughter Katie 
are ridin' hossback. 

“Day before yesterday I hit some au- 
tomobile tracks. I could tell by the 
treads of the tires that them tracks 
wasn't made by the sheriff's machine, so 
I follered ’em straight into the heart of 
the rough country. I reckoned I was 
getting purty warm just when that 
blamed sand storm hit the hills and 
wiped out the automobile tracks. I 
made for this water hole, as soon as 
I dug Handsome and myself out of the 
drifted sand, and pitched camp here; 
then I strolled up that wide valley and 
fairly stumbled over you and your two 
pards. It looked for a spell as though 
you lay right where the flyin' machine 
had dropped you, and that about all that 
was left of you was ree-mains. But I 
was wrong, for all three of you were 
alive. Two swallows of water made 
Vandeever sit up and talk; then I began 
to get the hang o’ things. I was playin' 
in great luck, W. J., and you and your 
friends were doing the same." 

The suddenness with which his uncle 
had stepped out of the role of a con- 
firmed invalid, and spread himself over 
the country in active pursuit of what 
was left of his hundred thousand dol- 
lars, was a matter of consuming wonder 
to Whipple. Now that Uncle Wes had 
a long life ahead of him, nothing was 
more natural than that he should want 
his money back again. 

“I should say we were in luck!” de- 
clared Whipple. 

“You understand I've got a right to 
take back what's left of my money?” 

“Of course ! Why, Uncle Wes, I was 
planning to return it to you." 

“You're shy something like twenty- 
five thousand, W. J.," said the old tight- 
wad. “Are you willin’ to make it up 
to me ?" 

“You’re a nice kind of an uncle, you 
old skinflint !" yelped Vandeever. 
“After tellin’ W. J. to go out and spend 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


49 


the dinero, you're now crawfishin' on 
your own game. How can he give you 
back what he hasn't got ?" 

“There's an extry twenty thousand 
in cash in the satchel," remarked Uncle 
Wes, “and forty thousand in Liberty 
Bonds." 

“You can't have them, uncle," said 
Whipple; “they belong to the Eudora 
bank — LaDue's loot." 

“There's a reward of five thousand 
dollars out for capturin' the robbers," 
returned Uncle Wes cannily, “and ten 
per cent of all the loot recovered. That 
means eleven thousand cornin' to you. 
That would help some." 

“Part of the reward goes to Charley 
and Simmons," Whipple told his uncle, 
“but you can have my third of it." 

“Then there's somethin' else," pur- 
sued Uncle Wes. “You gave Muggy- 
one Mike Moloney fifty dollars, and the 
old hassayamper used it for a grubstake, 
drawin' up an agreement with you, 
signin' it and leavin' it with Felix Van- 
nell at the Fordham. And I'll be blessed 
if Muggyone didn't prance right out 
into the Phoenix Mountains and drop 
onto a true fissure that everybody has 
walked over for the last fifty years! 
The rock goes fifty dollars to the ton, 
and already Muggyone has been offered 
a big price for his find. Muggyone 
located that prospect, filed on it, and had 
the big offer to buy all in less'n ten 
days ! Fastest work on ree-cord ; and 
the only time in his hull rovin’ life that 
Muggyone ever had any luck. It hasn't 
run much in his line." 

“You three go ahead and sleep," Un- 
cle Wes continued; “I'm goin' to sit 
up and keep the fire blazin' bright. The 
sheriff and his posse are trailin' around 
in this part of the hills, and I'm tryin' 
to signal 'em. I'm readin' a right in- 
terestin' book you had in the satchel 
with all that money — the last writings 
of Johnson Blue." 

“Go ahead and read it," urged Van- 
deever, as he fell back on the sand and 
turned over on his side; “if you wasn't 
such an iron-clad old hiderack, mebby 
them words of Blue's would get under 
your skin and do some good. But it 

4A TN 


won't do no harm to give 'em a chance, 
anyways." 

CHAPTER XVII. 

AN UNRECORDED ANSWER. 

IT is all a part of history now — the 
1 sudden and meteoric rise of one 
Wesley J. Whipple, who rode into 
Phoenix one spring day scattering bal- 
lads all along the trail from the Three- 
ply Mine to town. His story, as one 
gleans it from the papers, reads like 
a tale from “The Thousand and One 
Nights." 

First, there was Uncle Wesley Plun- 
kett McDougal, deceiving himself — 
with the help of Doc Flickinger — into 
believing he was already climbing the 
foothills of the Great Divide, and was 
to be over the summit in three months 
to a day, almost to an hour. Then came 
the queer proceeding whereby Uncle 
Wes, executing a right-about from his 
miserly habits, gave his nephew outright 
one hundred thousand dollars to spend 
and enjoy; and a few days later, in a 
spirit of rich comedy, the record tells 
of Doctor Mixinger, of Prescott, prov- 
ing to the old prospector, by stern meth- 
ods, that his heart was all right and that 
he still had thirty years to live. There 
were chuckles in Phoenix over that, and 
more chuckles over the way Old Plunks 
went into the hills hunting for his van- 
ished nephew and what remained of 
the hundred thousand. 

All Arizona knew, in due course, how 
Whipple and Vandeever and their hired 
aviator, Simmons, had been cast away 
in the mysterious Lost Creek Canon, 
and there had been found by LaDue, 
Hornaday, and Geohegan, fresh from 
Saddleback Flats where they had missed 
a gay scheme of plunder only to con- 
nect with it again in Blue’s pocket 
among the hills. How Whipple and his 
comrades had turned the tables on La- 
Due and his men, left them in the 
canon, and almost perished on their 
way out of the hills, were but parts of 
a story told over and over in store and 
dwelling, among the mines and on the 
cattle ranges. 

And the “kick" which fate had put 


50 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


into this particular angle of the affair 
was wrapped up in the fact that Mc- 
Dougal himself was the one who had 
found and rescued his nephew, Van- 
deever, and Simmons; not only getting 
back what remained of his money, but 
also — and this was the big, the marvel- 
ous thing as it turned out — finding the 
book of Johnson Blue and developing 
an absorbed interest in the wastrel's 
sound philosophy. 

The whole Southwest learned how the 
sheriff and posse in their flivver caught 
smoke signals from the camp at the 
water hole, made for it, and learned 
about the bank looters trapped and held 
in Lost Creek Canon. Vandeever, his 
sight restored, but with eyes protected 
by smoked glasses, furnished by Uncle 
Wes, piloted the law officers along the 
shallow valley, over the ridge, through 
the seam, and so to the canon. There 
the wily LaDue and his two roughneck 
confederates were captured with very 
little trouble, and landed behind the bars 
of the building in the courthouse plaza 
in Phoenix. After the courts had dealt 
with them, they were taken to another 
place of stone walls and bars for an 
extended stay. 

Bad news, however, was current re- 
garding Mogollon Mike Moloney and 
the fifty-dollar grubstake furnished by 
Whipple. Originally it had been be- 
stowed as a free gift to an old friend, 
but so “white” was Moloney in his in- 
tentions that, in secret, he drew up a 
grubstake agreement and deposited it 
with Felix Vanned in trust for Whip- 
ple. The mine was sold ultimately for 
fifty thousand dollars. Of this amount, 
however, Whipple received nothing, as 
Moloney lost the entire amount in set- 
tling gambling debts, which he incurred 
on the strength of his find. Whipple’s 
fifty dollars, cast as bread upon the 
waters, therefore never returned to him, 
and the incident could not be included 
among the dazzling romances of the 
mining country. But, as Whipple re- 
marked, he had expected nothing and 
therefore could not be disappointed. 

The bank reward went share and 
share alike to Whipple, Vandeever, and 
Simmons. And Vandeever and Sim- 


mons were not forgotten by Whipple ; 
for when the latter bought a ranch near 
Prescott, Charley Van had an interest 
in it and acted as foreman; and Sim- 
mons, who started wrong, but caught 
himself up through the writings of the 
late Johnson Blue, was also given a 
position. 

The right kind of prosperity dawned 
for everybody; and, seemingly, it had 
root in that little book of Johnson 
Blue’s. Strangest of all, perhaps, was 
the effect the book had on Wesley 
Plunkett McDougal. So fascinated was 
he with the weird record and its gems 
of wisdom, that he borrowed the book 
and kept it for two weeks. When he 
returned it to his nephew he was a 
changed man. As Doctor Alfred Mix- 
inger had undeceived him regarding his 
health, so Johnson Blue’s posthumous 
influence altered his whole conception 
of life. 

Uncle Wes wanted to return the sev- 
enty-five thousand dollars to Whipple, 
declaring that he had given it in good 
faith and should not take it back. But 
Whipple insisted that he had no right 
to the money, quoted Blue to support 
his argument, and refused flatly to ac- 
cept it. 

Although overruled on this point, Un- 
cle Wes was like the Rock of Gibraltar 
in refusing to let his nephew make up 
any of the amount he had spent. 

“I wasn’t to invest any of the hundred 
thousand, Uncle Wes,” argued Whipple, 
“but it seems that I did that unwittingly. 
If Charley and I hadn't bought the aero- 
plane we should not have been cast 
away in Lost Creek Canon and should 
not have been able to recover the bank’s 
money or get the reward for capturing 
LaDue and his two pals.” 

“I’m standing pat,” growled Uncle 
Wes obstinately. “Blue’s book is a les- 
son for tightwads as well as for spend- 
thrifts, and I’m taking my lesson to 
heart. From now on, by gorry, I’m 
going to pay taxes, and every cent I’ve 
got goes into taxable bonds. I owe 
that to a land that can produce a man 
like Johnson Blue. Hereafter, W. J., 
I’m going to live like a white man. Get 
me? I’ve got my health, and I’m going 


DOLLARS ROMANTIC 


51 


after some of the brightness and hap- 
piness Doctor Mixinger mentioned. 
And there’s that Galusha Mingo invest- 
ment, my boy; and then, the rest of 
it. When’s the wedding? I'm going to 
buy a present for that affair that will 
cost a wad of money. When’s it to be?” 

Here was something else again. Un- 
cle Wes referred to an event that hap- 
pened when Whipple, coming out of 
the hills, stopped for a night at Jimmie 
Haight’s cabin in Apache Draw. Uncle 
Wes had to return the burro he had 
borrowed, a long-eared, camp-raiding 
pack animal who was called Handsome 
because he was so ugly. Galusha Mingo 
and Katie were there, it will be remem- 
bered, and hence Whipple was very 
anxious to stop. 

He was welcomed with open arms by 
Mingo, and with much happiness by 
Katie. To both of them he recited the 
adventures that had followed his at- 
tempt to get to Los Angeles by aeroplane 
so that, aided and abetted by Concho 
Charley Vandeever, he could spend 
largely and acquire most for his money. 

“What a blessing you were wrecked 
in a canon,” commented Galusha Mingo, 
“where you couldn’t spend a cent !” 

“No; you are wrong, Mr. Mingo,” 
corrected Whipple; “the blessing came 
to me in the form of a book written by 
the late Johnson Blue. But we’ll not 
discuss that.” 

He finished his recital, Katie listen- 
ing breathlessly. 

“All very good,” approved Galusha 
Mingo. “Capturing the robbers and re- 
covering the money has caused you to 
get ahead in spite of yourself. No 
doubt you have wondered about the 
ten thousand dollars which I pried out 
of you. Well, I’ll tell about that. Katie 
and I were worried to see you spending 
your money so foolishly, so we laid 
our plans to save some of it for you. 
With the money you let me have, W. J., 
I bought an option on Holdover’s big 
brick block. He was hard up and eager 
to sell, and my option called for a bar- 
gain and gave me thirty days for a 
turnover. 

“I didn’t need the thirty days,” he 
continued. “In just a week I disposed 


of the option for twenty thousand dol- 
lars, and I am holding the profit for 
you. It would be a start, you see. 

“I want you to know, W. J.,” added 
Mingo earnestly, “that I didn’t take that 
money for myself. It was a plot of 
Katie’s and mine to help you; and I 
had to draw on my psychology and pro- 
ceed by indirection in order to be of 
any assistance to you. Katie has wor- 
ried about that, and the false position 
in which she has apparently placed her- 
self.” 

“We’ll talk that over,” said W’hipple 
to Mingo. “Suppose we take a walk 
down the draw, Katie ?” he asked. 

They took their walk ; and by a spring 
under a cottonwood tree they sat down, 
and Katie began to speak of Mamie and 
Lorena. 

“I want to tell you about Mamie and 
Lorena, Katie,” Whipple interrupted. 
“If you will remember, I met those two 
girls at a party at your house. You in- 
troduced me to them. Whenever I came 
into town with a little money to spend, 
Mamie and Lorena were all for helping 
me get rid of it, while you were always 
asking me to put it in the bank — or pay 
my debts. 

“Well, you know, debts never both- 
ered me much. I was always for let- 
ting the other fellow worry. Too free 
and easy, you understand, but with not 
a desire to beat anybody out of what 
was his just due. I just couldn’t seem 
to get the hang of that. I wanted a lot, 
and thirty a week won’t go very far. 
Your constant talk of saving rather 
jarred on me, so I turned to Mamie 
and Lorena. There I made my big 
mistake. That night I plunged with 
you to the extent of fifteen dollars and 
forty cents, and you called me down 
— oh, very nicely ! — for doing it ; I felt 
as though all the fun had been taken 
out of the evening. But always, I want 
you to know, I had a thousand thoughts 
of Katie Mingo where I had one of 
Mamie or Lorena. That’s how I felt, 
deep down in my heart.” 

There was that in his eyes, at this 
moment, which brought a vivid flush to 
Katie’s cheeks. And when he took her 
hand she did not withdraw it. 


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“I was worried, over there in Lost 
Creek Canon, Katie,” Whipple went on. 
“You see, Johnson Blue, when he was a 
bookkeeper at a hundred a month, lost 
his heart to a girl named Ethel. That’s 
the only part of her name that appears 
in his book. Just ‘Ethel/ If I had the 
full name and address, I’d go personally 
to tell Ethel what happened to Johnson 
Blue. Well, when Blue got his million 
dollars from his uncle, and began hav- 
ing high jinks with it, it appears that 
Ethel reproved him for his spendthrift 
habits — just as you reproved me, I im- 
agine. And Blue felt annoyed, and went 
his own way, and finally found himself 
a prisoner in Lost Creek Canon, with 
only eighteen cents in his pocket and 
the girl whom he loved married to a 
better man. 

“That’s what worried me, there in 
the canon, Katie. What if you married 
a better man while I was reading John- 
son Blue and seeing the error of my 
ways and making a firm resolution to 
be different — if I ever got out of that 
pocket? What if ” 

“Wesley,” said Katie softly, “it wasn’t 
possible.” 

“What wasn’t possible?” demanded 
Whipple, a wild suspicion stabbing at 
his heart. 

“Why,” answered Katie, her eyes low- 


ered, “that I could marry a better man 
than — than you!” 

The wild suspicion that Katie might 
be pledged to another at once took 
wings. 

“And will you marry me, Katie?” 
asked Whipple. “I have prospects now ; 
and, thanks to Johnson Blue, I can be 
all that your father would have me. 
Katie, look up! Tell me if I am going 
to be the happiest man that ever lived ?” 

What Katie said it is not necessary 
to put down here ; for her answer stood 
revealed in that question of Uncle Wes- 
ley’s: “When’s the wedding?” Whip- 
ple, very joyfully, told him “when was” 
the wedding, and Uncle Wes shook his 
hand hard. 

“Katie’s the girl I had picked for 
you all along,” he averred. “She hasn’t 
been proud of Old Plunks in the past, 
I reckon, but that’s all going to be 
changed from now on. And some day, 
W. j.,” he added earnestly, “I want you 
to take me to Lost Creek Canon.” 

“What for?” asked Whipple curi- 
ously. 

“I want to put a ten-dollar wreath on 
the grave of Johnson Blue,” was the 
answer. 

And that, to any one who had known 
the old Uncle Wes, was something for 
him to say. 


LURE OF THE SEA 

By Francis Warren 

T'HE blue waters dance to the song of the breeze, 

1 And the incoming waves break and feather ; 
There is sparkle and snap in the quick-running seas, 
And the signs that proclaim sailing weather. 


The boats in the offing all tug at their chains, 

From the dainty white yacht to the liner, 

And the battered old tramp wallows deep and complains 
As she chafes at the bonds that confine her. 

The east wind is ruffling the water in glee, 

Till the tossing tops chuckle together ; 

And the wanderlust’s call from the sun-dappled sea 
Holds the sailorman’s heart in a tether. 



Mile 


of Gab ^ 


j y 

CKarleslT Jordan* 

V — y 


(GOMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE) 


CHAPTER I. 

CADY TAKES NOTICE. 

T was warm for November. 
Sheltered by an oak near the 
south end of the oval, Coach 
Cady sighed in relief and 
started his watch, as Warren 
at last got the nondescript line of en- 
trants away to a fairly even break. 

The pistol and his duty discharged, 
Warren sauntered down to the place 
where the coach stood, reaching the 
giant oak as the leaders of the free- 
for-all four-mile cross-country gallop 
rounded the south turn of the first of 
the two laps they must cover before 
leaving the oval and taking to the hills. 
“Some turnout !” he said, and laughed. 

Cady’s countenance faintly reflected 
the captain’s expression. “I doubt if 
there’s a distance runner among the 
newcomers,” he remarked, eying them 
critically. “Look at ’em ! Run like a 
pack of goats — except Keeler.” 

Keeler, though not a wonder, was 
the most dependable of the previous 
season’s milers. 

“Who is that gawky hoosier running 
at Keeler’s side?” Cady added, as the 


leaders turned into the second lap. He 
referred to a chap well over six feet 
tall, in striped trousers and tennis slip- 
pers, with a pair‘of legs that would have 
made a giraffe jealous. 

“Hanged if I know,” Captain Warren 
replied. “I’ve seen him around the 
campus the last couple of years, but I’m 
sure he hasn’t been out for athletics be- 
fore. Runs like a camel,” he added, 
laughing. 

“You said it! But what does all the 
lip movement mean? The darned fool 
is talking to Keeler, or my eyes are 
fooling me !” 

“He sure is ! But he won’t keep that 
up long. Once they get out into the 
hilly country he’ll wish he’d saved his 
breath.” 

The second lap completed, Keeler and 
his awkwardly built companion still 
leading, the runners left the cindered 
oval and disappeared through the wide 
north gateway. 

“Pretty fair clip, at that,” mumbled 
Cady, consulting his watch. “Two- 
twenty is strong for the first half mile 
of a long go.” 

Warren agreed. “But they’ll slow 
down soon. The first quarter mile of 



54 


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grade climbing will take the sap out of 
most of them.” * 

For a time they discussed the dis- 
couraging prospects for the coming 
track season. Then Cady, glancing to- 
ward the north gate, stiffened in sur- 
prise. “The mischief, Warren ! They’re 
back!” 

The amazed track captain verified the 
coach’s statement. “And the bird with 
the camel stride! He’s still at Keeler’s 
side!” 

“And he’s still talking !” Cady gulped. 
“Why, they haven’t been gone fifteen 
minutes !” 

Almost stupefied, the two men 
watched the runners reenter the oval, 
where the last mile was to be run, and 
start down the long straightaway. None 
of the other contenders appeared until 
the leaders had circuited the first lap. 
Then a weary trio struggled in, and 
took to the path, a lap and twenty yards 
behind the pace setters. 

Keeler seemed far from fresh. His 
breathing was obviously labored, and 
occasionally he faltered in his stride. 
But the other man amazed the watchers 
most. His stride was ungainly — almost 
impossible — but seemingly he experi- 
enced no difficulty in the task of filling 
and emptying his lungs. 

The most surprising thing about the 
lofty young speed burner, though, was 
his mouth. He was keeping up a run- 
ning fire of talk every step of the way. 
Warren and Cady did not rely on their 
eyes alone to verify this, for each time 
the runners passed near enough they 
could hear the fellow’s voice! 

“Why, it’s impossible !” exclaimed the 
coach. “Who ever heard of a distance 
runner wdth wind to spare for conversa- 
tion?” 

When three laps had been covered, 
Keeler’s companion turned to question 
him. The nod of the well-known runner 
evidently satisfied the other, for he 
turned straight ahead and increased his 
speed. 

“I’m blamed if he isn’t going to sprint 
the rest of the way!” exclaimed Cady, 
and started for the north end of the 
oval, Warren keeping step with him 
with difficulty. 


Cady was right. Perhaps the weird 
gallop into which the tall runner broke 
could not properly be called a sprint, 
but it certainly was a distance consumer. 

The coach and captain reached the fin- 
ish line as, with a wild swinging of his 
long arms, and an irregular but unbe- 
lievably rapid placing of one foot be- 
fore the other, this well-nigh indescrib- 

f .ble runner plunged toward the string 
hey held breast-high between them. 

Cady caught the time as the tall one’s 
wide chest broke the cotton strand, and 
hand outstretched, hastened toward the 
strange runner. But Cady was not 
quick enough. For some reason this 
modern marathoner did not pause at the 
finish, but charged on through the open 
gateway and disappeared frbm sight. 

CHAPTER II. 

“talking” TIBBETTS. 

T'EN seconds later Keeler stumbled in. 
1 When the star runner had recov- 
ered his wind somewhat, Cady ques- 
tioned him eagerly. “Who was your 
tall friend?” 

The miler smiled feebly. “A bear, 
eh? Never met him before. Tibbets, 
he said his name was — Tarkington Tib- 
betts. Should have been Talking’ Tib- 
betts, believe me!” 

“I could see he wagged his tongue a 
good bit,” put in Cady. “Guess he 
didn’t keep it up while you were climb- 
ing hills, though?” 

“On the contrary, he talked every 

step of the way ! Man, he ” 

“Which reminds me,” interrupted the 
coach, glancing at his stop watch. “Did 
you fellows cover the entire course?” 

“I’ll say we did! If you felt like 
I do now, you’d know you’d gone four 
miles, and then some. Why ? Was the 
time fair?” 

“Fair!” Cady cleared his throat. 
“That humap giraffe made it in just 
three seconds under twenty-one min- 
utes!” 

Keeler’s lips puckered, but he was 
too tired to force a whistle through 
them. “Why,” he said falteringly, 
“that’s almost two minutes better than 


HIS MILE OF GAB 


55 


ever has been made over this particular 
course !” 

“I’m aware of that,” agreed Cady. He 
turned to the track captain. “You say 
Tibbetts has been at Kenyon two 
years?” 

Warren nodded. 

“And never reported for track ! 
That’s the limit — with our shortage of 
long-distance material. Wonder why 
he hustled out so soon? Didn’t even 
pause to say hello. Any idea, Keeler?” 

“He told me he was in a hurry,’’ the 
miler replied. “Said he had to catch a 
train for San Francisco as soon as pos- 
sible after the race was over. Going 
to spend the week-end there.” 

“I see. Wonder where he’s from? 
I’ve never heard of a prep-school ath- 
lete in* these parts named Tibbetts.” 

“Up country somewhere,” volunteered 
Keeler. “Said he ran at a picnic once, 
but outside of that was inexperienced.” 

“We’ll see that he gets plenty of ex- 
perience,” promised Cady. “The idea 
of his sitting idle — despite his crude 
style — while Kenyon’s up in the air for 
lack of a miler ! Know where he’s stav- 
ing?” 

“That I can’t say,” spoke Keeler, by 
now breathing more easily. “I didn’t 
ask many questions. I needed all my 
wind. I contented myself with listen- 
ing to whatever Tibbetts had to say.” 

“Don’t blame you!” commented War- 
ren. “Tibbetts must be a funny duck. 
What did he talk about, anyway?” 

“What didn’t he talk about!” Keeler 
laughed. “He started out with a bit 
of autobiography almost before we’d 
covered fifty yards. The second lap he 
became eloquent on the decadence of 
the theater. As we left the field he 
mentioned that he had to catch the earli- 
est train possible for San Francisco, 
and from then on he hit on high, touch- 
ing on everything from cabarets to the 
Einstein theory!” 

“The deuce!” said Cady. “Tibbetts 
must be a prodigious reader.” 

“I’ll bet! But he was a scream when 
we got back to the oval. He has a stock 
of yarns that would make a monologist 
jealous. But he got in a hurry when 


he learned there only remained one lap 
to go, said good-by, and lit out.” 

“Too bad some of the sporting scribes 
weren’t on hand,” Cady mused aloud. 
“They sure would have had material 
for a write-up. But, Warren,” he ad- 
dossed the captain, “do you realize 
what this means to us? Once educate 
Tibbetts in the fine points of running, 
and little old Kenyon will have a world 
beater on her hands!” 

Warren nodded. “If he can perform 
as he did to-day, needlessly wasting his 
wind gabbing, what won’t he be able 
to do gagged ?” 

Cady made inquiry, and Monday eve- 
ning found Tibbetts in his room at 
Mrs. Wheeler’s boarding house. Inside 
of five minutes he secured his promise 
to report for track in the spring. He 
asked the six-foot junior why he had 
not tried for something earlier. 

“I never thought I could run to 
amount to anything,” was Tibbetts’ re- 
ply. “I imagined it would be wasting 
my time and the college’s. I entered 
the cross-country just for the fun of it. 
You more than surprise me! I had no 
idea we were making fast time.” 

“Keeler said you hadn’t done much 
running,” put in the coach. 

“Oh, I’ve run plenty, chasing jack 
rabbits and squirrels over the farm,” the 
big fellow enlightened the amused Cady. 
“But as for racing, once at a Fourth 
of July picnic was the only time. I en- 
tered the mile, and got badly beaten by 
a shrimp who hardly came up to my 
shoulder. But I think I beat myself at 
that. I let him set the pace, and he 
set it slow. We were both fresh as 
new-laid eggs the last hundred yards, 
but he was a better sprinter than I. 
If we’d traveled faster at the start I 
might have won.” 

Cady understood. “Wait till we get 
you in track togs, Tibbetts! A little 
better form, no gas wasted on conver- 
sation, and ” 

“I don’t waste wind when I talk,” 
the young giant protested. “I think 
that’s how I keep myself from getting 
tired. It keeps my mind off the run- 
ning, and makes things sociable.” 


56 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Cady nodded dubiously, but let it go 
at that for the present. 

CHAPTER III. 

MARVEL IN SPIKES. 

E7ARLY in March the Kenyon track 
^ squad was summoned by Cady to 
active duty. True to his word, Tark- 
ington Tibbetts, resplendent in a pur- 
ple upper and pink silk trunks, appeared 
on the oval the first day of outdoor 
training. Cady laughed up his sleeve 
at the big man's get-up, and many oth- 
ers laughed openly. 

Tibbetts, however, didn't seem to 
mind their bantering. “You just tell 
me what you want," he confidentially 
informed the trainer, “and I'll do the 
rest." 

Cady had him jog a few laps with 
Keeler, who with the greatest patience 
endeavored to teach him how better to 
control his stride, which was a thing 
of surprising irregularity. But some- 
how Tibbetts couldn't make his nether 
limbs behave. 

Cady watched them in silence until 
Tibbetts recalled a story he simply had 
to tell. Obviously it was a funny one, 
for Keeler's sides began to quake. The 
coach, unable to control himself longer, 
burst out, addressing no one in particu- 
lar : 

“Track is no place for an elocutionist! 
Tibbetts simply has got to learn to hold 
his tongue! He — why, look at Keeler. 
He's shaking like a jellyfish." 

And Keeler was. The point of Tib- 
betts’ yarn no doubt was a rib tickler. 
Unable to listen longer and continue 
to run, the well-known miler stumbled 
from the track, dropped to the short-cut 
grass of the inner field, and laughed 
long and heartily. Tibbetts continued 
placidly on his way. 

At last Keeler got to his feet and 
walked to the place where the coach 
was standing. “Cady," the runner pro- 
tested, “I can’t train with that fellow 
around. He’s the limit — saps your en- 
durance. If you want me to accomplish 
anything, you'd better let me train by 
myself." 

“Just what I've been thinking, Keeler. 


And vice versa, I’ll have Tibbetts do 
his running solo fashion. It is the only 
thing that will teach him to keep his 
mind on the race. To-morrow that will 
be the schedule. I've been wondering," 
Cady added, looking the other slowly 
over, “how you'd like to tackle the two- 
mile run this year?" 

“Do you think I’d stand a show?" 

“More so than in the mile. Last 
fall’s cross-country showed me that you 
had more endurance than I'd counted 
on. I'm confident that Tibbetts, prop- 
erly trained, will make a much better 
miler than you, and it will be some sat- 
isfaction to have a capable runner in 
both events. It will let you train apart 
from Tibbetts without hurting his feel- 
ings." And so it was settled. 

March passed, and early April wore 
on. But somehow the course of soli- 
tary training Cady outlined for the awk- 
ward junior was not turning out as 
well as expected. True, running alone, 
Tibbetts had no inclination to talk; but 
just as truly he seemed to have less 
inclination to cover territory at the nec- 
essary rate of speed. 

After mature thought Cady decided 
to make a right-about-face in his train- 
ing tactics. “I guess Tibbetts was right 
that night in his room," he mused. “The 
less he thinks about his running, the 
better he runs; the more he talks, the 
less he thinks about his running. Tib- 
betts shall talk to his heart’s content!" 

The following afternoon four aspir- 
ants who stood no show to make the 
team were delegated to fraternize with 
the strange phenomenon with the vocal 
slant; and so well did the plan work 
after a week’s trial that Tibbetts, run- 
ning against time, but with a congenial 
and appreciative listener for each lap 
of the journey, talking to his utmost 
desire, literally burned up the path. 

CHAPTER IV. 

MILLER OF MAXWELL. 

JMEN like “Talking" Tibbetts are dis- 
tinct rarities. Though his prowess 
as a miler was kept fairly well under 
cover, his skill as a running comedian 
could not long be held secret. The 


HIS MILE OF GAB 


57 


sporting writers soon appreciated the 
novelty of his peculiar manner of run- 
ning, and in the press there appeared 
many stories, true and imagined, of the 
newly discovered phenomenon. 

But Tibbetts did not monopolize the 
sporting columns long. Soon an awe- 
inspiring tale from Maxwell College, 
Kenyon's strongest rival for athletic 
supremacy, saw print — a glowing story 
about a Maxwell discovery named Mil- 
ler, who was reputed to have run the 
mile, unpaced, in four minutes and nine- 
teen seconds. Coach Cady felt anxious 
after he had read the newspaper ar- 
ticle. 

Toward the end of April there ap- 
peared in Heywood, the little town 
where Kenyon was located, a man with 
a pocketful of money. “Perhaps I'll 
scare you folks off when I tell you that 
Maxwell has a wonderful miler in Mil- 
ler/' he addressed a crowd in one of 
the local poolrooms. “But he's such a 
wiz that I've simply got to talk about 
him. Boys, he's a natural runner, and 
it is my candid opinion that he can beat 
any mile runner in the United States 
at the present time. I'll back Miller 
and his college with my roll in the 
Maxwell-Kenyon dual meet." 

Though it had not got into the pa- 
pers, it had leaked locally that Talking 
Tibbetts’ abilities had been greatly un- 
derrated. Some even went so far as 
to say that, paced in secret by four 
men, each running a quarter of the dis- 
tance, Tibbetts had, early one morning, 
covered a mile at a greater rate of speed 
than that distance ever had been trav- 
eled by a human being on foot — at least 
that he had beaten every mark on rec- 
ord. 

It was perfectly true that Cady had 
put the talkative runner through his 
paces in the cool of dawn; but as to 
whether Tibbetts had really performed 
as some of the wise ones whispered was 
an open question. Cady, though obvi- 
ously elated, had positively refused to 
allow any one to glimpse the dial of 
his split-second watch. Naturally the 
stranger didn't experience much diffi- 
culty in finding covering for his money. 

With Tibbetts alone a big drawing 


card, it seemed certain that the Kenyon 
stadium would hold a bigger crowd than 
ever before in its history, considering 
the added attraction, Miller of Max- 
well. 

At ten o'clock on the morning of May 
fourth, the Maxwell track squad, and 
a rooting contingent of three times its 
normal size, arrived in Heywood by a 
special train. Enthusiasm was at fever 
heat. 

The visiting athletes lunched at the 
Kenyon training table, and Talking Tib- 
betts was introduced to a rosy-cheeked, 
Jight-haired chap of splendid physique. 
“Meet Miller of Maxwell, Tibbetts," a 
Maxwell man, who had struck up an ac- 
quaintance with the latter during the 
forenoon, said cordially. 

Tibbetts shook hands with Miller, 
moved over near him, and inside a few 
seconds was off on a conversation fest 
at the rate of a hundred and twenty- 
six words a minute. 

Cady silently watched his charge, and 
noted that, though he seemed absorbed 
in his own talk, Tibbetts shot occasional 
and hasty glances at a short, dark Max- 
well man sitting at one end of the long 
table. Cady almost thought that he 
could detect a hint of recognition in the 
six-footer's eyes. 

CHAPTER V. 

WITH THE GUN. 

I N the Kenyon stadium the atmosphere 
1 was tense with uncertainty as the 
milers were summoned to their marks. 
Kenyon led by five points, and there 
remained only the mile and the relay, 
the five points of which were unani- 
mously conceded to the visitors, and 
would offset Kenyon's lead, and make 
it imperative that she place first in the. 
mile if victory were to be hers. Only 
first places were counted. 

The warmth reminded Cady, nervously 
pacing up and down near the starting 
post, of that November day when first 
he had seen Tibbetts run. Though cer- 
tain that his charge was in perfect con- 
dition, the possibility of Miller's setting 
too stiff a pace worried him. 

The runners lined up, and Cady no- 


58 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


ticed among them the short, dark chap 
at whom Tibbetts had glanced several 
times at lunch. The superbly built Mil- 
ler drew the pole, and Tibbetts fell in 
beside him, the dark-haired fellow draw- 
ing fifth in the line made up of three 
wearers of the Maxwell black, and two 
Kenyon representatives. 

The starter uttered two terse com- 
mands, then the gun barked. They were 
off! 

Cady glued his eyes to the inside man, 
and true to his expectations, he darted 
away at a quarter-mile gait, Talking 
Tibbetts, a smile on his boyish face, 
gaining his side within the first twenty 
yards. The pace was utterly impossi- 
ble to keep up for a mile, Cady realized 
instantly, but he could not repress a grin 
as the runners rounded the first turn, 
for already Tibbetts was up to his usual 
tactics. Cady could not comprehend 
how the junior could possibly talk while 
moving his legs so rapidly; but talking 
he was, beyond a doubt. Already a * 
smile was. engulfing Miller’s face. 

They tore along the back stretch, and 
at the lower curve Cady saw Tibbetts 
cast a brief glance backward to where 
the others, fifty yards behind, were run- 
ning. The dark-faced Maxwell man 
led the trio bringing up the rear, and 
Cady observed that he ran easily, ap- 
parently unhurried and unworried. 
Something about him seemed to suggest 
latent power, and sent a feeling of un- 
certainty through the coach’s body. He 
turned to watch the leaders. 

They were coming up the home 
stretch of the first lap, Tibbetts still 
talking, and his running mate obviously 
interested. But there was something in 
Tibbetts’ face that Cady did not like, 
and it became more pronounced as they 
drew nearer. 

As they arrived at the north turn for 
the second time, Cady felt a lump rise 
in his throat. Awkward and uneven 
Tibbetts’ stride always had been; but 
never before had the trainer seen him 
lean from side to side as he ran. Un- 
doubtedly something was wrong. 

Even as he watched, Talking Tibbetts, 
an odd look in his eyes, lurched and 
almost fell. Gradually Miller pulled 


ahead. Running crazily, much slower 
now, Kenyon’s mainstay seemed about 
to drop out. As he turned into the 
back stretch, though still wabbling, Tib- 
betts seemed to have gained some con- 
trol over himself, but his cheeks were 
pallid, and he appeared to be gasping 
for wind. 

A hand touched Cady’s shoulder. It 
was Warren, the track cafptain. “Tough 
luck!” he mumbled. “The pace was 
too darned stiff!” 

Cady did not reply. Instead a puz- 
zled look came into his eyes as he 
watched Miller. The leader had turned, 
and lessened his pace on beholding Tib- 
betts’ apparent predicament. Then, a 
grin stretching nearly from ear to ear, 
he threw up his hands, and stepped from 
the track, dropping, obviously amused, 
to the grass-covered ground of the in- 
ner field. 

Cady winced, and, seizing a program 
Warren held, turned hurriedly to the 
mile event. “I should have looked be- 
fore !” he exclaimed, glancing up to 
verify the number pinned to the back 
of the dark-faced runner, now within 
fifteen yards of Tibbetts. “Warren, 
we’ve been miserably fooled — Tibbetts 
has been tricked out of victory!” 

Warren’s face showed his surprise. 
“What’s wrong?” 

“Everything! It’s plain as day now. 
All the talk about Miller being so speedy 
at the start was camouflage! Maxwell 
has two Millers running, and the won- 
der miler is that fellow with the almost 
black hair!” 

Warren understood instantly. “And 
the other only entered as a pace maker, 
to draw Tibbetts out early, and kill his 
chances.” 

“Precisely! I hardly expected to see 
Tibbetts blow up that soon, though. 
Look! The real Miller, the dangerous 
one, is abreast him now !” 

It was as the coach pointed out. But 
the dark lagger’s arrival seemed to re- 
vive Tibbetts somewhat. A smile 
crossed his face, and Cady and Warren 
distinctly heard the conversationalist say 
gaspingly: “How do you do?” 

Almost a sneer was observable in the 
other runner’s face, as he ventured a 


HIS MILE OF GAB 


59 


reply which Cady could not hear. An 
instant later he lengthened his stride 
slightly. Though the coach expected to 
see Tibbetts gradually lose ground, he 
was amazed to see the man he had 
trained turn and deliberately wink at 
Warren and him. 

Then, to Cady's further wonder, Tib- 
betts suddenly appeared to take on a 
new lease of life, reaching and then 
keeping abreast the Maxwell runner, so 
he could not cut in ahead of him, the 
Kenyon representative began his old 
trick of tongue wagging — much to the 
other's obvious discomfort. 

“Can it be possible," Cady asked, with 
a gasp, turning to Warren, “that Talk- 
ing Tibbetts isn't so all in as he looked?" 

“Anything seems possible with Tib!" 
was the captain's reply. 

Through the balance of that lap and 
all of the next, Tibbetts caused the 
Maxwell runner almost continual dis- 
comfort. Strive as he did to circle the 
Kenyonite, Tibbetts succeeded in frus- 
trating every attempt. And through it 
all he kept up a running fire of chatter 
whose effect on his rival seemed any- 
thing but beneficial. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE LAST WORD. 

T'HE gun spoke at the start of the 
1 last lap, and Cady pivoted on his 
heels as they rounded the upper curve. 
They entered the long straightaway 
leading south, and Miller, outwitted, be- 
gan to sprint. But to every one's dum- 
foundment, Talking Tibbetts, appar- 
ently absolutely out of it less than two 
minutes before, sprinted, too. What 
was more, he beat Miller to the south- 
banked turn. He skimmed around into 
the last straightaway for home; then, 
turning back for an instant, laughed 
something back at his glowering pur- 
suer. 

The rest is Kenyon history. Some 
even go so far as to say that Tibbetts 
turned a handspring while waiting for 
the redoubtable Miller to come abreast 
again. At any rate, he did kill time 
enough to enable the black-clad athlete 
to come within hearing distance. For 


every one within earshot heard Talking 
Tibbetts take leave of the Maxwell phe- 
nom in these words : “So long, old scout ! 
See you this evening." 

And with that Tibbetts romped in to 
victory, and a bewildered coach's arms. 

“Oh, that lurchy stuff?" he began 
laughingly when, a moment later, Cady 
asked him a question. “I was telling 
the other Miller — the pacemaker — a 
story about an intoxicated man, and was 
giving him an imitation of how he 
walked. Then an inspiration seized me, 
and I finished by shouting to him that 
I was all in. I wasn’t, but I would 
have been if I had stuck to him another 
lap. 

“You see, Cady," Tibbetts went on, 
“I kept with him that far to make sure 
he didn't intend to finish. I had a 
hunch the other Miller was the danger- 
ous one. But I had to be sure. From 
the way the leading one breathed when 
I left him I knew I was safe. All the 
rest of it was just make-believe. I tried 
to kid the hard man into thinking I 
couldn't hold out. And I guess I got 
his goat, all right." 

“I guess you did," chimed in Cady. 
“But how the deuce did you spot him 
for the real phenom? His time was 
good, all right; for you both beat four 
minutes and twenty-one seconds." 

“That good ? Whew ! Oh, as for the 
really good Miller. You see, Cady, I 
have run against him before. He beat 
me the last time, at that Fourth of July 
picnic I told you about. But to-day, 
I guess I " 

“You got in the last word, Tibbetts!" 
Cady slapped him loudly on the back. 
“You talked him out of it — and by do- 
ing so you saved the day for Kenyon !" 

Just then, perhaps for the first time 
in his life — at least, when he was awake 
— Talking Tibbetts, emulating the well- 
known clam, said nothing. But there 
was a smile on his ruddy face. 


And Then Some 

r^lSSlE: “Miss Oldbird keeps me 
^ guessing. I never know what she 
is about." 

Doris: “Oh, she's about forty-five." 



HE ex-governor had been set 
down on the program for a 
speech. That was nothing. 
Ten or twelve others were 
selected for the same thing — 
were each year. There had been no 
foreboding when he, ordinarily the soul 
of punctuality, kept the meeting waiting 
half an hour. The chairman had sim- 
ply extended the time for after-speech 
discussion of the preceding address. 

Uncle Bob, colored janitor of the 
courthouse these twenty years, seemed 
to be far more worried about the delay 
than any one else. Uncle Bob consid- 
ered himself the corner stone of all ac- 
tivity, and he was on terms of speaking 
familiarity with the ex-governor. 
When, at last, the belated one swung 
down the hallway, he pushed the door 
open with a flourish. 

“ 'Evenin', Gov’n’r Merritt. Gem- 
mens waitin' f'r you." 

Contrary to his custom, Merritt made 
no reply. Uncle Bob looked up in sur- 
prise. 

The chairman glanced up casually as 
Governor Merritt came down the aisle. 
Then he looked again, more sharply, at 
the hat tilted aside when it usually sat 


precisely in the center; at the slightly 
tousled coat ; at the clutched manuscript 
in one hand and the clenched newspaper 
in the other. Governor Merritt showed 
signs of agitation. 

The usual preliminaries of speech 
were completed in short order. Gov- 
ernor Merritt stepped to the front of 
the platform. His voice shook with 
an undercurrent of strong feeling. 

“Gentlemen of the State Bar Associa- 
tion," he began slowly, “the speech I 
am to make to you is not the speech 
I had prepared. Within the last half 
hour I have changed my subject and 
my address. One headline in this news- 
paper," holding aloft the crushed hand- 
ful, “has changed the speech I am to 
make." 

The convention showed no signs of 
unusual interest. But at his next words 
it came sharply to attention. 

“I don’t suppose there is a man in 
this auditorium who fails to remember 
the case of Grant Weeks." 

The reaction of his audience, as one 
man, was startling. The effect reached 
even old Uncle Bob, seated in his cane- 
bottomed chair, by the door. 

“That case," the ex-governor contin- 





IF THE SHOE FITS 


61 


ued, “it is an open secret, was the cause 
of my retirement from public life. So 
much criticism was heaped upon me, 
so much invective and abuse from every 
rank and walk of life, that I voluntarily 
resigned and retired. Yet I did what 
I did because I believed, before God, 
it was the right thing to do.” The 
old man's voice trembled with earnest- 
ness. His figure was bent forward, as 
if he would, by the very intensity of 
his desire, force understanding and be- 
lief. 

“My friends, able politicians,” he 
went on, “warned me that I was com- 
mitting political suicide. You know the 
truth of their predictions. But here, 
right now, before you, I shall make my 
first explanation to the public. I expect 
it, and this,” indicating the crushed 
newspaper, “to vindicate me.” 


II. 


QOVERNOR MERRITT paused to 
^ draw breath. His audience was 


rigidly attentive. 

“It is a peculiar coincidence,” he re- 
sumed, “that the trials of Grant Weeks 
were held not only in this very county, 
but in this very room. The facts, you 
will remember, were simple. A store- 
keeper was found murdered in his store. 
A stained ax lay beside him. Circum- 
stances pointed to the guilt of Grant 
Weeks. He was arrested and put on 
trial. 

“Four times he was tried for murder. 
Four times the jury brought in a ver- 
dict that called for the death penalty. 
Four times the case was appealed to a 
higher court. The first three times 
that court found fault with the trial in 
the lower court, and sent the case back 
for Weeks to be given another chance. 
The fourth time the sentence of the 
lower court was affirmed, and a date set 
for the infliction of the death penalty. 

“An appeal was made to me to com- 
mute the death sentence to life impris- 
onment. Immediately the deluge began. 
Every mail brought me letters, impor- 
tuning me to refuse to intercede. Pe- 
titions poured in upon me, signed by 
hundreds of the most influential citi- 


zens, requesting that I keep my hands 
off and let the law take its course. 
Delegations crowded my office, arguing, 
appealing, threatening. Now and then 
there would come an unsigned com- 
munication, warning me that if I saved 
the neck of'^rant Weeks I would be 
shot from ambush. Nothing during my 
entire administration aroused as much 
interest.” 

All over the auditorium there was si- 
lence. Whether Governor Merritt had 
the sympathies of his hearers, he cer- 
tainly had their undivided and absorbed 
attention. 

“And yet,” he continued, “I made up 
my mind to decide this case upon its 
merits, purely and simply. It was my 
custom to secure the court record of 
the trial, exactly as taken down by the 
stenographers in the words of the wit- 
nesses, and to read it as a prelude to 
.making up my mind. In this case there 
were, you will remember, four trials. 
There were, therefore, four records 
which had gone to a higher court. 

“I took them home with me, where 
I could be entirely alone. I read them 
— each of them — carefully. Parts I 
read over and over again. The de- 
mands of the public for the execution 
of Grant Weeks, as interpreted to me 
by my political advisers, made me want 
to be very sure before I acted. 

“The evidence against Grant Weeks 
was convincing, very convincing. It 
was almost overwhelming. But it was 
wholly circumstantial. I could not 
blame the juries that had sentenced him 
to death. In their places I should prob- 
ably have done the same thing. But 
mine was a different office. 

“As I read the record of the first 
trial, something occurred to me. I 
thought of a simple test which should 
have been tried. If it worked, well 
and good ; the man must be guilty. But 
if it failed, he could hardly be. I read 
the record more closely to the end. No- 
where had the experiment been tried. 

“The record of the second ^rial, I 
thought, as I slowly picked it up and 
began to examine it, would surely show 
that the test had been tried, and had 
demonstrated the guilt of Grant Weeks. 


62 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Of course, that having been done, I 
could do nothing but let the law take its 
course, and the public would be ap- 
peased. But the record of the second 
trial was silent on the subject. 

“I began to grow uneasy. In haste 
I scanned the record of the third trial. 
It, likewise, was silent. Hopefully, as 
a last resort, I raced through the pages 
of the last record. I could find noth- 
ing of what I looked for.” 

III. 

T'HE governor paused for a moment 
* and then continued : “To make cer- 
tain, I went again through each of the 
four records, slowly, carefully, pains- 
takingly. I had not been mistaken. The 
idea had not seemed to occur to any 
one connected with any of the four 
trials. 

“The test was simple. You will re- 
member that one of the strongest pieces 
of evidence against Grant Weeks was 
that a pair of shoes had been found 
under his barn. There were spots of 
crimson upon them. Across one of 
them was the tense 'print of a stained 
hand. 

“The whole case against Grant Weeks 
hinged upon those shoes. If he was 
the man who wore them, the rest of 
the evidence against him might be true. 
In other words, it was the contention 
of the State that the murderer wore 
those shoes. 

“I wanted to know whether those 
shoes fitted Grant Weeks. Apparently 
it had not occurred to any one to try 
them upon him. That was my test. If 
they fitted him, well and good — the rest 
of the evidence was enough to hang 
him. But if they did not fit, then that 
fact, alone, was enough to cast a doubt 
upon the rest of the evidence. The de- 
cision had to be made at once. The ex- 
ecution was only a day or so off. 

“Some of you know old Fletcher 
Geisner, the bootmaker, at the capital. 
He has been making shoes there for 
nearly half a century. He knows shoes 
and feet, if any man in this State does. 
I told him what I wanted. He con- 
sented to come with me. With him 


and my secretary, I secretly took the 
train. This town was our destination. 
We arrived after dark and went with- 
out notice to the hotel. I sent for the 
sheriff. 

“At midnight we four came to this 
courthouse. Sheriff James got the shoes 
from the clerk’s safe. They were 
marked with the tag that the court ste- 
nographer had fastened to them on the 
first trial. Of course the stains and 
other signs had been worn off in the 
handling and examination of four trials. 
But, because so much depended upon the 
test, I made sure. 

“In the dim light of the night lamps 
we walked to the death cell. Sheriff 
James let us in, and remained outside. 
We woke Grant Weeks. He had not 
even known that a test was to be made. 

“And then we tried the shoes. I had 
no need for Fletcher Geisner. The veri- 
est child could have seen, once we en- 
deavored to put them on his feet, that 
they would not fit him. They were 
three or four full sizes too small. He 
could not begin to get them on. Besides, 
there was a large protuberance on the 
left shoe, such as would be caused by 
a bunion, yet obviously one which would 
be caused o/ily by weeks or months of 
wear of the shoe. There was nothing 
of the sort upon the prisoner’s foot. 

“That, gentlemen of the Bar Associa- 
tion, is why, against the storm of pub- 
lic protest, I commuted Grant Weeks’ 
death sentence to life imprisonment. 
You remember the thousand accusations 
that were made against me at the time. 
Bribery was the least of them. I re- 
signed. To-day, for the first time, I can 
tell the truth. 

“In this paper is the news that the 
real murderer has been found, and has 
confessed. Grant Weeks was an inno- 
cent man. If those shoes had fitted him, 
he would be a dead man to-day. In- 
stead, Governor Hilcox has pardoned 
him.” 

Governor Merritt’s figure straight- 
ened. He looked straight into the eyes 
of the men he was addressing. 

“You can see now the reasons for my 
action,” he continued. “You can see, too, 


IF THE SHOE FITS 


63 


what truth there was in the dirty tales 
that were circulated. 

“To you, then, gentlemen of the State 
Bar Association, comes the first public 
announcement. I knew I was right in 
my course. But you are the first to 
know that the only basis I had was that 
those shoes would not fit the condemned 
man's feet.” 

Governor Merritt began gathering his 
papers. There was a moment of si- 
lence. No one moved or spoke. Then, 
abruptly, all over the hall, broke out 
the hubbub of excited conversation. 
Here and there came a gesture of em- 
phasis. From all around came the cre- 
scendo of voices in heated discussion. 

IV. 

. CHAIRMAN.” The words 
were unheard in the furor. At 
one side a tall, slender young man was 
rising. “Mr. Chairman !” More loudly 
his voice called for attention. 

The chairman rapped for order. The 
confusion gave way slightly, grudgingly. 
“Mr. Herndon.” The chairman recog- 
nized the speaker. 

He stood erect for a moment, then 
began casually: “I have been extremely 
interested, Mr. Chairman, in the re- 
marks of Governor Merritt. They have 
been all the more interesting to me, 
Mr. Chairman, because I was — as very 
many of the men in this audience will 
remember — the lawyer who defended 
Grant Weeks.” 

There was a slight stir that indicated 
an increase of interest. The remnant 
of hubbub dwindled away. Faces here, 
there, all around, were turned upon this 
new center of attention. 

“I was appointed by the court to de- 
fend Grant Weeks. I served, therefore, 
without compensation or fee. As Gov- 
ernor Merritt has stated, we tried that 
case four times. I appealed from a 
death sentence four times ; and three of 
them were reversed by the supreme 
court ; twice on rehearing. 

“As lawyers, all of you know that 
when the supreme court has made its 
decision, an application for rehearing 
is almost futile. Statistics show that in 


only two or three out of a thousand ap- 
pealed cases are the decisions of the 
supreme court changed. Yet I suc- 
ceeded twice in getting a new trial on 
rehearing.” 

Governor Merritt had paused upon 
the platform. Again the attention of 
the whole meeting was fixed. Herndon 
went on : 

“All of you know that not all that 
happens during the trial of a case gets 
into the record of it which the stenog- 
raphers and clerks make and certify up 
to the supreme court. You remember, 
also, that we never did, in any one of 
the four trials, put Grant Weeks upon 
the witness stand to testify. We relied 
and most strenuously insisted upon his 
constitutional right against having to 
testify at all. 

“During the progress of the first trial 
against Grant Weeks, I obtained those 
shoes from the prosecuting attorney. I 
took the prisoner into an anteroom of 
this courthouse — through that very door 
yonder. I made all of the deputy sher- 
iffs get out of the room, so that, in 
case the test went against us, the only 
witness would be the defendant's lawyer, 
who could not be forced to testify 
against him. I hung my coat over the 
transom, pulled down the window 
shades, and stuffed the keyhole with 
paper. Then we tried the test. 

“Judge Mason, the presiding judge, 
will bear me out that there was quite a 
bit of those trials which never got into 
the records. He will remember that the 
prosecutors threatened to try those 
shoes upon Grant Weeks by force. I 
argued and insisted that if they did 
anything of the sort it would violate his 
constitutional rights and entitle us, of 
itself, to another trial. I succeeded in 
convincing Judge Mason. He gave the 
prosecution very thoroughly to under- 
stand that they must not comment in 
any way, during the progress of the 
trial, upon the fact that the prisoner 
refused to allow the shoes to be tried 
upon his feet. 

“That is why no mention of the sim- 
ple test got into any one of the four 
records. For over there behind that 
door, gentlemen, those shoes fitted the 



61 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


feet of Grant Weeks. Curve for curve, 
crease for crease, line for line, the shape 
of his feet was the shape of those shoes. 

I am making no effort to explain. I am 
simply relating, without coloring it, the 
truth as I found it. So you see, sir, 
that ” 

Herndon's voice faltered. He stopped 
short in the swift course of his speech. 
He had turned to Governor Merritt. 

V. . 

'T'HE older man was still upon the 
* platform. But he had changed. 
His face, that had shone with eager- 
ness and with the zeal of vindicating 
himself, had lost the sparkle of hope. 
Upon it had grown anxious lines; it 
had turned gray. 

Herndon made an effort to continue. 
Then he gave up. “I — I'm sorry I — 
did — this — Governor Merritt. I rose 
on impulse — without thinking. Had I 
thought at all, sir — I should have kept 
my seat. 

"I know, sir, What vindication of 
your course means to you. I know that 
it is not at all a question of the guilt 
or innocence of Grant Weeks, but of 
the good faith of your action. I am 
sorry, sir, more thait I can tell you, 
that I did not remain silent. I xdid not 
think. But having spoken, sir, I can 
only repeat the truth: that, crease for 
crease, curve for curve, those shoes 
fitted the feet of Grant Weeks." 

Herndon sat down. There followed 
a silence that grew and grew. Appar- 
ently no one could think of anything to 
do or say. At last the chairman came 
to himself, trying to pass on to other 
work. 

The specter, however, dwelt at the 
elbow of each of them. They had 
seen a man’s naked soul. 

Very quietly, too quietly, obviously 
trying to avoid further attention, the 
old man sought a seat. He was making 
a brave effort to seem at ease. But 
he fumbled as he placed his chair, and 
his hands trembled as he arranged his 
papers. He waited till the meeting 


seemed to be getting under way again; 
then, as unobtrusively as possible, he 
made his way from the room. 

VI. 

IN the hallway outside, old Uncle Bob 
* twitched sympathetically at Gov- 
ernor Merritt’s elbow. 

Slowly he turned. 

“Gov’nor Merritt, I wants you to 
know dat I — I — I ” 

“Thank you, Uncle Bob. Thank 
you," and Governor Merritt turned 
away. The old negro’s sympathy at 
this precise moment affected him more 
than he cared to reveal. 

“No, sir; Gov’nor Merritt, I means 
somep’n else. You see, I was here 
when dey was a-tryin’ dab Mr. Weeks. 
An’ — an' atter dey got all thu’u, an’ 
de case was all done vvid in co’t, I — I — 
I didn' s’pose it’d be wrong. I — I 
knovved you-all wouldn’ be needin’ those 
shoes no longer. An dat boy o’ mine, 
Gov’nor Merritt, dat boy had such 
growin’ feet ! An’ dat was such a extra 
good pair o’ shoes you-all was a-usin’ 
for evi-dence. So I — I took de pair 
he done outgrowed an’ ^swapped ’em 
wid dat bigger pair you-all was finished 
wid in co’t ’’ 

Uncle Bob managed to get this far. 
A reincarnated Governor Merritt inter- 
rupted him, questioned him, smote hitn 
between the shoulder blades. His ears 
hummed with the joyous note in the 
ex-governor’s voice. 

He was staring, popeyed, at a ten- 
dollar bill in his hand, and at the re- 
treating back of Governor Merritt. In 
his ears was ringing the command : 
“Come with me, Uncle Bob; quick!” 

Governor Merritt was returning, to 
finish his address to the convention. 

Did you enjoy reading this story, or 
did you not? A word of criticism, favor- 
able or unfavorable, is of value to those 
who have to get up this magazine. It 
turns out to be of value usually to the 
readers as well. Will you tell us briefly 
what you think of the foregoing story, and 
in the same letter, please give us your 
opinion of TOP-NOTCH as a whole? 



W HEN George Murthwaite, mysterious 
tenant of a Long Island estate, 
promised a bank teller named Ryce the 
chance to share a fortune, the latter agreed 
to Murthwaite's conditions. Murthwaite 
said that a friend by the name of Berrold, 
who fought with the British in Asia Minor, 
saw a Turkish officer compel two soldiers to 
bury a vast treasure in gold. The Turk 
then killed the subordinates, and, surprised 
by Berrold, was himself killed in the struggle 
that followed. Hoping later to get the gold 
for himself, Berrold removed all traces of 
the burying of the fortune. But when the 
war ceased he was an invalid, Murthwaite 
said. Before Berrold’s death in a Canadian 
hospital, he told the American his strange 
story. 

Murthwaite explained to Ryce, who ac- 
cording to agreement had come to live at 
the estate, that Berrold had fixed upon a 
map the location of the gold; this map, with 
sketches, had been stolen from Murthwaite 
by a notorious Philip Harraway, who, with 
confederates, demanded a share of the 
treasure. Later Harraway and the others 
seized Murthwaite and forcibly took him 
from his estate. 

This left Ryce alone; except for Nora 
Lerwick, ostensibly a servant, but whom he 
soon suspected to be other than reputed and 
mysteriously connected with the buried for- 
tune. One day a young Canadian officer, a 
stranger to Ryce, came to the estate; at 
once he asked for Miss Lerwick. 

' CHAPTER XVII. 

EXPLANATIONS IN ORDER. 

IT seemed a month or two that we 
1 stood there waiting ; in reality about 
three minutes had passed, I should say, 
when light footsteps sounded in the 

SA TN 


hall ; there was a knock upon the door, 
and Nora joined us. I was no longer 
left in doubt as to the friendliness of 
the newcomer, for with a simultaneous 
cry of “Dick — Nora !” they were 
wrapped in one another’s arms. 

I turned to the window and stared 
out upon the darkening landscape. The 
bottom had fallen out of my world. It 
was plain that my services as protector 
were no longer necessary, and that I 
might go from the room and disappear 
without ever a thought being wasted 
upon me. I was on the point of acting 
on this impulse when Nora’s voice ar- 
rested me. 

“Oh, Dick,” she said, and it aston- 
ished me to discover a tremor of fear 
in her voice when I had convinced my- 
self that her troubles were at an end. 
“How can you take such a risk?. Why 
have you come home? Suppose you 
were caught!” 

“Don’t you worry, dear,” the new- 
comer said affectionately. “The risk is 
very small, and I had to come home 
to be demobilized.” Then he held her 
from him at arm’s length and a puzzled 
look spread upon his face. 

“But what is the meaning of this 
get-up, Nora, and who is this man who 
opened the door to me and who seems 
to be so much at home in your house?” 

She drew apart, a faint flush upon 
her face. She glanced quickly at me, 


66 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


and then down at her white strip of 
apron, as though suddenly conscious 
of both and in a difficulty to explain 
either. 

The newcomer was quick to notice 
her confusion; his brows drew down 
sternly, and he looked at me with anger 
in his eyes. “Come, sir,” he said 
harshly, “it is time that we had an ex- 
planation.” 

Before I could answer Nora stepped 
forward, apparently recovered from the 
confusion that she had shown. I caught 
one swift, warning glance from her, but 
could not guess at its significance. “I 
should have introduced you,” she said 
easily, “but I was so delighted to see 
you, Dick, that I forgot. This is Mr. 
Ryce; my brother, Major Lerwick.” 

The blood rushed through my veins 
as though, before, it had been standing 
still. What a fool I had been ! I should 
have guessed the relationship, had I not 
been so eager to throw myself into de- 
spair. I could have laughed with the 
relief of the discovery, and as it was, 
I smiled broadly as I bowed and put out 
my hand. 

There was, however, no answering 
smile upon the face of Nora’s brother, 
and he ignored my outstretched hand 
completely. “And who may Mr. Ryce 
be?” he demanded sternly and suspi- 
ciously. 

“Mr. Ryce,” said Nora — and again I 
caught her warning eye — “is a boarder. 
You see, Dick, ’L she went on hesitat- 
ingly, “I have a sort of boarding house. 
That accounts for my costume, you 
see.” 

“How many boarders have you got ?” 
asked Major Lerwick suspiciously. 

“Mr. Ryce is the only one at pres- 
ent,” replied Nora. “I had another 
gentleman until recently, but he — he 
left. You see, it is an awkwardly situ- 
ated house — so out of the way.” 

Obviously her brother was skeptical. 
As for me, I was more puzzled than 
ever with the mystery of her. What- 
ever trouble, difficulty, danger she 
might be in, one would have thought 
she would turn to her brother for ad- 
vice and assistance. To me he looked 
the kind of man whom one could trust 


with any secret and upon whose help 
one could rely to the last. He had lis- 
tened to his sister’s story with a puz- 
zled frown. “There’s something queer 
about this,” he said, looking at her in- 
tently. “You are keeping something 
back, Nora. What is it?” 

She shook her head helplessly, as 
though she felt incapable of adding any- 
thing to her story. 

The major turned abruptly upon me. 
“What have you to say, sir?” he de- 
manded sternly. 

I glanced at Nora, but her eyes were 
turned upon the floor. “Perhaps,” I 
returned, “Miss Lerwick would like to 
have an explanation with you in private. 
Shall I leave you together?” 

“That is not necessary,” said Nora, 
hurriedly and fearfully. “I have ex- 
plained. If my brother is not satisfied, 
I can’t help it. I have told him all I 

„„ ft 

can. 

“Then there is more — that you can’t 
tell me?” exclaimed Lerwick. 

Her lips trembled, tears flooded her 
eyes, and she hurried from the room. 

Major Lerwick did not attempt to 
follow her. He turned all his attention 
on me. “Now, Mr. Ryce, what is the 
meaning of it all?” he demanded, in a 
determined tone. 

I was seized with a sudden impulse. 
One had only to look at Dick Lerwick’s 
face to know that he was straightfor- 
ward and honest as the day. Why not, 
then, tell him the truth as I knew it, 
and let him see the danger in which 
his sister was involved? Would it be 
fair to Nora? He would know no more 
than I, a stranger, knew, and much less 
than the scoundrel Murthwaite. Surely 
her brother had a right to that. 

I let my impulse have its head. “Take 
your coat off and sit down,” I said, 
pushing him an armchair toward the 
fire. “I shall have a lot to say if I am 
to tell you all I know.” 

He took me at my word, and as he 
seated himself opposite me by the fire 
I saw upon the breast of his tunic the 
ribbon of the Distinguished Service Or- 
der and the Military Cross. He looked 
the kind of man who would earn dis- 
tinction in any service. 


TREASURE VALLEY 


67 


I had begun to tell him of my first 
meeting with Murthwaite in the bank, 
when Nora entered the room. She 
stopped just within the door, surprised 
to see her brother seated with me by 
the fire in apparent amity. 

“Miss Lerwick,” I said, rising and 
drawing in another chair, “join us and 
listen to my story. I have made up my 
mind to tell your brother how I met 
you, and why I am here now.” 

“You musn’t — oh, you mustn’t!” she 
cried, consternation in her face and in 
her voice. 

“Why not?” asked Lerwick. “Is 
there anything in the story that you 
need be ashamed of?” 

She shook her head, pale and silent; 
then, as if with a sudden determination, 
came forward and threw herself into the 
chair I had placed for her. “Go on 
with your story,” she said weakly. “I 
have done my best to hide it, but I see 
that it is no longer possible.” 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

CLEARING THE SKY. 

I TOLD my story from the beginning, 
1 omitting nothing of the mysterious 
relations that existed between Murth- 
waite and Nora. I told of Harraway 
and his gang. Lerwick listened to me 
in silence, save that occasionally he in- 
terjected a question when I had not 
made myself sufficiently clear. So far 
I had told my story without an omis- 
sion, but a difficulty arose when I came 
to Murthwaite’s disclosure of his treas- 
ure isecret. That, I felt, was not mine 
to tell. I hesitated. 

“Go on,” said Lerwick, looking up at 
me sharply. 

“I made a bargain with Murthwaite,” 
I said. “He owns the secret of a hid- 
den treasure and I went into partner- 
ship with him in the search, on the clear 
understanding that I would back out 
should I discover anything dishonest 
about the scheme.” 

“In Asia Minor?” Lerwick’s eyes 
were fixed upon me with an intensity 
that made them seem afire. 

“How did you guess that?” I blurted 
out in my astonishment, before I real- 


ized that I was admitting more than 
I meant to do. 

Lerwick laughed harshly. “Never 

mind, ” he said. “Perhaps I am a mind 
reader! At least, I am beginning to 
see a glimmer of light.” He glanced 
bitterly, as he spoke, at Nora. 

“I couldn’t help it, Dick,” she said. 
“It was for your sake.” 

“Go ahead,” Lerwick said to me. 

I went on to tell of the coming of 
the caravan and the kidnaping of 
Murthwaite, and from that to my rea- 
sons for remaining alone with Nora at 
The Pines. 

Lerwick heard me right to the end 
without comment. When I had finished, 
he rose and held out his hand. “I have 
nothing but thanks for you, Mr. Ryce,” 
he said, as he gripped mine and pressed 
it. “You have acted in good faith 
throughout, and Nora has every reason 
to be grateful to you. You need not 
worry about having given away Murth- 
waite’s secret, because it isn’t his; it’s 

mine, and it must have been given away 
to him by the only person in the world 
barring myself who knew it — my sister 
Nora!” 

The last words were uttered with a 
bitterness that was matched by the look 
he cast upon the unhappy girl. “But 
tell me, Nora,” he added, “tell me what 
you mean by saying that it was for my 
sake.” 

“He forced me to ask you for it, 
just as he forced me to give him all 
my money and to leave my apartment 
in New York and take this terrible 
house. I dared not refuse, Dick, be- 
cause he knew all about you and threat- 
ened to tell all he knew.” 

“So that was why you wrote asking 
for copies of my plans and sketches ! 
To give them to this man Murthwaite. 
Good Lord, girl, all the harm he could 
do me is not worth a cent’s worth of 
tin tacks.” 

I saw Nora glance furtively at me as 
if fearful of speaking in my presence. 
I rose at once, intending to leave them 
together, when Lerwick prevented me. 

“Sit down, Ryce,” he said, “and let 
me tell you my story. Then, perhaps, 
Nora may tell us hers. To begin with, 


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you must know that I am an escaped 
convict. No, it is not a joke, I really 
am/’ he added, seeing a smile of in- 
credulity on my face. 

“I was tried and convicted of man- 
slaughter in 1913, and if ever a scoun- 
drel deserved slaughtering it was the 
brute that I did for that night, though, 
mind you, I did not mean to kill him. 
I meant only to give him a good thrash- 
ing. All of the facts did not come out 
at the trial, or I would have got off, I 
feel sure ; but that would have brought 
the name of a lady — a lady whom I — 
for whom I have a great admiration — 
into the case, and that I would not do. 

“I got two years, but I didn’t stop 
to work them out. The war came along, 
and we poor jailbirds were as excited 
about it as the folks outside. As an 
old member of the militia I was on 
tenterhooks to be out and on the drill 
ground, and before August was over 
I had escaped and become Private John 
Wilkins in a reserve battalion of a Ca- 
nadian regiment. I’m Major Wilkins 
now — not Lerwick, as my sister intro- 
duced me,” he added, with a cheery 
grin. 

“They can’t do much to me even if 
they catch me,” he went on. “In fact, 
I mean to give myself away at the 
Canadian war office and try for a free 
pardon. I don’t think there’s a doubt 
that I shall get it.” 

Nora looked at him in wide-eyed hor- 
ror. Her face was paper white as she 
sat up rigid in her chair, and, holding 
by the arms, continued to gaze at him. 

When she spoke, it was in a tense 
whisper. 

“But — the man — the keeper you killed 
when you escaped !” 

Lerwick looked at her in astonish- 
ment. “What d’you mean?” he said 
blankly. “I killed no keeper or any one 
else when I escaped. I slipped away 
into a wood when we were tramping 
back under guard from our work on 
a road.” 

“I believe you, Dick,” said Nora 
quietly after a pause. “But a keeper 
was found dead in the wood where you 
hid. His neck was broken and — well, 
it looked black for you.” 


“Good Lord 1 ” exclaimed Lerwick. 
“And I knew nothing of it until now.” 

“It was in the newspapers at the 
time,” Nora went on. “Your previous 
conviction was brought up, and the 
death of the keeper was charged to you. 
It seemed that you must be guilty. Oh, 
it was terrible !” 

“I did not see a paper for weeks after 
I escaped,” said Lerwick. “I lay hid- 
den for two days, and as soon as I had 
got rid of my prison suit I managed 
to get to Canada. There I buried my- 
self in the army. We were in a huge 
training camp, and things hadn’t even 
begun to be organized. We were short 
of food, clothing and accommodation, 
and newspapers were as scarce as most 
other things. But this makes a terrible 
difference. I can’t get a pardon with 
this new charge hanging over me, and 
if I give myself up I shall have to stand 
a trial for murder with the presumption 
strongly in favor of my guilt. Why, 
even you believed me guilty, Nora !” 

“Yes ; but even had I known that you 
were innocent, as I do now, I should 
still have been in Murthwaite’s power. 
Everything was so black against you 
that I would not have dared to let him 
give you away to the police.” 

“I am only beginning to see the truth, 
Nora,” said Lerwick, leaning forward 
and taking his sister’s hand in his. 
“This scoundrel Murthwaite has been 
blackmailing you through his knowledge 
of my supposed guilt, and you’ve been 
bled rather than give me away! You’re 
a real good sport, Nora.” 

“No, no, don’t say that,” cried the 
girl bitterly. “Wait until you have 
heard the whole truth. I have tried to 
hide it because I am ashamed — because 
I have told you lies. I could not help 
it, Dick, and it was for your good.” 

“Tell us about it, dear,” said her 
brother kindly. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

FOR THE TREASURE HUNT. 

A LL through the war I was in an 
** agony about you, Dick,” Nora be- 
gan. “Except for you I was absolutely 
alone, with nobody to care for or to 
care for me. My case was so much 


TREASURE VALLEY 


G9 


worse than other sisters and wives and 
mothers who had their men at the front 
because I had a double fear — the dread 
that you might be killed, but far worse 
— the dread that you might be discov- 
ered and convicted of murder.” 

“Poor old girl !” murmured her 
brother. 

“Even when the war was over this 
second fear remained, and however hard 
I worked I could never shake it off even 
for a moment. About four months ago 
my apartment was broken into while 
I was out at work. The only thing 
stolen was the bundle of letters you had 
written to me under the name of John 
Wilkins.. I was terribly frightened, 
though I did not think that any one 
would connect John Wilkins with you, 
for you had always been so careful to 
write as though you were a friend. 

“My fear was quite justified, how- 
ever, for on the next evening I had 
my first visit from Murthwaite,” she 
went on. “I do not know how he got 
on your track, but he knew all about 
you, and threatened to give the police 
full particulars of your whereabouts un- 
less I paid over six thousand dollars.” 

“So you were the source of all the 
sums he paid into the bank!” I ex- 
claimed. 

“Yes,” replied Nora brokenly. “He 
has had all my little fortune. I had 
to realize on all the bonds that brought 
in the money I lived on. But that was 
not the worst part of it. He had found 
the letter in which you told me the story 
of your escape from Asia Minor, Dick, 
and nothing would content him but that 
I should get him copies of your sketches 
and the map showing where the treas- 
ure was hidden. What could I do ? It 
was your life — or so I thought— that 
was at stake, so I wrote what he told 
me to write.” 

“Believing what you did, you could 
not have acted otherwise, Nora. I won- 
dered, though. You see, Ryce,” Ler- 
wick continued, turning to me, “it 
seethed funny that my sister should be 
so calculating as to ask me to send her 
copies of the documents in case I should 
die and the treasure be lost. It was 
a sensible enough idea, and I ought to 


have thought of it myself, but coming 
from her — well, it wasn’t like her, as 
I knew her.” 

“So you never sent them?” I asked. 

“Only because I hoped to get home 
so soon,” he replied. 

“Then Murth waite’s tale of the dead 
friend who had bequeathed him the 
treasure with his last breath was all 
bunko.” 

“Is that the story he told you? How 
did it go?” 

I told him as shortly as possible the 
story that Murthwaite had told me. 

“Except for the dead friend, the 
whole thing is true from beginning to 
end,” said Lerwick. “Your friend 
Murthwaite must have studied my let- 
ter to Nora very thoroughly. Well, 
fortunately I did not send on the pa- 
pers, so except for Nora’s little fortune, 
which won’t matter a scrap when we 
get hold of the treasure, he is none the 
better off. But we haven’t yet heard 
what brought you to this forsaken spot, 
Nora.” 

“I couldn’t understand why he in- 
sisted upon my taking this house and 
coming away secretly from New York,” 
she answered. “Because he knew that 
I would not dare to escape from him. 
He had sworn that if I did he would 
at once denounce you to the police.” 

“I think I can explain that,” I broke 
in. “Murthwaite wanted to do his part- 
ner Harraway. Probably he was under 
Harraway’s thumb in some way, but 
apart from that, Harraway was to have 
a half share. Consequently, Murth- 
waite disappeared, taking with him the 
only link with the treasure. Then he 
brought me into the scheme to pull the 
chestnuts from the fire for him. Know- 
ing him as we now do, it is clear that 
he never meant me to see a cent of 
the treasure. It was mainly his fear 
of Harraway that made him call in my 
assistance.” 

“A very nice little plot,” said Ler- 
wick, “except that friend Murthwaite 
seems to have rather overreached him- 
self. The other scoundrel, Harraway, 
appears to be the stronger man, if not 
the bigger villain, of the two. If only 
this murder charge were not hanging 


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over me — but there’s no getting away 
from the seriousness of that. I shall 
have to lie low until I can find out more 
about it, and, if possible, collect evi- 
dence that will clear me. In the mean- 
time, what’s to be done?” 

He had risen from his seat, and stood 
with his back to the fire, with the light 
from the lamp — for it was now quite 
dark and we had lighted up some time 
before — shining full on his strong, 
manly face. 

“I should say the first thing to do 
is to get your discharge,” I advised. 
“Then you will be free to act as you 
think best. Until that is done Murth- 
waite and Harraway must not know that 
you are home. If they guessed that 
you knew of their plot and that you did 
not mean to give them what they want 
— for I presume you have no intention 
of being blackmailed — they might put 
the police on your track right away.” 

“They probably would,” Lerwick 
agreed. “You are right. I shall get 
my discharge very soon. Then we can 
disappear, leaving Murthwaite, Harra- 
way and company__lo play gypsies until 
they tire of it. I can then get this 
murder business cleared up and apply 
for a pardon for my prison breaking. 
That would be easy but for the other 
charge. Then for the Taurus and the 
treasure! I want you for that, Ryce.” 

“Me !” I exclaimed, and my heart 
jumped with pleasure at the proposal. 

“Yes,” he said. “It isn’t a one-man 
job, this expedition. I should have to 
find some one to help me, and who 
better than yourself? You know all 
about the affair already ; you have 
proved yourself a true and trustworthy 
friend by your attitude to my sister, and 
you have already given up your job with 
a view to this very expedition. Come 
in with me and you shall have the share 
that Murthwaite offered you ; only this 
time you will get it.” 

“It’s splendid of you,” I said, de- 
lighted that he should have chosen me 
on such a short acquaintance. “I’d love 
to go* if you think me fit for it.” 

“You’re the very man I want,” he 
said earnestly. “I know I can rely on 
you, and I know you are keen. But 


I should warn you that the trip may be 
dangerous. It’s a rough country, and 
if any one got the slightest hint of what 
we are after our chances of getting the 
treasure, or even of getting out alive, 
wouldn’t be worth much.” 

“I’m willing to take any risk if only 
you’ll take me,” I said. 

Lerwick held out his hand, and we 
sealed the compact with a silent grip. 

“Of course I am coming with you,” 
said Nora, so unexpectedly that we both 
started. She had been so quiet, and 
we had been so wrapped up in our talk, 
that we had almost forgotten her pres- 
ence. 

Lerwick shook his head emphatically. 
“Impossible, Nora,” he said. “We shall 
have to take our lives in our hands. 
The hardship would be too much for 
you.” 

“But you can’t leave me here alone. 
You wouldn’t agree to it, would you, 
Mr. Ryce?” 

She turned her eyes on me beseech- 
ingly, as though she thought me more 
vulnerable than her sterner brother. 

“We must do what your brother 
thinks best,” I answered diplomatically. 
“Perhaps we might take you part of 
the way, and you could wait for us — 
say in Egypt. How would that do, 
Lerwick ?” 

“Not a bad idea,” he agreed. “But 
there is plenty of time to think of that 
later. For the present, you two must 
continue here as you are. I shall go 
off early in the morning and not be back 
until I have my discharge. I can get 
it through the Canadian government’s 
representatives in New York. Then I’ll 
come back for you, and we shall all dis- 
appear together — and there will be an 
end of Messrs. Murthwaite and Harra- 
way so far as we are concerned. They 
are helpless once I am out of their 
reach.” 

CHAPTER XX. 

OLD ACQUAINTANCES MEET. 

'T'HE subject of past difficulties and 
* dangers was brushed aside, and 
Lerwick gave us a vivid narrative of 
his escape from the Turkish prison and 
his wanderings through Asia Minor. 


TREASURE VALLEY 


71 


To make his tale clearer, he produced 
from his pocketbook a soiled and frayed 
map which he spread upon the table. 

“Our friends in the caravan would 
give their ears to get hold of this tat- 
tered old thing,” he said. “Look at the 
back of it.” 

He turned the map over carefully; 
it required gentle handling, for it was 
all but falling apart at the folds. On 
the back we saw several rough pencil 
sketches and some hastily scribbled lines 
of writing. 

“Directions for finding the treasure,” 
explained Lerwick. “See, there is a pic- 
ture of the group of bowlders wffiere 
I was in hiding. Here is another, show- 
ing the arrangement of the rocks round 
the spot where the treasure is buried. 
There are two views of that one from 
the north, the other from the south. 
Here is an attempt to give a rough idea 
of the general lay of the valley. The 
treasure is marked with a cross, like 
the celebrities in the picture papers. 
There’s nothing artistic about the draw- 
ings, but any one who had found the 
right valley should have no difficulty in 
finding the treasure with their assist- 
ance. The difficulty is to find the right 
valley, for there are hundreds of them 
running in all directions. I did my best 
to mark the right one on the map, but 
I am afraid it is only an approxima- 
tion.” 

He turned the ragged paper over 
again, and pointed to a small penciled 
cross, occurring upon an irregular pen- 
ciled line that ran from far in the in- 
terior to the coast. “My line of march,” 
he said, tracing it lovingly with his fin- 
ger. “The treasure lies there, or some- 
where near there,” he added as his fin- 
ger paused at the cross. 

I was leaning over the table, intent 
upon the map, while Lerwick stood with 
his back to the fire, facing the door. 

A sharp cry, almost a scream, from 
Nora made me look up sharply. Ler- 
wick was staring across the lamp at the 
door, while Nora clung to his arm, her 
eyes, wild with fear, fixed on the same 
direction. 

I looked. The great scarred face of 
Harraway with its fixed sneer appeared 


in the partially open doorway, its bulg- 
ing eyes fixed gloatingly upon the map 
that lay before us. 

Lerwick shook his arm free from his 
sister’s hand and had rushed round the 
table and thrown his weight upon the 
door before I had pulled myself to- 
gether sufficiently to help him. Harra- 
way drew back his head just in time to 
escape having it crushed as the door 
slammed. The key was on our side, 
and Lerwick turned it in the lock. 

He did not realize the capabilities of 
the man on the other side. We heard 
his piping, feeble voice : 

“Stand clear, Murthwaite!” 

Then a rush, and a terrific crash, 
and the whole door fell forward upon 
us, with the full weight of Harraway ’s 
enormous bulk behind it. We had 
barely time to spring clear as it fell, 
and Harraway, who had crashed to the 
ground with the door, was on his feet 
before we had recovered ourselves. He 
was wonderfully agile for a man of his 
size. 

“Come on, Murthwaite !” he shrieked 
in a voice more like that of a vexed 
woman than a desperate man. 

Lerwick tackled him boldly. I saw 
his fist fly out at Harraway’s jaw, and 
then I gave my attention to the part of 
the affray that fell to me. Murthwaite 
entered at his leader’s heels. Fear was 
written all over his face. It was evi- 
dent that the practical side of villainy 
had no charm for him, yet that he dared 
not but follow when Harraway led the 
way. It was no trouble at all for me 
to put him out of business. When he 
lay half senseless in a corner I turned 
to see how Lerwick was holding up 
against Harraway. Evidently he had 
some science behind his fists, for Har- 
raway was pretty well bruised, and one 
of his bulging eyes was all but hidden 
in the swelling flesh around it. 

Even as I turned to look, however, I 
saw Harraway make a bull-like rush 
forward, throw his whole bulk upon his 
opponent, and crush him to the floor. 
There was no standing up against the 
weight and impetus of the man. 

I could not believe that Lerwick was 
conscious after the weight that had 


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fallen upon him, I rushed forward and 
tackled Harraway from behind. I 
seized him by the collar and tried to 
drag him off, half strangling him as I 
did so. He tried to wriggle free and 
get to his feet, but I had no intention 
of letting him up if I could avoid it. 

Suddenly the whole window behind 
me crashed in, and, even in the midst 
of the excitement of the fight I was con- 
scious of the rush of raw night air. 
A long shrill scream from Nora warned 
me of a danger behind, but I had no 
time to save myself, for a heavy thud 
upon the back of my head sent me for- 
ward, half senseless, upon Harraway. 

“An" that’s that I heard through the 
buzzing and throbbing in my head, and 
vaguely identified the voice as that of 
Percy, my broken-nosed friend of the 
caravan. 

“Hit him again, Percy — harder ! 

Bash his head in !” 

I winced in expectancy of another 
sledge-hammer blow which assuredly 
would have finished me, but I was saved 
by Harraway, who chose that moment 
to heave up beneath me in an effort 
to get to his feet. I slipped off him 
helplessly to the floor, and he rose from 
the body of Lerwick, which had been 
crushed beneath our united weight. 

My mind was growing clearer each 
moment, though my head throbbed 
atrociously. I saw Percy poised over 
me with a bar of iron raised above his 
head in the act of fulfilling his friend 
Harold’s murderous desire. Then the 
arm of Harraway shot across and 
snatched the weapon from his hands. 

“No murder !” he cried. “We’re out 
for business, not pleasure !” 

Except for the awful pain in my 
head, I had already recovered from the 
blow that had struck me down, but for 
the present I thought it best to keep up 
the appearance of helplessness. I lay 
in a collapsed heap close by the wall ; 
through my half -closed eyes I could 
see all that was going on. 

Nora remained in her corner, her 
hands clasped together, her face white 
and anxious. Lerwick was alive, to my 
astonishment. He sat up and looked 
about him, and I saw his expression 


change from its first dazed bewilderment 
to a realization of his surroundings. 
He tried to rise, only to be pushed back 
to the floor by Harraway. 

“Take down that bell rope and tie 
him up,” he ordered. “Ryce seems safe 
enough, isn’t he?” 

Percy leaned over me and then gave 
me a vicious kick in the stomach. I was 
able to endure it without a movement. 

“He’s all right,” said Percy, turning 
away from me callously. “I laid him 
out proper. If you hadn’t chipped in 
I’d have laid him out for keeps, hang 
him! He tried to take a rise outer me 
once, he did.” 

They tore down the old-fashioned bell 
rope to a wild, jangling accompaniment 
from the bell in the kitchen, and then, 
under the watchful eye of Harraway, 
the two minor villains proceeded to tie 
Lerwick hand and foot. 

Murthwaite, like myself, until now 
had lain apparently helpless upon the 
floor; but now, while the attention of 
the others was taken up with Lerwick, 
he rose and edged unostentatiously 
across the room to the table. 

He gave a cunning and fearful glance 
from his puffed and suffused eyes -in 
the direction of Harraway, whose back 
was to the table, and then quickly and 
with trembling fingers began to fold 
up Lerwick’s map. His terror was plain 
^ upon his distorted face, yet his meanness 
and cupidity were strong enough to 
overcome even that. 

The map was folded, and he made to 
slip it into an inner pocket of his coat 
when Harraway, whether by chance or 
instinct, turned quickly, and caught him 
in the act. 

Neither spoke. Harraway merely 
looked at his unwilling partner — looked 
without a vestige of expression on his 
great fleshy face, and Murthwaite re- 
placed the map upon the table with a 
hand that shook like a drunkard’s. 

Then Harraway smiled bitterly. “It 
isn’t done among the best burglars,” he 
said cuttingly. “Let it be the last time 
you try to get the better of me, George. 
Next time will be the third, and I shall 
strangle you with my own hands.” 

He spoke quietly, in that piping voice 


TREASURE VALLEY 


73 


of his, but there was an air of sincerity 
about the words that convinced me — as 
I am sure it convinced Murthwaite — 
that they were not a mere threat, but 
a plain statement of intention. 

He did not even trouble to pick up 
the map from where it lay on the table, 
but turned away to superintend the bind- 
ing of Lerwick, confident that Murth- 
waite would not again dare to touch it. 

“Lean him up against the wall,” he di- 
rected, and Lerwick was dragged, tied 
hand and foot, across the intervening 
floor and propped up uncomfortably. 

“Like old times, Lerwick, eh?” £aid 
Harraway, to my surprise. “Quite a 
meeting of long-parted friends!” 

“Hardly friends, I think.” replied 
Lerwick, who, to my relief, seemed lit- 
tle the worse for his treatment. “Com- 
panions in affliction, rather. I should 
have guessed, from the description that 
Ryce gave me, that we had to do with 
Philip Smyles, who got ten years for 
robbery with violence. Your forger 
friend, Latimer or Murthwaite, I don’t 
blame myself for not recognizing, but 
you are too distinctive to be overlooked. 
I should have guessed how the two of 
you, knowing of my escape, would hunt 
out my sister and blackmail her. It was 
the obvious thing to do.” 

“That was Murthwaite’s idea,” said 
Harraway hastily, almost apologetically. 
“I only came in when he found out 
about the treasure. He came to me to 
help him carry the thing through be- 
cause he hasn’t the pluck of a fly, and 
then afterward he tried to bilk me be- 
cause I insisted on share and share 
alike. He’s a nice little fellow, is 
George.” 

“Both of you are nice little fellows,” 
said Lerwick. “Your past records 
vouch for it. Well, I suppose Ryce and 
I deserve this. We should have been 
on our guard.” 

“We saw you arrive, and knew you 
even in your officer’s uniform, though 
we’d never seen you except in the prison 
uniform,” said Harraway, with his silly 
high giggle. “Knowing that things had 
come to a head and that Ryce and you 
would probably have general explana- 
tions, we thought it well to be on the 


spot. Imagine none of you realizing 
that Murthwaite had the keys of the 
house !” 

“Yes. I admit we were fools. What 
are you going to do now?” 

“I rather think it’s none of your busi- 
ness,” replied Harraway. “But, merely 
for your amusement, I don’t mind tell- 
ing you that we are shifting the scene 
of our activity to Asia Minor, where, 
with the aid of your map, we are going 
on a treasure hunt. You, if you are 
wise, will stay at home. If we see the 
merest sign of you we shall put the 
police on your track.” 

While this talk was going on I had 
continued to simulate unconsciousness, 
and, as there was nothing to do but lis- 
ten, I had closed my eyes, so that I 
almost cried out in my surprise when 
a soft hand pressed upon my forehead. 
It was Nora. She had crossed the room 
to me without being interfered with. 
Harraway, I suppose, looked upon her 
as harmless, and the others dared not 
interfere when he was satisfied. 

I opened my eyes wide in my aston- 
ishment and found her face bent close 
to mine. There were tears in her eyes 
and her lips trembled, but when she 
realized that I was conscious her face 
lighted up with relief. 

“I thought you must be dead!” she 
whispered. 

“Shamming!” I murmured below my 
breath. “I am fit for anything, really, 
and I have a plan if you will help me.” 

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered 
bravely. 

“Pretend you are caring for me. 
Loosen my collar — mop my brow — and 
then drag me along by the shoulders 
and prop me against the wall — as close 
to the door as you can without making 
them suspicious.” 

By a stroke of luck Harraway chose 
this moment to open out Dick Lerwick’s 
map and examine the sketches. His 
companions gathered round greedily to 
gloat over their find, and Nora’s move- 
ments passed unquestioned. Harraway 
threw a careless glance at her as she 
dragged me along the wall and propped 
me in the corner by the door, but he 
made no comment. 


74 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


“If we can get out of the house they 
will never find us in the dark,” I whis- 
pered. 

“But my brother,” murmured Nora, 
bending over me and pretending to lis- 
ten for my breathing. 

“We cannot get him away, but he will 
come to no harm. They have got all 
they want from him. If we can get 
out I hope to get back the map.” 

“Very well,” agreed Nora. “Let's 
dash for it.” 

“Front door — go now.” 

I sprang to my feet and we were out 
over the smashed-in door before our 
intention had been realized. Nora was 
in front and had the outside door open 
when I reached it. I slammed it in Har- 
raway’s face, and we were hidden in 
the darkness of the shrubbery before 
our enemies had a chance to see us take 
cover. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE RACE BEGINS. 

AS Nora ran before me into the dark- 
ness I could see her vaguely in 
the light that diffused from the house. 
The white cap and the broad bands of 
her ridiculous apron showed up strongly 
against the night, and I called to her 
to take them off. She obeyed me 
quickly, with the result that I saw her 
no more and could only follow by the 
sound of her footsteps. 

Fortunately the pair who came in 
search of us were at fault. Nora, once 
safely hidden by the blackness of the 
night, stopped behind the shelter of a 
cluster of shrubs and drew me to her 
as I blundered past. We stood together, 
hand in hand, in silence but for our 
heavy breathing, and listened to the 
stumbling and growling of Harold and 
Percy. Then the voice of Harraway 
spoke from the doorway. 

“Come back, you fools. Let them 
go. They can do us no harm.” 

“If you’d let me bash him proper, 
this wouldn’t have happened,” grum- 
bled my implacable foe. 

I had made a dangerous enemy when 
I had dared to trifle with Percy. 

“Come back and don’t argue,” re- 
torted Harraway. 


We heard the pair retreat from our 
neighborhood and saw through the 
bushes that they actually returned to 
the house. Harraway stood in the door- 
way still, however, and when the others 
had gone inside he spoke. 

“I know you can hear me, Ryce, 
though it’s a dead certainty that you 
won’t answer. You were a fool to bolt, 
for we’d have been gone in ten minutes. 
We’d got all we want. Still you’ve 
spoiled the little flirtation I meant to 
have with the girl when business was 
over — confound you.” 

I think he knew how I would feel, and 
taunted me in the hope that I would 
discover myself. Nora, too, guessed it, 
for she pressed a warning hand upon 
my arm. 

After a moment’s pause, Harraway 
reentered the house, slamming the door 
bdiind him. 

“And now?” whispered Nora. 

“Let us wait a while, where we are. 
I think they will all go back to the 
caravan soon. They have the map; 
that’s what they came for.” 

And so it turned out. In about a 
quarter of an hour we saw the four 
scoundrels leave the house and make 
their way off in the darkness toward the 
road that led to their caravan. 

Then Miss Lerwick and I went to the 
house. We found Dick Lerwick tied up 
in the corner. We cut him loose. 

“What happened after we got out?” 
I asked. 

“Nothing much. After they had got 
over the excitement caused by your es- 
cape they came back and had a good 
look at the map and drawings. By the 
way, they did not forget to crow over 
me at their success.” 

“That means they are going to start 
for the treasure just as soon as the 
devil will let them,” I said. 

“Surest thing you know,” agreed Ler- 
wick. “But the first thing they will do 
is to give me away to the authorities. 
Confound it ! And just at a time when 
it is absolutely necessary that I should 
be free to move. Harraway knows I 
may get to the treasure before him if 
he doesn’t do something to hold me 
back. Probably by to-morrow morning 


TREASURE VALLEY 


75 


the police will have the information in 
their hands.” 

“There is hardly a doubt of it, I’m 
afraid,” I said gloomily. 

“You mustn’t be caught with all that 
evidence against you, Dick,” cried Nora. 

“I don’t care a hang about the evi- 
dence one way or the other,” replied 
her brother, who was pacing the floor, 
his brows knit with thought. “The 
truth would come out all right if we 
only had time to see the case through. 
The confounded thing is, we haven’t! 
We must get away at once if we are 
to have the least sporting chance of 
getting first to the valley, and we’ll be 
hung up for months if once the police 
get hold of me. We must get away at 
once.” 

Nora and I agreed that a quick de- 
parture was the proper course. Ler- 
wick continued to pace the floor, deep 
in thought. As I looked at him, it 
struck me, as it had done before, that 
his appearance was the only evidence 
that told in his favor. Even in the 
shabby clothes in which he had dis- 
guised himself, he looked a man in 
whom one could trust blindly, and I 
had a feeling of exultation at the 
thought that our fortunes were now 
bound together irrevocably. 

“Yes, it’s now or never,” he declared 
at last, pausing in his tramp and facing 
us. His face was set and determined, 
and I felt before he spoke that he had 
fo’und a solution of our difficulties. 
“But it’s not so easy to get out of the 
country in a hurry. There are such 
things as passports nowadays, and as 
soon as a breath of suspicion gets about 
I shall be done.” 

“What are you going to do then?” I 
asked. “I am sure you have a plan of 
some sort.” 

“I have,” he admitted, “and if it fails 
we are done, for I shall have given 
myself away completely. I told you 
that I have some influence at head- 
quarters, I think ? I don’t want to men- 
tion names, but I have made a friend 
who is a very big bird indeed. I pro- 
pose to go to him now — if I can find 
him — and tell him the whole story from 
beginning to end. I know that he likes 


me, and he has trusted me with mat- 
ters of the utmost importance and se- 
crecy several times. If I can make him 
believe in my innocence and get him to 
see the urgency of the whole affair, he’ll 
do what he can, and he is in a position 
to make things hum once he starts.” 

“Well,” said I, “the first move is to 
get out of this house and to some rail- 
road station where we can get a train 
for New York. My car is here. We 
can take the road that branches off to 
the south, and thus avoid going over 
the bridge near where the caravan is. 
Thus we can give Harraway and his 
gang the slip. We can reach Manor- 
ville and wait there for a train.” 

It took us a very short time to get 
our things together, tumble them into 
the car, and get under way. 

Luckily our plan for reaching New 
York went through without a hitch and 
the next day found us all in a hotel, 
not far from Broadway and Forty-sec- 
ond Street. 

Dick lay down for an hour or two, 
.then started off on his errand. Nora 
went to bed and had a good sleep, and 
I did the same. 

In the evening she and I dined to- 
gether in the hotel restaurant. Not a 
word of love had been spoken by either 
of us, yet love occupied our minds, over- 
whelming our interest in the treasure. 
Somehow I did not want to speak. I 
hugged to my heart the thought that 
mere words were unnecessary between 
us — that everything essential had been 
understood and accepted. 

I was able, therefore, to sit and de- 
light silently in Nora’s presence, to 
watch the play of expression upon her 
charming face. Murthwaite, Harraway, 
the caravan were all forgotten in the 
rapture of the moment. 

Lerwick did not return until late that 
night, but his face alone was sufficient 
evidence of his success. 

“The whole thing is fixed up,” he 
cried as soon as we met. “If only we 
had been prepared we might even have 
gotten away all together to-night. We 
need money and clothes, and you peo- 
ple must see to all that. I’m off to-mor- 

____ !> 


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TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


“To-morrow !” I exclaimed. 

“It is then or never, in all probabil- 
ity. I’m on a special mission, my boy, 
and nobody can stop me.” 

He smiled as he spoke in a manner 
that showed plainly the meaning of his 
special mission. 

“Your friend at court is a thorough 
good sportsman,” said I. 

“He’s more than that — he’s a dear!” 
asserted Nora. “But what about us 
poor things?” 

“Nobody wants to arrest either of 
you on a murder charge,” said Lerwick. 
“You have to get the money for the 
journey and lay in all the baggage nec- 
essary for the three of us. I’ll give you 
a check before I go. Then you will 
follow on, pick me up in Paris at an ad- 
dress I shall give you, and we’ll go ahead 
together. As for you, Nora, we must 
decide later on where you are to be left 
behind.” 

“If I am to be left behind,” said Nora. 

“You certainly will be,” said her 
brother grimly. “The Taurus is no place 
for you.” 

“What about our passports ?” I 
asked. “We are not on a special mis- 
sion of extreme urgency.” 

“Nevertheless all the necessary papers 
will be brought here to-morrow,” he re- 
plied. 

We saw Lerwick off the next day at 
noon. As the ship moved away Nora 
and I stood on the wharf and waved 
him adieu. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

A NOTE FROM HARRAWAY. 

IT was a week before Nora and I were 
* ready to follow Dick Lerwick across 
the Atlantic. There were many things to 
arrange. We made a trip in my little 
car to the fateful Pines. We found 
the old house just as we had left it. 
Harraway and his gang had gone from 
their camp near the bridge, and taken 
their caravan with them. This told us 
that he, too, had made a start for the 
treasure. 

At The Pines we had to pack the 
clothing we intended to take with us, 
and it was with difficulty that we man- 


aged to stow our baggage and ourselves 
in the small car. But we got back to 
the hotel in New York without mishap. 
Then followed a lot of shopping, and 
Nora was perfectly happy. They were 
days of perfect happiness for me as 
well. 

Nora was a different girl now that the 
blight of Murthwaite had been lifted 
from her. The novelty of seeing her 
without her badges of servitude did not 
quickly wear off. It was a real pleas- 
ure to see her clothed in a manner that 
showed off her rare beauty to advan- 
tage. I had imagined that the severity 
of the black dress and white bands 
suited her to perfection, and I was 
astonished and charmed to find that in 
each fresh costume in which I saw her, 
her beauty was enhanced. 

Just a week following the departure 
of Lerwick, then, we set out to rejoin 
him. After a voyage that was rather 
stormy we arrived in Paris and found 
him at the address he had given us. 

“I haven’t been idle while you have 
been loafing around New York and en- 
joying yourselves on the ship,” he said, 
when we had finished congratulating 
each other on our reunion. “I’ve been 
looking into the matter of our quickest 
route, and I find that the difficulty is 
to book by any route at all. Boats are 
generally full up long before they sail, 
and our only chance appears to be to 
make for the most likely port and chance 
getting a passage that some one has 
failed to take up at the last moment. 
I wonder where the other party have 
got to, and how they propose to travel.” 

“They may not have got out of Amer- 
ica yet,” I said hopefully. “Harra- 
way, you know, is wanted by the police. 
He might have a great deal of difficulty 
in getting out of the country.” 

“Don’t you believe it, my boy,” re- 
plied Lerwick with a laugh. “It is 
only peaceful citizens who have trouble 
about customs and passports and other 
red-tape restrictions. Your professional 
rogue knows how to evade trouble. You 
may rest assured they got across, and 
are probably well ahead of us now.” 

“Do be cheerful, Dick,” said Nora. 
“We have been so lucky already that 


TREASURE VALLEY 


77 


I feel sure it is going to last. What 
port are we to make for?” 

“I believe Genoa will be best now- 
adays, from all I can hear. We must 
leave the planning of our campaign until 
we reach Alexandria and see what 
chance there is of getting a boat up the 
Levant.” 

“Meanwhile there is more than an 
even chance that Harraway and his gang 
are ahead of us, and that when we 
reach the valley in the Taurus we shall 
find nothing but any empty hole in the 
ground,” I said gloomily. 

Our converseation took place in the 
lounge of the little hotel in which Dick 
Lerwick had been stopping. When I 
made this gloomy forecast of events, 
he looked, at me curiously, and then 
smiled in a meaning way that I could 
not fathom. Next he rose and crossed 
the room to a wide settee and beckoned 
us both to join him. 

“Come, you two innocents, and let 
me a tale unfold,” he said, with a twin- 
kle in his eye. “Sit close to me, for 
this must not be overheard.” Then, 
in a low voice, he explained the cause 
of his amusement. “I understand that 
Murthwaite has the letter I wrote you, 
telling in detail my adventures in Asia 
Minor?” he asked Nora, who sadly 
nodded her confirmation. 

“And he’s well up in its contents, 
judging by the way he told me the 
story,” I added. 

“I dare say,” said Lerwick. “He’d 
have gloated over it so often that he’d 
have it practically by heart. But you 
must remember the circumstances in 
which I wrote the letter. I wanted to 
give Nora an account of my escape, and 
at the same time I was describing an 
incident that meant hundreds of thou- 
sands of dollars to me. Remember 
also, that all letters from the theaters 
of war — even officers’ letters — were 
liable to be opened by censors. I didn’t 
forget it, I need hardly say, so I gave 
Nora as graphic an account of the facts 
as. I could, taking care to alter every- 
thing that would give a clew to the par- 
ticular valley in which the treasure lay.” 

“But the storv of the Turks?” said 
Nora. 


“Was all perfectly true,” answered 
Lerwick, pressing his sister’s arm af- 
fectionately. 

“Still, I don’t see that it helps us 
much, now that they have your map 
with the directions and the sketches,” 
I remarked. 

“No, it wouldn’t, if it hadn’t been that 
the very fact of thinking of the dan- 
ger from writing the letter led me fur- 
ther. I often used to pore over my 
map, looking forward to the time when 
I should be able to retrace my steps 
through the Taurus range, and I was 
always desperately afraid that some one 
might get on the track of my treasure. 
Then, while thinking of how I had hid- 
den things up in my letter to Nora, it 
suddenly occurred to me that I could 
follow the same plan with my sketches. 
You will remember that I gave the com- 
pass points from which each drawing 
was made.” 

“Yes, the whole thing seemed very 
clear,” I agreed. 

“Well, I carefully erased these, one 
by one, and replaced each by its exact 
opposite, so that now, for S. W. one 
must read N. E., for N. N. E. read 
S. S. W. and so on. You get the idea?” 

“Splendid !” I exclaimed. “Then 
Harraway will not be able to identify 
anything from your drawings?” 

“It will be very difficult, because he 
will always be looking for them in the 
wrong direction.” 

“Dick, you are a wonder — a regular 
infant phenom. I can almost forgive 
you for writing me whoppers,” said 
Nora. 

“Wait until I finish,” said Dick, who 
was enjoying our surprise enormously. 
“Having started this method of camou- 
flaging my data, the habit grew on me, 
and I gradually altered the drawings 
themselves. I would study some par- 
ticularly prominent feature which I had 
chosen as a landmark, until I felt that 
I could never forget it, and then I 
would rub it out and draw it in quite 
differently. In this way I made several 
important alterations in each sketch, 
so that now no one but myself can tell 
their significance. To me, however, they 


78 TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


would still serve as reminders if I were 
in a difficulty.” 

“So our friends the enemy have got 
nothing for all their trouble except a 
delusion?” I said. 

‘Things are not quite as good as 
that,” said Lerwick, shaking his head 
and growing more serious. “They have 
my map with the route traced on it, 
and the cross showing approximately 
where the valley lies. That I did not 
alter. ^ I did not trust myself to find 
the right valley again, for, as I told 
you, they run in every direction over 
hundreds of square miles.” 

“You have lifted a great weight from 
our minds,” said Nora. “I can almost 
feel sorry for these poor wretches — 
bad as they are — roaming about the val- 
ley, stumbling over bowlders while their 
eyes are intent on your drawings, and 
staring south when they ought to look 
north. How they will swear !” 

The knowledge that our enemies had 
not got every clew to the treasure 
cheered me immensely, and I set out 
on the next stage of the journey con- 
fident that we should win through in 
the end. We were fortunate in getting 
a boat from Genoa within three days of 
our arrival in the port, and when we 
landed in Alexandria, Egypt, six days 
later I could not believe that Harraway 
and his gang could be ahead of us. 
Yet almost the first person on whom 
my eyes rested after we had landed was 
my old friend Percy. I could not be 
mistaken in that broken nose and ex- 
treme squint, even though the man was 
dressed so differently from when I had 
last seen him. He now wore a suit of 
•light tweed and a straw hat, and looked 
grotesquely out of place in such respect- 
able attire. 

As our eyes met — or, at least, as mine 
met him — for it was never possible to 
say that his met anything — he slunk 
back through the crowd of idlers who 
watched the arrival of our ship, and 
hurried away. 

Neither of my companions had ob- 
served him, and I said nothing until we 
had reached our hotel and were alone 
together in the private sitting room that 
we had engaged. Nora was worried by 


my discovery, but Lerwick took it with 
calm unconcern. 

“It is only what we had to expect,” 
he said. “We knew that if they were 
not ahead, they could not be very far 
behind. Indeed, we are rather better 
off than before, for we have definite 
news of their whereabouts.” 

“And so have they of ours,” added 
Nora, whose spirits were dashed by the 
proximity of her old enemies. 

We had a further proof of Harra- 
way’s activities before the day was out. 
Our native attendant entered our room 
with a letter. 

“Mister Ler-wick?” he inquired, the 
whites of his eyes flickering as his 
glance darted from one to the other 
of us. 

Lerwick held out his hand. “Who 
brought it?” he demanded. 

“Porter give it me — I know no more, 
sar.” 

Lerwick tore open the envelope. “I 
thought so,” he said grimly, after a 
glance down the page. Then he read 
aloud : 

"My Dear Lerwick : I am delighted to 
hear of your arrival, and of that of your 
charming sister, and of my old friend Ryce. 
I should have been charmed to meet you, but 
I am leaving the neighborhood at once on 
important business, so must regretfully post- 
pone the pleasure. If I may advise, I would 
suggest that you prolong your stay in Alex- 
andria until my return, when we could have a 
happy reunion. If you have any idea of 
proceeding farther in the immediate future — 
say, exploring the wilds of Asia Minor — take 
my advice, don’t. The climate is very un- 
certain, the country, rough, and the inhabi- 
tants unsettled. It is doubtful — very doubt- 
ful, in fact — if you would return alive. 
Yours, Harraway.” 

A moment we sat, looking in silence, 
from one to the other, disposed to 
smile at Harra way’s breezy audacity, but 
realizing that our adventure had taken 
rather a serious turn. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE GUILE OF NORA. 

IT was on the day following the re- 
ceipt of Harraway’s letter that Nora 
surprised me by the display of a 
Machiavellian diplomacy which I had 
not suspected her to possess. Dick Ler- 


TREASURE VALLEY 


79 


wick had gone out to discover what ves- 
sels were sailing from Alexandria up the 
Levant in the near future, also to look 
for a quiet pension where Nora could 
stay in safety during our absence. To 
me he left the care of his sister, a di- 
vision of labor against which I, need- 
less to say, made no protest. 

We sat together upon a window seat 
and watched, with the interest of nov- 
elty, the jostling Alexandrian crowd in 
the streets below with its gay colors, 
its picturesque garments and innumer- 
able nationalities. I thought that Nora’s 
whole attention wasabsorbed by the mov- 
ing scene below, and was therefore sur- 
prised when she turned to me suddenly 
with a question on quite a different sub- 
ject. 

“Don^t you think Dick is just an ideal 
brother ?" she asked me. 

“I admire him immensely/' I agreed. 
“But which of his many virtues have 
you in mind at the moment?" 

“I was thinking of the poor boy 
tramping round in the hot sun trying 
to find a home for me." 

I laughed. “Well, we’ve just got to 
find a home for you before we go." 

“Yes, I suppose so; but it will be 
so difficult." She paused, and looked 
thoughtfully out of the window. 

“Difficult !" I said, progressing blindly 
in the direction in which she led. “I 
don’t see that at all. There must be 
plenty of quiet boarding-house places 
where you can be comfortable until we 
return." 

“Comfortable. Oh, yes; I wasn’t 
thinking of comfort exactly." 

“Of what were you thinking then, 
Nora? Of course you may be a bit 
lonely while we are away, but " 

“I was thinking more of safety,” 
Nora interrupted. “You see — well — 
when you go of course you won’t know 
if Harraway and Murth waite are ahead 
of you or still here. I should hate to 
fall into their hands again." 

1 “That’s so ; I never thought of them !" 
I exclaimed. “But after all, why should 
they want to interfere with you now? 
They can't blackmail you any more." 

“They might think that if they cap- 
tured me they could force me to tell 


them your latest plans, or they might 
hold me as a hostage until you had got 
the treasure and then hand me back in 
return for it." 

“Why did neither Dick nor I think 
of these possibilities?" I said, deeply 
impressed by her words. 

“Perhaps I should not have spoken," 
said Nora. “It means that both of you 
will be worrying about me, when you 
have plenty of other things to worry 
you, and all the time it may be quite 
unnecessary. Perhaps Harraway will 
not think of using me as a means of 
scoring off you, after all. In fact, it 
will be best to say nothing at all to 
Dick about it, especially if he has found 
a nice quiet home for me." 

“Not mention it to Dick!" I ex- 
claimed. “Why do you think I am 
going to have you left here if there is 
the faintest chance that you may fall 
into the hands of Harraway? I shall 
tackle Dick about it the moment he 
gets back." 

“Why worry him, poor fellow?" 
Nora went on. “After all, what good 
can it do? You know that he is con- 
vinced that he must leave me here. 
What else could he do?" 

“Rather than that you should run 
the slightest risk of falling into the 
hands of these scoundrels we should 
drop the treasure hunt altogether," I 
said earnestly. My mind was filled with 
pictures of Nora struggling in the 
clutch of that villain Percy, or under- 
going cross-examination assisted by the 
methods of Harraway. 

Nora shook her head. “You know 
that Dick would never consent to give 
up the treasure. He would be very^ 
foolish if he did. No, we shall just 
have to take whatever risk there is, so 
why worry?" 

“Worry! I should be in misery all 
the time we were gone. Why, it would 
be better to take you with us than to 
leave you here in such uncertainty." 

“Dick would never consent to that," 
said Nora, watching me very closely, I 
noticed. 

“But hang it, he must consent," I 
replied hotly. “There are only three 
courses — to leave you here with the pos- 


80 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


sibility of falling into Harraway’s hands 
— to give up the treasure hunt, which 
you say, and I quite agree, that Dick 
will never do — and to take you with us. 
That means that there is only one pos- 
sible course, and Dick must be made 
to see it.” 

“I’ve tried to get round him before, 
Bob, but he won’t hear of it.” 

“Tve got to convince him, not you, 
dear girl. He must be made to see 
reason.” 

“Oh, Bob Ryce, do you really mean 
it?” cried Nora, taking my two hands 
in hers. 

“Of course I do, Nora,” I answered. 

“You dear!” 

She pressed my hands, then put both 
her arms round my neck and laid her 
soft warm cheek on mine. “You dear !” 
she repeated. “I’ve been longing to go 
all the time, but I could not see how it 
was to be managed. I didn’t dream that 
I could persuade you into helping me 
until this morning, and even then I was 
very doubtful if it would come off. But 
you won’t go back on your word now 
that you know how you have been 
done ?” 

“How can I ?” I said helplessly. 

“But you’ve got to convince Dick, 
and that won’t be easy.” 

“He can’t go alone; that’s certain; 
and I shan’t move a step without you,” 
I answered. 

Nora laughed gayly. “This is better 
than I had dared to hope,” she said. 
“At the best I expected to get you as 
a half-hearted supporter of my cause, 
instead of which you are a regular fire- 
eater !” 

Dick returned in time for lunch. He 
had been successful in finding a tramp 
steamer that would sail for Cyprus in 
about a week’s time, and he was strongly 
of opinion that we should take the op- 
portunity rather than wait for a regu- 
lar steamer to Alexandretta. 

“We can get our equipment together 
quietly and hire or buy some sort of 
fishing craft,” he explained. “It is a 
matter of not much more than fifty 
miles across to the mainland, and we 
shall land unostentatiously on an unin- 
habited part of the coast. We don’t 


want to create any local excitement, and 
we certainly don’t want Harraway and 
his gang following our track. They will 
probably go by Alexandretta, and I 
hope that we shall clear the boodle and 
get safely away before they reach the 
valley.” 

“How do you propose to get the gold 
away?” I asked. “If it took ten mules 
to bring it ” 

“It will take ten mules to remove it; 
certainly, my mathematician,” said Ler- 
wick. “We shall buy these from the 
local tribes as we go through the moun- 
tains, I hope. That matter we must 
leave until the need arises.” 

“And what have you done about poor 
me?” asked Nora. “Have you found 
me a home?” 

“I can’t say I’ve seen a place that I 
care for,” replied her brother. “Alex- 
andria is pretty full up, and the best 
pensions are packed to the last bed- 
room. Where there is room, it is mostly 
because the place is badly run.” 

“All the more reason for adopting 
the plan I am about to propose,” I said 
nervously, for I expected strong oppo- 
sition, and Dick Lerwick was not a 
man whom it was easy to turn from his 
purpose. 

“Out with your plan,” he said, look- 
ing at me with a natural surprise at my 
portentous opening. 

Then, with all the eloquence that I 
had at my command, I pled Nora’s 
cause, while she, who had jockeyed me 
into the position of advocate, sat mod- 
estly by, apparently indifferent to the 
result. 

Dick Lerwick listened to me in si- 
lence and with a smile that I was at 
a loss to account for, until, when I 
paused to search my mind for further 
arguments, he laughed outright. “My 
dear chap, you needn’t pile on the agony 
any more,” he said. “I’m perfectly con- 
tent that Nora should go with us; in 
fact, I should prefer it. If I have given 
you the impression that I wanted to 
leave her behind, it is because I thought 
you were keen on it. I thought you 
would look on me as a cold-blooded 
brute if I suggested taking my own sis- 
ter on an expedition like ours; so, of 


TREASURE VALLEY 


81 


course, I always choked her off. Per- 
sonally, I think there is very little dan- 
ger, and probably not much hardship 
even. With luck, we shall lift the treas- 
ure and be back to the coast before 
Harraway finds the valley. ,, 

Nora rose, with a sigh of relief, and 
kissed her brother gratefully. “So 
that's settled,” she said gleefully. “And 
I have given myself quite a lot of trou- 
ble needlessly, filling poor Bob's head 
with wild imaginings of the dangers and 
horrors of life in Alexandria.” 

“So you were at the root of it all,” 
said her brother, laughing. “I might 
have guessed it. You’ve had — or taken 
— your own way since you were all black 
stockings and pigtail. Ryce, my lad, 
you have a desperate future to look for- 
ward to!” 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

DIFFICULTIES MULTIPLY. 

T'HE remainder of our stay in Alex- 
* andria was occupied in laying in 
such of the necessary equipment of our 
expedition as we did not think we could 
buy in Kyrenia, the port in Cyprus for 
which we were bound. Lerwick and I 
kept together as much as possible, and 
one or the other of us was always on 
guard over Nora, for we had plentiful 
evidence that our enemies were still in 
the city. 

We were watched in turn by the two 
underlings — Percy and Harold — but of 
Murthwaite or Harraway we saw no 
sign. The principal problem that occu- 
pied our minds was how to get aboard 
our ship and leave the port unobserved 
by the spies. When making his arrange- 
ments with the Greek skipper of the 
tramp, Lerwick had exercised great care 
and taken precautions against being fol- 
lowed, and we were pretty confident that 
our intentions were unsuspected. 

During the last two days of our stay 
we came to the conclusion that Harra- 
way had ceased to take an interest in 
our movements, or that he and his 
friends had got away ahead of us, for 
the spying ceased so far as we could 
ascertain. 

Nevertheless, we took the precaution 

OA TN 


to have our baggage conveyed aboard 
piecemeal and at night, and we our- 
selves left the hotel under cover of dark- 
ness and made our way to the vessel by 
circuitous paths. 

The voyage to Cyprus was without 
incident, and my main recollections of 
it are the happy hours spent on the sun- 
lit deck with Nora, and the endless de- 
lays at our ports of call on the Levan- 
tine coast, for it turned out that our 
captain, with whom the contract had 
been made, and for whose pocket our 
passage-money was destined, had grossly 
underestimated the duration of the voy- 
age. 

It was fully a fortnight after our 
departure from Egypt before we landed 
at Kyrenia, worried and anxious with 
the long delay, and full of speculation 
as to the probable whereabouts of our 
enemies. 

Our stay on the coast of Cyprus was 
made up of a series of irritating delays, 
due, largely, to the necessity for a cer- 
tain amount of secrecy in our prepara- 
tions. We had to acquire a boat that 
would carry us to the mainland without 
our motive for the purchase leaking out. 
We had to load her with stores enough 
for our journey in the same unostenta- 
tious fashion. We disarmed suspicion 
and acquired the reputation of being 
sporting tourists by making a number 
of sailing trips along the coast of the 
island, and finally, when all the prepara- 
tory difficulties had been overcome, we 
slipped off to the mainland under cover 
of one of these coasting excursions. We 
had lost several weeks of valuable time, 
however, and that was to mean much 
to us in the end. 

It was late in the afternoon that Ler- 
wick, after tacking up and down the bar- 
ren coast in search of a cove suitable 
for our purpose, ran our little craft into 
a rocky inlet that looked as secure from 
observation as anything that we were 
likely to find. It was very small and 
almost landlocked, so that there seemed 
a fair chance that our boat would re- 
main secure and unobserved until our 
return. 

We had long since made up our minds 
that we must chance the disaster of los- 


82 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


ing our boat, for we could see no way 
out of it, and our hopes of success rose 
considerably as we discovered this de- 
serted little harbor. 

The coast on either side of it was 
high and rocky, and the bare, almost 
precipitous hills immediately inland 
showed no sign either of habitation or 
cultivation. 

‘‘We could leave her here for months 
with hardly a chance of her being dis- 
covered/' said Lerwick. “And I hope 
that two weeks at most will see us back." 

He ran our little vessel aground on 
a small patch of sandy beach at the far- 
thest extremity of the cove, and I had 
the pleasure of lifting Nora over the 
gunwale and carrying her ashore. 

After the decision had been taken that 
she should accompany us, Nora had 
equipped herself thoroughly for the ex- 
pedition before we left Alexandria. She 
was dressed now in a costume not un- 
like that worn by some of the Ameri- 
can women war workers in France, and 
it suited her to perfection. Her belted 
coat and short skirt were of stout khaki, 
and she had strong brown boots that 
laced up to the knee. A rakish khaki 
peaked cap gave her a saucy air well in 
keeping with the light badinage with 
which latterly she had become so free. 

For it was a very different Nora from 
the pale, terror-haunted maid of The 
Pines whom we had with us. The free 
life, the sea air, and the absence of all 
anxiety had changed her completely. 
Her cheeks had now a healthy glow of 
color, her eyes sparkled with life and 
with mischief. 

We unshipped all our cargo and car- 
ried it, load by load, to a sheltered spot 
under an overhanging cliff. Lerwick 
discovered a perfect little basin amid 
a cluster of rocks, and there we an- 
chored our craft in greater security than 
we could have hoped to find. 

We waded ashore and started up the 
sandy strip of beach to rejoin Nora, 
whom we had left with our baggage 
under the cliff, when to our unbounded 
astonishment we saw, standing halfway 
between us and our destination, a hu- 
man figure quietly surveying our move- 
ments. 


“Confound it !" said Dick Lerwick 
simply. 

The words expressed all our chagrin 
at finding our hopes blasted. The one 
thing we wanted above all others was 
to get away from the coast unobserved. 

“We may as well go forward and 
talk to it," went on Lerwick after a 
pause. “I shall have to explain our- 
selves somehow." 

During the time that he had spent 
in a Turkish prison camp, Dick had oc- 
cupied himself, with a view to his ulti- 
mate escape, by learning as much of the 
language as possible, and had reached 
a fair proficiency. 

“Shall we let him see that we are 
armed?" I asked, ready to slip a hand 
to the pocket in which I carried the 
automatic with which I had provided 
myself. 

“No. Peaceful penetration is our 
line ; but be on the alert in case a dem- 
onstration in force should be wanted." 

As we drew nearer to the immobile 
figure we had a chance to examine him 
at our leisure. Lerwick, who had some 
experience of the inhabitants of the dis- 
trict, suddenly gave an exclamation of 
surprise. 

“Look here, Ryce," he said, with a 
hint of excitement in his lowered voice, 
“this is as suspicious a characer as we 
are ourselves. He certainly doesn't be- 
long hereabouts." 

I looked at the figure that stood await- 
ing us. It was that of a man, little 
more than a youth indeed, wearing a 
fez, an old black frock coat, black trou- 
sers, and very down-at-heel brown 
boots. He had, around his neck, a 
frayed and grimy starched collar with 
butterfly wings held together by a stud ; 
but he wore no tie or any trace of a 
shirt, for the V of his waistcoat was 
filled in by nothing more than light- 
brown skin. 

As we approached he smiled a wel- 
come to us, displaying an expanse of 
dazzling white teeth, enhanced by the 
small dead-black mustache which graced 
his upper lip. His eyes were coal black 
and penetrating and given to cunning, 
sidelong glances that did not add to 
one's confidence in him. I had seen 


TREASURE VALLEY 83 


many of the type in Alexandria, though 
not in the state of dilapidation which a 
closer inspection showed our new ac- 
quaintance to be suffering from. His 
coat was out at elbows, his trousers 
frayed into fringes, and his whole gen- 
eral appearance that of one who had 
seen better days, but in a very distant 
past. 

As we approached he bowed low and 
smiled ingratiatingly. Lerwick made 
some remark in Turkish, which was, of 
course, unintelligible to me. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” replied 
the stranger, in perfectly good English, 
but with the harsh tone in which all 
Easterners speak our language. 

His big black eyes wandered over us 
inquisitively as he waited in silence for 
us to make the next move. 

The next section of this novel will appear 
in the number of TOP-NOTCH that follows 
this — the one dated and out February 15 th. 
Back numbers may be obtained from news deal- 
ers or the publishers. 


A Busy Job 

IT is only in Albuquerque, the metrop- 
* olis of New Mexico, that street 
cars, each operated by one woman, may 
be seen. During the war, when men 
were scarce, women were put on the 
cars, and as they have proved very sat- 
isfactory, they have been allowed to re- 
main, even though there is now no 
scarcity in the supply of male labor 
available. 

However, it is a busy job. The 
woman acts as “motorman” and con- 
ductor — she runs the car, opens and 
closes the doors, turns switches, issues 
transfers, and makes change for the 
passengers to drop a six-cent fare in 
the box. Then, many of the cars have 
only hand brakes, so that it is no easy 
task stopping to let passengers on and 
off. The cars are double-enders and 
the fare box has to be moved from one 
end to the other at the termination of 
each trip. The switching of the trolley 
is generally attended to by the boys who 
happen to be around. 

The women drivers call off the names 
of the streets after dark. In the day- 


time passengers look out for their own 
destinations. 

Baseball’s Winter League 

DASEB ALL’S winter league was the 
term commonly applied to the 
groups of fans throughout the country 
who passed their winter months fight- 
ing verbal battles over the games of 
the preceding season. This league now 
takes a minor place, as a four-club cir- 
cuit has been organized in California 
to play a season of ten weeks, with 
double-headers every Sunday. 

Ty Cobb, the wonder player-manager 
of the Detroit Tigers, paid a visit to the 
coast last winter, and the new league 
was the result. He was the pilot of 
the San Francisco team for its first 
season. Roger Hornsby, the Cardinals’ 
star, headed the Los Angeles troup; 
George Sisler, the marvelous player of 
the Browns, was in command of the 
Vernon club, while Harry Heilman, of 
the Detroit Tigers, whose extraordinary 
batting created such a sensation last 
season, guided the destinies of the Mis- 
sions. 

A Famous Model 

IN Madonna Lisa, a Neapolitan, and 
* wife of Zanobi del Giocondo of 
Florence, the great Italian painter, 
sculptor, architect, and engineer, Leo- 
nardo da Vinci, found the model for 
his famous painting “Mona Lisa.” Her 
haunting, enigmatic smile delighted his 
soul, and the story is told that the 
artist kept the beautiful Neapolitan sur- 
rounded with singers and other enter- 
tainers in order that her smile might be 
forever on her lips. Ten years elapsed 
before the painting was finished. It 
was bought by Francis I. of France for 
four thousand golden florins, and is now 
in the Louvre at Paris. 

In 1911 the world was startled by 
the news that the famous painting had 
disappeared from the Salon Carre of 
the Louvre. Not until December, 1913, 
was it found in Florence, having been 
stolen by Cincenzo Perugia, an Italian 
house painter who worked in Paris. 
The painting was returned to its place 
of honor in the Louvre. 



e Midnight 

Diamond — 

^ 

Fraiikl^icKardson Pierce * 


• COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE) 


CHAPTER I. 

ONE STRING TO THE BARGAIN. 

Sp£pi®VERY ball team in Alaska had 
begun practicing the minute 
they heard that my team of 
barnstormers was coming 
North. They treated us like 
a million dollars, gave us the freedom 
of the different towns we hit, showed 
us some of the greatest trout fishing in 
the world, and taught us what hospital- 
ity really is ; then they ended up by do- 
ing their darnedest to lick us on the ball 
field. 

We pulled into a little mining town 
one day, with a band, most of the town, 
and all of the dogs down at the river 
landing to meet the boat. The manager 
of the local team took me in hand, and 
the first thing I said was : 

“What kind of a ball game are you 
planning to pull off here?” 

“What's the matter?” he came back. 

“Why, according to the time we start, 
we’ll be lucky if we finish at midnight,” 
I said, pointing to the schedule. 

He gave me the laugh. “Oh, that's 
an annual affair with us. To-morrow 
is the longest day of the year, and we 


can have a game just as well at mid- 
night as we can at noon. Don't make 
much difference.” 

A mosquito passed him up and landed 
on me. I paused long enough to send 
the pest to the bosom of his fathers, 
thereby starting a feud that at least 
three hundred of his sons must have 
taken up; then I told the manager I 
guessed it was all right. 

“I suppose,” I said pleasantly, “that 
when the time comes some ex-Cub will 
wash the gold off his hands and take 
his place on the mound, an ex-Pirate 
will hold down the first sack, and maybe 
a former Dodger will occupy second or 
third. I’ve just found out where all the 
big leaguers go when they don’t go to 
the minors.” 

He laughed. “Nope; we haven't got 
any big leaguers in camp, but we have 
got a kid named Revere who is a comer 
if he ever gets a chance in the States.” 

“Ah, ha!” said I to myself. “This 
bird has heard that Pm a scout. In a 
couple of minutes he’ll be telling me 
about the greatest pitcher in the world, 
and will I take him with me and pay a 
thousand or so, mostly so, in getting him 
back to the States and keeping him all 


THE MIDNIGHT DIAMOND 


85 


winter so there'll be a sensation in ball 
circles next spring? Every town has its 
coming pitcher, but the trouble is they 
never arrive. Sometimes I wonder 
what delays 'em. 

“A good mound artist, eh?” I said 
aloud. 

“No, siree!” he replied. “You find 
'em everywhere, except in this town, but 
we have got the greatest potential pill 
pounder, first baseman, and base stealer 
in captivity.” 

“Three different men?” I inquired. 

“Nope; all rolled into one.” 

“Trot out this marvel and let's look 
him over?” I begged. 

“No; you'll have plenty of chance to 
look at him to-morrow night. You can 
see him at the plate, then you can watch 
him run to second or third if he don’t 
make a homer, and after that you can 
watch him steal home.” 

“That'll sure be an interesting sight !” 
I replied, enjoying a mental giggle when 
I remembered how good Hale was get- 
ting. Hale was my star pitcher. The 
mosquitoes had taken all the tempera- 
ment out of him which had caused his 
exit from the big leagues, and right now 
he was good enough for anything. 

The manager pulled out after help- 
ing me find my room. Just about the 
time I got my shaving kit, hairbrush, 
and the like of that spread out on the 
dresser, there came a knock at the door. 
I guess you'd call it a knock. At first 
I thought somebody was trying to put 
their fist through the door. 

“Come in !” I shouted in my toughest 
voice. 

The door opened and in blew the 
original model of the sour doughs you 
see in moving pictures. 

“I hear you're the boss of these base- 
ball players that just arrived?” he said. 

“Your hearing is perfect,” I replied; 
“what can I do you for?” 

“I'm Paul Revere's father !” was his 
startling announcement. 

“You don’t say?” I gasped. “Well, 
you are sure one well-preserved old 
man. Let’s see, you must be crowding 
two hundred years by this time.” 

He gave me a queer look. “My boy 
was named Jim Revere, but the men 


in camp call him Paul for short,” he ex- 
plained. “Now, I want to do a little 
business with you.” He pulled out a 
moosehide poke and emptied a flock of 
nuggets out onto the table, while I won- 
dered what was coming next. 

“How much do you suppose that's 
worth?” he asked. 

I looked the pile over and tried to 
compare it with a twenty-dollar gold 
piece that I once had before the war. 
“There must be all of fifty dollars’ 
worth !” I replied. 

He looked at me about the way I’d 
look at you if you asked me what they 
do with a bat in a ball game. 

“Huh!” he growled. “There's about 
four hundred dollars’ worth in that pile 
and a lot more where it come from. 
Now I want you to fix it ” 

“You’ve struck the wrong man !” I 
broke in, freezing up. “I don't fix noth- 
ing. I never have, and I never will.” 

You see right then and there I smelled 
the well-known rodent. He wanted to 
fix me to lose the coming game so that 
he could go out and clean up on the 
others in the camp who might take a 
notion to bet on our team. I was won- 
dering whether I was man enough to 
throw him out, when he started talking 
again. 

“I guess you don’t understand me,” he 
said. 

“Oh, yes; I do!” I replied. 

“You see,” he went on, “my son is 
crazy over baseball. Always batting or 
throwing a ball around when he might 
be in better business. I’ve got to find 
some way of curing him of such fool- 
ishness.” 

“Now let me get you right,” I butted 
in; “you think baseball is foolishness 
and that a healthy kid who plays ball 
is wasting his time?” 

“There's something wrong when a 
kid will quit digging gold to play ball !” 

“You're all wrong, old-timer; it just 
shows he is a healthy boy. Just think 
back a few years, you played ball your- 
self.” 

“I never played a game of ball in my 
life, and I've only seen a part of a 
game.” 

“Well, you poor devil,” I replied, “I 


86 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


don’t feel half as peeved at you as I 
did a few minutes ago. A fellow that 
don’t like baseball is like a fellow that 
don’t like kids — he’s missing one of the 
biggest kicks in life and don’t know it. 
But what’s all this got to do with this 
yellow stuff that looks as if it might 
have been wrested from nature’s bosom 
a few minutes ago ?” 

“You baseball fellows are hard- 
hearted cusses,” he said, getting off on 
the wrong foot again, “but maybe you’ll 
see what I’m getting at. I love that 
boy of .mine! All my life I’ve done my 
best to shield him from disappointments 
when it was possible. A young fellow 
bumps up against enough hard luck in ' 
this world as it is. Some hard luck is 
good for him, but too much isn’t. So 
I figure to head off whatever isn’t ex- 
actly necessary. 

“The only trouble that’s ever come 
between us,” he went on, “is this base- 
ball thing. He has made a good repu- 
tation among the boys in the camp, and 
they’ve told him he ought to go out- 
side and play in the leagues. They’ve 
told him that so many times that he is 
beginning to, believe it. You’re an old 
hand at the game, I take it. You know 
what that will mean. He’ll leave here 
tickled to death, figuring his big chance 
has come. He’ll go down there and try 
until his heart breaks, only to find out 
that a good man in a small mining camp 
is better than a poor one in a big city. 

I see it and you see it, and that’s what 
I want to prevent — the bitter disappoint- 
ment that will come to him when he 
learns that the thing he’s set his heart 
on isn’t for him.” 

Maybe old man Revere didn’t like 
baseball, but just the same I was strong 
for him from that minute. I’d seen too 
many kids come from the sticks and go 
back again with heartaches not to know 
just how he felt about it. 

He shoved the pile of nuggets toward 
me. “I want you to use your best 
pitcher, and I want your men to play 
their best to show this boy of mine 
that he can’t hit the ball when profes- 
sionals are throwing it; that he is not 
another Mr. Ruth as the men in camp 
tell him ; that he can’t steal bases when 


real ball players are guarding them. 
Show him all these things and the gold 
is yours, and more, too, if it will cost 
that.” 

I split the pile in two and shoved one 
half back at him. “For myself I want 
nothing,” I told him, “but I’ll call in my 
best pitcher, a boy that is as good as 
the average in the big leagues right now, 
and I’ll tell him that if he holds that 
son of yours the nuggets are his. If 
your boy gets one hit off of Hale I’ll 
return them.” 

“Thank you, sir!” he said. “Thank 
you !” 

“There’s just one string to this, Mr. 
Revere, and that is this: so long as we 
are doing our utmost to defeat your 
son for the good of his soul, you’ve 
got to be present and see it done.” 

Maybe that was rather mean of me, 
but I wondered if he was willing to 
watch his boy, who was the local pride, 
humbled even in a good cause. It did 
me good when he hesitated, then he 
sighed and said, “I’ll be there!” 

CHAPTER II. 

SO FULL OF FIGHT. 

LI ALE had been surprised so many 
* * times on this trip that he took the 
rumors he heard about this Revere boy 
seriously. 

“Yes,” he told me, when I called him 
into the roojn and outlined what had 
been arranged; “everybody in camp is 
talking about this boy. I’m taking it for 
granted that his local rep is all there 
is to it, but I’m not taking it for granted 
that he can’t knock me out of the box. 
After one or two other places we’ve 
played I take nothing for granted. I’ll 
be loaded for Revere when he faces me 
just on general principles, and, besides, 
I’d like to take these nuggets back with 
me and have ’em made into stick pins 
for my friends.” 

Exit Mr. Hale. 

Enter Paul Revere. 

He was a big, rangy chap, with a win- 
ning smile that made you like him the 
instant you saw him. Right away I got 
his father’s viewpoint; he sure was too 
nice a kid to send outside full of con- 


THE MIDNIGHT DIAMOND 


87 


fidence and hope and to bring back dis- 
appointed. Baseball wasn't his game, 
and mining was. “As a miner he was 
undoubtedly a whiz, as a baseball player 
he was one fine miner,” was my deci- 
sion. 

After he had closed the door behind 
him and took the only chair in my room, 
me sitting on the bed, he pulls out a 
poke and pours out a fistful of nuggets. 
Well, I knew he wasn't going to try 
to bribe me to throw the game his way. 
He wasn't that sort, so I waited for him 
to talk. 

“You’re a big-league scout?” he be- 
gan. 

“Some of the time !'' I told him. 

“I want to commission you, or what- 
ever you call it, to get me a try-out with 
Chicago, New York, or some of those 
big fellows. I know pull counts for 
nothing, and so all I want is the chance.” 

“You'll find that slamming the old pill 
up here is one thing and slarrffning it 
down there is another,” I replied. 

“Yeah; I’ve thought of all that!” 

“Have you thought that the best 
pitchers in the world are earning their 
cakes in the crowd you want to travel 
with ?” 

“How am I going to know whether 
I am any good or not if I don’t get a 
try-out. If I can go down there and 
stand on my own legs, why shouldn't 
I do it. Believe me, sir, if I can't stand 
on my own legs you won’t find me look- 
ing around for a pair of crutches. I’ll 
know that my line isn’t baseball, and 
I'll come back to the creeks where I 
belong.” 

There was determination and inde- 
pendence and just enough what you 
might call modest self-confidence to get 
under my skin. I ask you what you 
would have done if you had been me? 

That's just what I did — hemmed and 
hawed and tried to let him down easy 
because I liked him, and at last I told 
him that if he'd get three hits off Hale 
during the game, I'd hold the paper 
while he signed on the dotted line and 
ship him straight to Mack at Mack's 
expense. You can figure it out for 
yourself whether I meant “Connie” or 


“Graw.” “And that settles your hash !” 
I whispered to myself. 

“You're putting me up against an im- 
possible proposition,” he replied, giving 
me a look that was full of "fight, “but 
I'll tackle it.” 

Say, but I do love a kid who will 
fight for what he wants. 

After James Revere, Paul for short, 
had gone I hooked up with the man- 
ager again and found out the big idea 
of holding a ball game at midnight. 

“Just the novelty of the thing,” he 
explained; “we pull it off annually!” 

By this time I'd quit being surprised 
over baseball as she is played in Alaska. 
They might call a game on account of 
high tide, but they’d never call it on 
account of darkness. A hundred-inning 
game could be played up there if the 
players would only hold out. 

CHAPTER III. 

A BIT OF ADVICE. 

ABOUT the time most people in the 
** States were crawling into the feath- 
ers we wandered out to the ball park. 
The game was yet in the future, but 
the small grand stand was already filled, 
and the rest of the town was gathering 
along the side lines. They had tied most 
of the Malemutes up, and those that 
weren’t had been chased away. 

I got a glimpse of old Revere gazing 
like a man who had been dragged to 
a show by his wife, and about that time 
the sour-dough manager came hopping 
across the field. 

“Got to thank you for enabling the 
camp to break another record !” he 
shouted. “I don't know how you did 
it, but something you said brought old 
man Revere out. He hates baseball like 
some Irish hate orange. With him here 
it makes a hundred-per-cent attend- 
ance.” 

I had already noticed a fellow bun- 
dled up in blankets and sitting in a 
rocking-chair. There was a baby in 
arms as well. 

The umpire was a novelty, too. The 
crowd understood every word he said. 
Our team was introduced one by one, 
and every one of them with any kind 


88 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


of a record was recognized; then my 
team listened to the same speech that 
I'd made all over Alaska, and the fes- 
tivities were ready to begin. 

I cocked my eye at the sun. It was 
dipping toward the distant mountains; 
then 1 got my first slant at Revere's 
bat. He was fondling it like a kid with 
a new toy. I walked over and picked 
it up. It was a war club for fair. I 
hefted it. It was every bit as heavy as 
“Babe” Ruth's. 

“How much does this old willow 
scale?” I asked. 

“An even sixty ounces!” he replied. 
“I’ve tried ’em at different weights and 
lengths, and this old peg is just right.” 

I gave an inward giggle as I thought 
of the razzing the well-known fans 
would give a bird from the sticks walk- 
ing up to bat with a telephone pole in 
his hands. 

When he stepped up to the plate for 
the first time there was a yell of de- 
light from that crowd that started the 
Malemutes howling. 

I had a hard time trying to watch 
Revere, senior, and the kid at the same 
time. The old man seemed to hold his 
breath and show the first interest dur- 
ing the game, but I knew the sort of in- 
terest it was. Then Hale put one over, 
and Revere just looked at it. 

“Strike one !” announced the ump. 

“Take your time, Paul,” said the 
manager ; “it takes only one, you know.” 

“Strike two !” yelled the umpire. 

The kid never made a move, but just 
stood there, with those appraising eyes 
of his watching the man on the mound. 

“Do something, you boob!” I grum- 
bled. “If you can't swing at it with 
the bases empty, what'd you do with 
'em full and the game at stake?” 

Hale wound up and let fly. 

And then that old war club swished 
through the air. No ; you're wrong. 
Instead of the crack that everybody ex- 
pected, there was a thud as the ball 
landed in the catcher’s glove. 

There was no cussing or evidences 
of impatience and rage as he turned 
away ; just calm seriousness on his face. 
He put the bat down carefully and took 
a seat on the bench. I glanced at his 


father. The old boy had settled back 
again grinning. Things were going 
along to his satisfaction. As for the 
home team, they didn’t seem particularly 
upset because their star slugger and 
clean-up man had flivvered. And thus 
ended the first inning. 

We got a run in the second, and be- 
lieve me we earned it. They had a 
well-oiled machine that was out to win, 
and it kept my barnstormers right on 
their toes to hold the lid down. 

The crowd was in the usual uproar 
from that time on. They begged, 
pleaded, and implored, as crowds do, 
but it was when Revere stepped up to 
the plate for the second time that they 
stood up and yelled. Old man Revere, 
who had been yawning since his boy 
was last up, once more showed signs of 
being alive. He hunched forward as 
Paul picked up his club and made one 
or two easy swings before stepping to 
the plate. 

Hale was full of confidence as he sent 
over his famous fast one, but a second 
later he was wondering if the center 
fielder would ever overtake the ball. 
While he was still looking Revere 
crossed his range of vision at second, 
and when the fielder at last caught up 
with the ball, the kid was sitting on the 
bench having made his round trip. Old 
man Revere was gazing at him and the 
cheering sour doughs with a queer ex- 
pression of bewilderment on his face. 

“Huh!” grunted Hale. “There goes 
the nugget stick pins for my friends, 
and he r earned that hit, too. It wasn't 
an accident! I saw the expression on 
his face when he swung on it.” 

“You tell 'em !” said I for want of 
something better to say. I was doing 
some thinking myself. I was thankful 
the bags were empty when it happened, 
otherwise I'd have kissed the game 
good-by right there, because it didn't 
look as if we were going to get any more 
hits off their pitcher. 

We did, though, and when Revere 
picked up his old willow again and 
stepped forward the score stood three 
to one in our favor. What is more, 
Hale had let a couple of men reach first 
and second. I wasn't blaming him for 


THE MIDNIGHT DIAMOND 


89 


that, because he had been thinking more 
about the battle that was due to come 
off between him and Revere than he was 
about the man then at the plate. That 
was something I'd have to correct be- 
fore the next game. 

Revere favored the pitcher with an 
impudent, kidding sort of a grin as 
he waited for Hale’s first offering, and 
Hale grinned back again. Both men 
were opponents in every sense of the 
word at that minute, but both were good 
clean sports just the same. Then I 
quit watching Hale and began to study 
Revere. He missed the first ball, when 
by all rights he should have hit it. 
Ditto the second. A sudden hush had 
come over the crowd, and I guess every 
man there must have heard what I 
barked at Revere. I knew what the 
matter was, and I couldn’t stand there 
and keep silent. 

“Hey you!” I yelled. “Just forget 
you’ve got a chance at a big-league con- 
tract if you get three hits off’n Hale! 
You won’t get to bat four times, any- 
way, so that chance is gone. Think 
about bringing in those two teammates 
of yours warming first and second !” 

Without taking his eyes off of Hale, 
Revere replied out of the corner of his 


mouth : “Thanks ! This game may go 
extra innings.” 

He was as cool as a cucumber and as 
optimistic as a woodpecker at work on 
an iron telephone pole. 

Well, Hale hurled the ball, and a 
minute later my barnstormers were on 
the short end of a four to three score. 

“Fat chance we got of winning with 
our own manager giving advice to the 
other team!” snorted one of my veter- 
ans in disgust. 

“That’ll be about all from you!” I 
hurled back at him. “You know why 
I did it.” 

“Sure !” was the response. “He was 
too eager to hit the ball. Too much 
depended on it. You wanted to steady 
him. Oh, well, if you hadn’t hollered 
when you did, I was just getting ready 
to.” 


And now and then somebody says 
baseball players are a hard-hearted 
bunch ! 


We had to scratch gravel to even up 
that score before the game was over, 
but we got it by one of those queer ac- 
cidents known as a “break.” 

I glanced toward the sun as we capje 
to bat in the ninth and figured it was 
close to midnight. One of our men 
got to first base, but that was the limit 
of our work that inning. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE MIDNIGHT SLIDE. 

\1/ELL,” said Hale, as he left the 
bench, “Pd like to bet that friend 
Revere gets his third hit when he comes 
up to bat and the free trip to big time 
at Mack’s expense.” 

“Oh, you would, eh?” I shot at him. 
“Well, he’ll get that hit if that’s the way 
you feel about it!” 

“Don’t worry; I’ll do my best to fan 
him !” he replied. “But I’ve done my 
best the last two times, and it wasn’t 
good enough, so the chances are even 
that he’ll repeat.” 

“He has got his last hit to-day!” I 
told Hale in a low voice. “You go out 
there and walk him. That’s one way 
of keeping him from getting three hits 
during this game.” 

“And one way of keeping a good man 
from getting a trip to fast company as 
per promise,” he retorted, with the hint 
of a snarl in his tone. 

Right there Hale was off me for a 
few minutes, but, like the good player 
that he is, he took orders. 

As luck or the breaks would have it, 
Revere was the first man up. The mid- 
night sun was just dipping below the 
distant hills, but I guess I was the only 
man who noticed it. I’ve seen some 
wild sights in world’s series, but noth- 
ing to equal the excitement of that gath- 
ering of sour doughs. The healthy ones 
were yelling; the sick man was yelling, 
and the baby that had arrived in his 
mother’s arms was yelling, and then as 
Revere set himself they got their stride 
and went plumb crazy. 

Suddenly I wondered how all this 
baseball enthusiasm was affecting old 
man Revere. I took a slant at him, 
and suffering cats! 


90 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


The man yelling the loudest was old 
Revere. That old boy didn't know a 
word of baseball lingo when he ar- 
rived, but he was an apt pupil or else 
a great old mimic, because he was going 
through all the motions and saying all 
the things that a rabid bleacherite does 
on a hot summer day. 

The ump had shouted, “Ball one!” 
“Ball two!” when the crowd got wise 
to what was up. 

“That’s it! Walk him, you big nut!” 
bellowed Revere, senior. 

Paul’s face had set in a grim, fighting 
expression that means a lot when you 
know the signs, and he waited for a 
hit. 

It never came. His blue eyes pierced 
me like a steel drill as he trotted to first. 
He was fighting mad, but wasn’t show- 
ing any signs of blowing up. 

He trotted to first as I said and hit 
the bag on a run; then those long legs 
of his did not stop, and before any of 
us knew what was up, he was roosting 
on second. As Hale wound up to pitch 
the second ball, I saw the catcher signal 
to peg Revere at second. Hale almost 
caught him, but a miss is as good as a 
mile. The man at bat went down with 
Revere still on second. 

With two strikes on the next man up, 
Revere took a long chance and made it 
to third. There was a considerable mix- 
up, and it looked to me as if Revere 
was out fair enough, but the umpire 
said he wasn’t, and my third baseman 
admitted the ump knew his business that 
night, or rather morning. 

Revere danced back and forth on 
third, keeping the pitcher and catcher 
worried and the crowd on edge. At 
such times the wear and tear on the 
human system is something terrible. 
One minute you are holding your breath, 
and the next minute you are yelling. 
Old man Revere was telling his off- 
spring just how it ought to be done; 
the rest of the gang was seconding, the 
motion; and I was keeping my mouth 
shut so that Hale, his catcher, and Re- 
vere could work out their own salvation. 

The sour doughs’ weak sister came to 
bat with two out, when if ever a team 


needed a real hitter they did. The 
breaks were pulling for us once more. 

“Strike one!” 

One of those sudden silences that 
comes over a ball game made the um- 
pire’s voice heard all over the field. 

“Now watch your chance, son! Run 
like thunder! Then slide!” ordered a 
voice which I recognized as that of a 
man who had violently opposed base- 
ball a few short hours before. 

For the first time young Paul Revere 
realized that his own dad was pulling 
for him. The expression that suddenly 
came over the kid’s face brought a lump 
to my throat, and I had to brush my 
hand across my eyes ; there was so much 
in that look, if you know what I mean. 
Just as if he didn’t care what happened 
so long as the old man was with him; 
and yet I could see he was going to 
justify his dad’s confidence. Too bad 
he wasn’t at bat; he probably would 
have busted his old willow and knocked 
the ball over the mountains and into the 
Gulf of Alaska. 

“Strike two!” 

Well, I could see the tenth inning 
looming up. The catcher cast a cold, 
fishy eye at Revere, then heaved the ball 
back to Hale. 

Then it happened. I’ve seen base 
stealing in my time, but for pure au- 
dacity this was the limit. The ball 
hadn’t left the catcher’s hand before 
Revere was off like the well-known 
streak of lightning. I never saw a ball 
travel so slowly in my life. It appeared 
to take fully a week for it to reach Hale ; 
then it required another week to get 
back again. 

Ball or Revere? It was neck and 
neck with the crowd of fans trying to 
pull Revere home by heavy mental waves 
and loud yells. He went into a slide 
that stirred up the dust, and his feet 
hit the old plate a split-second before 
the ball plunked into the catcher’s glove. 

I didn’t know I was yelling until Hale 
came up and said with amazement writ- 
ten all over his face: “How come?” 

The fans had Revere on their shoul- 
ders. He was covered with dust from 
his slide, and his old dad was in the 


THE MIDNIGHT DIAMOND 


91 


front of the procession telling every- 
body what a wonderful ball player his 
son was. 

The sun had dipped down a few sec- 
onds and was now rolling into view 
again. 

“Some base stealer, and you might 
call that slide, the midnight slide of 
Paul Revere !” said Hale, as he watched 
the crowd move away. 

“Let that be a lesson to you, young 
man, ,, I said ; “you never can tell when 
or where a good hitter is going to pop 
up.” 

“And you ordered me to pass him !” 
charged Hale. 

“And you obeyed orders!” I replied 
and walked away. 

CHAPTER V. 

NOT TOO MUCH OF IT. 

I WAS expecting callers, and I was 
* all primed when they came. I was 
sure old man Revere would want his 
nuggets now that Hale hadn’t earned 
them. As it turned out the nuggets 
were only incidental. He came into my 
room without knocking. 

“Listen here, you crook!” he roared, 
shaking a fist in my face. “You delib- 
erately ordered Hale to pass my boy so 
he wouldn’t get those three hits and 
so you wouldn’t have to keep your prom- 
ise to take him outside with you.” 

“Well, that was what you wanted me 
to do!” I replied. “A short while ago 
you hated baseball and now ” 

“That was before 1 knew I was the 
father of one of the best ball players 
in the country,” the old man interrupted. 
“I’ll tell you right now,” he continued, 
getting warmer and shaking his fist in 
my face, “you don’t have to take him 
back with you. I’m going to send him 
out myself, and he’s going to play with 
one of the big teams if I have to buy 
the team myself in order to get him 
on it. I’ll show you you can’t make 
sport of any of the Revere family; I’ll 
6how you ” 

Just about the time I was braced for 
Warfare, our hero came in. 

“Now, dad,” he said, “just keep your 


shirt on! There is no need of getting 
excited ; this man is not worth it.” 

Wow ! 

Then he turned to me. “I know you 
ordered me passed,” he said, in a cold, 
quiet voice, “and I might have expected 
it, but not from you. I’ve read about 
all of the old-timers, and you’ve always 
been touted as a real sportsman who 
was always pulling for the kind of a 
boy who tries whether he is a world 
beater or not. I don’t care so much 
about not getting those three hits and 
thus missing the chance you promised 
me in big time as I do about the method 
you employed. It is disappointing, com- 
ing as it does from one whom I’ve al- 
ways regarded as a sort of ideal.” 

“Now that the applause has subsided,” 
I said. “I’ll make a few remarks. I 
was for you the minute you came to 
me with your manly proposition for a 
big chance. I made you an impossible 
proposition just to see if you would 
take it. You did! You waited to size 
up Hale before swinging wildly at him. 
It didn’t matter much to me if you did 
miss. I wasn’t thinking so much of 
what you were as of what you might 
be developed into. 

“Then the next two times,” I went 
on, “you slammed out the ball. Hale 
was trying, but you were hitting him 
just the same. That settled the batting 
question; but there were a couple of 
others. Would you get sore and blow 
up if you got what seemed a rotten deal? 
Also, could you really steal bases the 
way they said you could. There was 
one way of finding the answers and that 
was to order Hale to pass you. I did, 
and he obeyed. 

“Now,” I said, delivering a knock- 
out blow to the two Reveres, “if you’ll 
just sign on that dotted line, you’ll be 
on your way to Mack via the first 
steamer.” 

“Mack?” he gasped. 

I moved away so that he wouldn’t fall 
on my neck. 

“Yes, Mack !” I replied, maneuvering 
so that the grateful Reveres wouldn’t 
team up on me, “and if he kicks about 
the salary I’ve named in this here con- 
tract, you just tell him I know a flock 


92 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


of clubs that will take you at that fig- 
ure — and that’s no pipe dream, either.” 

“I was prepared to give you a hand- 
ful of nuggets in payment for a service 
of this sort,” said the younger man, 
“but I have a feeling you would be in- 
sulted if I did!” 

“Correct!” I said. “Give them to 
Hale instead ; he wants to have a bunch 
made up into stick pins for his friends.” 

“By gosh,” he replied, “I’ll do it! I 
like that fellow; he tried so dog-goned 
hard to fan me.” 

“Yes; and you’ll live to see him do 
it, too,” I said, “if you should ever hap- 
pen to be on opposing teams again.” 

“I know that, sir!” replied young Re- 
vere, and I knew then that he was 
headed for big time in the right frame 
of mind — confidence, but not too much 
of it. 

How did this story strike you? A few 
words about it, if you will be good enough 
to write them and send them to the editor. 
We ask you to say, without reserve, just 
what you think of it. And in the same 
letter, please give us your opinion of TOP- 
NOTCH in general. 


How Grasshoppers Sing 
T'HE trill of the grasshopper is not 
* emitted from the mouth, and in 
fact has no connection with that part 
of its anatomy. One rib of each wing 
is roughened like a file, and another 
portion of the wing is stretched tight 
like the head of a drum. The grass- 
hopper draws one file over the other, 
thus causing the drum to vibrate and 
give forth the familiar note. 

The apparatus which enables this in- 
sect to make its long jump is also re- 
markable. In its body are numerous 
air bladders and hollow tubes which 
tend to make it buoyant. The ends of 
the long hind legs, which act as the pro- 
pellers, are supplied with gripping at- 
tachments, enabling the grasshopper to 
take a firm hold before leaping, thus 
adding to the force of the jump. The 
ends of the forelegs, on which the in- 
sect lands, are provided with cushions 
that reduce the shock. 


The ears of the long-horned grass- 
hoppers are in the forelegs, just below 
the joint that corresponds to the knee 
of a human being. The form of the 
ear varies. In some species it is merely 
a slit in the legs, while in others the 
opening is broader and is covered by 
a filmy membrane. 

The short-horned varieties have the 
ears at the base of the wings, in the 
back. 


King of the Forest 

A CCORDING to the American For- 
** estry Association, America’s larg- 
est oak tree is situated in historic sur- 
roundings at Wye Mills, Maryland, on 
the splendid motor road which leads 
from the summer resort at Ocean City, 
and which is traveled daily by innumer- 
able automobiles en route for Washing- 
ton, Baltimore, Philadelphia, or New 
York. 

Wye Mills is on the line between 
Queen Ann and Talbot Counties, about 
equally distant from Centerville and 
Easton, the respective county seats. The 
old colonial home of William Paca, one 
of the signers of the Declaration of In- 
dependence, is near by, and Kent Island 
is a little farther away, where there was 
a traders’ settlement before Lord Balti- 
more founded the colony of Maryland 
at St. Mary’s. Many buildings of the 
Revolutionary period are still to be seen 
in the locality. 

Authorities place the age of the Wye 
oak at about three hundred and eighty 
years. One foot from the ground, its 
circumference is fifty-one and a half 
feet, and its diameter eighteen feet and 
three inches ; five feet from the ground, 
the circumference is twenty feet, and 
the diameter six feet and five inches. 
The branches spread over a distance of 
one hundred and forty feet. 


Perhaps a Stockholder 

I S this my station ?” asked a woman of 
* the guard. 

“No, madam,” was the reply. “This 
station belongs to the railroad com^ 
pany.” 



CHAPTER I. 

THE KATUPUR RUBY. 

HEN Archer Glendale shook 
hands with Fosdick, promis- 
ing that he would dine with 
his friend before the week 
was out, he went as far as 
the curb and saw the other off in one 
of the taxicabs that invariably fronted 
the facade of the vast hotel. Then, 
conscious of having nothing particularly 
inspiring to accomplish, Glendale made 
his way back into the ornate lobby of 
the King William and helped himself to 
a seat on one of the slip-covered lounges. 

New York in August is anything but 
a prepossessing or desirable spot, espe- 
cially for one who has left the cool 
greenery and the deep blue of the Sound 
off Connecticut shores. The metropo- 
lis, since Glendale’s arrival three days 
previous, had scorched in what was un- 
popularly known as a “heat wave.” 

By day the city lay breathless and 
panting under a relentless sun; the 
nights brought but little relief. Thun- 
derstorms, lurking over the Palisades, 
had failed to make good reluctant prom- 
ises, and what faint, fitful breezes wan- 
dered through the wilderness of the 


side streets were humid and unwel- 
comed. 

Glendale lighted a cigarette and re- 
flected. He knew that unless Martin 
Fosdick had some sort of definite good 
news on the morrow, his stay on the 
island metropolis might prove to be of 
some duration. Fosdick was the head 
and shoulders of the Bryant Agency, a 
private-detective bureau celebrated 
throughout the country. Because of 
their long friendship, Glendale had 
scorned using the metropolitan police 
as an instrument to help him recover 
the family heirlooms stolen from Port 
Royal, his country estate at Sogesitt. 

Fosdick was positive that his oper- 
atives were on a hot trail and that before 
another forty-eight hours should elapse 
a denouement and climax must impend. 
So positive was he that he had wired 
to Port Royal, bringing Glendale to the 
city where his presence would be nec- 
essary when the trap should be sprung 
and the plunder recovered and made 
ready for identification. 

# Glendale tapped the long ash from 
his cigarette and crossed his legs. He 
began to allow his mind to roam back 
over the affair at Sogesitt. It had been 
a high-handed and bold venture on the 



9i 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


part of the miscreants. The Glendale 
heirlooms, jewelry that was prized more 
for its sentimental associations than for 
its actual value, had been kept for years 
in an antiquated safe at Port Royal. 

No one had thought very much about 
taking the jewels down to the city and 
locking them up in a vault. Indeed, the 
heirlooms had not even been insured. 
It seemed incredible that any marauder 
should make the safe a target of his 
operations, for, with the solitary excep- 
tion of the Katupur Ruby, all the heir- 
looms sold together would not bring 
more than a few thousand dollars. 

The ruby was different. The stone, 
large and fiery, polished but not faceted, 
had been the former property of an 
Indian rajah. The potentate, for one 
reason or another, had seen fit to dis- 
pose of it to a dealer in Holland who, 
in turn, had sold it to a Bond Street 
firm of London jewelers. It was from 
this concern that old Peter Glendale, 
grandfather of the present owner of 
Port Royal, had purchased it more than 
three decades before. 

The stone always had been looked 
upon as a curiosity rather than a jewel 
to wear as an article of personal adorn- 
ment. It was unset and about the size 
of a pigeon's egg. That its intrinsic 
value was large had been evident to 
all Glendales, past and present. None 
of them ever had thought of either hav- 
ing it mounted or selling it. 

Grandfather Peter, somewhat of a 
lapidary, had brought the ruby home 
to please his own and the eyes of his 
friends. So it had remained for thirty- 
odd years, displayed only when there 
were guests at Port Royal who wished 
to view it and who enjoyed the sensa- 
tion of cupping the stone in a hand 
where it glittered, glowed, and sparkled 
like a thing of live, crimson flame. 

The robbery at Sogesitt was scarce 
a week old. At the time of its occur- 
rence, Archer Glendale had been motor- 
ing through the Berkshires. The house 
proper, save for an elderly caretaker and 
a trio of doddering servants, had been 
untenanted. The crooks, supposed by 
Fosdick to have been headed by an 
archrogue known internationally as 


Hugo March, had gained entry in the 
small hours of the morning. 

The ancient safe had melted before 
their attack like snow beneath fire. The 
first servant down in the morning had 
discovered the outrage and had imme- 
diately telegraphed his master. 

Thereafter, Martin Fosdick had been 
summoned from New York by tele- 
phone. Glendale had firm faith in the 
powers of his friend. Fosdick had been 
a classmate at college. He had founded 
and become the head x>f the Bryant 
Agency more to gratify a keen desire 
to match his wits against those of crook- 
dom than for any financial reason. Fos- 
dick came of a family of wealth and 
position which was properly horrified 
that one of its blood should become what 
they fondly believed was little better 
than an ordinary policeman. 

A year had changed their viewpoint 
considerably. It was the long arm of 
Martin Fosdick that had reached across 
the ocean adroitly to pluck a celebrated 
American bank thief from the Lime- 
house district of London. It was Fos- 
dick who had turned a white light upon 
the Wall Street “conspiracy” and the 
group of crooks who had for so long 
plundered messengers and runners of 
valuable bonds and securities. And it 
was Fosdick who had solved in a day 
an atrocious Philadelphia murder, bring- 
ing the criminal summarily before the 
bench of justice. 

He had built up a smooth-functioning 
organization that was second to none in 
the country. His employees and agents 
were the cleverest and most intelligent 
to be obtained. A large measure of his 
success was due to the extreme care 
with which he handled each case. If 
there were gifts to be guarded at a so- 
ciety wedding, it was some man who 
looked the part who mingled with the 
guests and not an unintelligent, cigar- 
chewing, fat individual whose position 
was recognized at a glance. If gangster- 
land was to be invaded, Fosdick sent 
a slinking roughneck into its jungle and 
not a flat-footed detective who would 
hane been recognized for what he was 
before he had gone a pace. 

“Martin will recover the heirlooms,” 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


95 


Glendale told himself. “If he can’t no 
one else on earth can !” 

He discarded his cigarette and con- 
sidered what his friend had told him 
regarding Hugo March. March was 
a person who dwelt behind a curtain of 
mystery. Little or nothing was known 
about him save that his activities ranged 
the globe. The New York police de- 
partment boasted neither his photograph 
nor finger prints, though some of his 
largest raids had been made on the 
island between the two rivers. 

March’s expeditions were carried out 
in bold, sweeping strokes that rendered 
pursuit futile and arrest ludicrous. Suc- 
cess after success was written in golden 
ink in the diary of Hugo March’s life. 
The raillery of the newspapers, because 
of the failure of headquarters to trap 
the man, was a rankling thorn in the 
side of police dignity. 

Glendale smothered a yawn and 
looked at his watch. The hour was 
well after four o’clock. He turned on 
the lounge so that his gaze might move 
through the open doorway and focus 
on the dusty green of Central Park, a 
grateful oasis in a bleached desert of 
steel and stone. 

The lobby of the Hotel King Wil- 
liam, for all of the heat, was fairly well 
filled. Out-of-town merchants, who 
were visiting the metropolis for a usual 
summertime holiday with their fam- 
ilies, rested in the swathed chairs, await- 
ing wives on shopping pilgrimages. 

North and south along the avenue, 
crowded surface cars, controlled by 
coatless motormen, clanged heavily past. 
Taxicabs and motors in a never-ending 
stream kept pace with them. No mat- 
ter what the weather, the surge and 
turmoil of the great city never seemed 
to lessen. 

Glendale’s gaze, idle and retrospec- 
tive, came to fogus on a man in green 
flannels who occupied a chair to the 
left of the entryway. The man was 
tall, sinewy, and darkly tanned. There 
was something about him, some alert 
and pantherlike quality, that held Glen- 
dale’s attention. He was at a loss to 
discover what this was until the other 
lowered the copy of an afternoon news- 


paper he had been reading and looked 
at his watch. 

It was then that Glendale saw his 
eyes — eyes that were like swords of 
polished steel, gray and deadly — eyes 
that were merciless and without pity. 

“Old Hawk Eye, the curse of the 
crooks!” Glendale thought. “He looks 
like a tough customer. Not the kind 
of a person you’d like to meet alone on 
a dark and stormy night.” 

The man examined his watch again 
and peered across the lobby. Presently 
he stood with what might have been a 
shrug and fitted his straw hat to his 
head. He walked leisurely toward the 
switchboard and public telephone booths 
of the hotel. Here he gave the girl on 
duty a number and after a short wait 
was assigned to the end booth in line, 
one that was only a few feet distant 
from Glendale’s lounge. “Green Flan- 
nels” held the door of the booth an inch 
or two ajar so that he might not en- 
tirely bake in the little tin-lined com- 
partment. 

The first part of his conversation es- 
caped the man on the lounge. It was 
only when he let his voice rise sharply 
that Glendale listened. 

“She hasn’t shown up yet,” the stran- 
ger said. “You say there has been no 
word since her first message ? That 
is strange. It is just possible he found 
her trail and headed her off. She’s 
not the kind of person to be tardy.” 

There was a pause. Then the man 
in the booth went on: “I’m at the King 
William. I’ve been waiting here fdi* 1 
some time. The appointment was for 
four o’clock precisely. It’s well past 
that now. I won’t delay longer — some- 
thing’s happened. Look for me in 
twenty minutes.” 

He hung up the receiver, paid the girl 
at the switchboard, and left the hotel 
without a backward glance. 

Speculating absently on the frag- 
ments of the conversation and wonder- 
ing a little what they might concern, 
Glendale decided to seek his suite on 
the fifth floor of the building and use 
the shower. That, at least, was a tem- 
porary means of keeping cool. Accord- 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


ingly he walked toward the elevator 
shafts. 

But before he had reached them, he 
caught sight of a girl coming into the 
lobby from the hot street outside, and, 
standing, Glendale remained motionless. 

CHAPTER II. 

A MARKI2D MAN. 

yyiTHOUT question, the girl who 
had just entered the lobby was 
one of the most attractive young women 
Glendale ever had beheld; so much so, 
in fact, that he stared with kindling eyes, 
aware of his rudeness, but untroubled 
because of it. 

I he girl was neither short nor tall, 
a brown-hair-and-eyed divinity in 
whose piquant face bloomed a youthful 
beauty, a face shadowed by some fugi- 
tive distress. She wore a cool, summery 
frock and a black straw sailor, under 
the brim of which her lustrous hair was 
like shining autumn leaves, a light that 
illumined as well eyes that were twin 
pools of limpid darkness. 

There was about her, Glendale was 
quick to observe, some sort of harried 
haste. She clutched a beaded hand bag, 
and, immediately upon entering, shot a 
glance first at the watch on her white 
wrist and then about the lobby. This 
glance was followed by patent disap- 
pointment — something not unlike fear. 
She took a dozen steps forward, swept 
the place with still another glance that 
included Glendale, and made her way 
directly to him. 

It was when she had almost reached 
his side Glendale seemed to imagine that 
somewhere, some time, he had seen her 
before. 

“I beg your pardon,” the girl said 
nervously, “but can you tell me if you 
happened to notice a tall man in green 
flannels in the lobby here? I mean,” 
she added, with a trace of confusion, 
if you have been here anv length of 
time. You see ” 

Before Glendale could frame a reply 
the girl broke off, stiffened, and stifled 
a gasp, looking transfixed at the open 
doors of the hotel. 

Following her gaze with his own. 


Glendale saw that a taxicab had stopped 
directly in front of the King William 
and that from it had alighted a small, 
round-shouidered little man who carried 
a Malacca stick. 

Before Glendale could link the obvi- 
ous connection between this individual 
and the girl at his side, she had snapped 
open her beaded bag and was delving in 
its depths. In an instant she had pro- 
duced a small, square package which 
she pressed hastily into Glendale’s hands 
with hurried instructions: 

Keep this safe ! Guard it well until 
you hear from me.” 

Before he could understand the sig- 
nificance of her request she had left his 
side and had slipped into a corridor that 
led to a side entrance. Glendale pock- 
eted the package, astonished at the ra- 
pidity of it all, turned to consider the 
small, round-shouldered man, and then 
looked back for the girl, to find she 
had vanished. 

Then an elevator descended, and there 
was nothing to do but enter it. The 
episode had flared up like a flash of 
lighted powder and was over. As the 
cage began an ascension, looking down 
Glendale saw the little man standing 
before the desk of the clerk on duty, 
engaged in earnest conversation. 

C ilendale’s suite on the fifth floor con- 
sisted of parlor, bedroom, and bath — 
comfortable rooms that overlooked Cen- 
tral Park. Still a little dazed by the 
affair in the lobby, he entered his par- 
lor and closed and locked the door be- 
hind him. 

What mishap of fate was responsible 
for the occurrence? What was its sig- 
nification? He crossed to the windows, 
drew the package from his pocket, and 
eyed it. It was small and square, pos- 
sibly eight inches in length, six in width, 
and five in height. The paper used 
was stout and ornamented with a num- 
bei of thick splashes of black sealing 
wax. Though it was devoid of any 
markings, it seemed to have been pre- 
pared for mailing. From its size and 
shape it was entirely evident that the 
paper masked a box beneath it. It was 
rather heavy. 

Glendale finished an intent inspec- 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


97 


tion, as much puzzled as he had been 
upon receiving the package. He turned 
away from the window as the telephone 
on a table beside him rang shrilly; he 
picked it up, half inclined to believe 
that it was the girl herself until he 
heard the telephone operator below say 
in her drawling voice: 

“A Mr. Winter calling to see you, sir. 
Shall I send him up?” 

Glendale drew his brows together. 
Memory conjured up no recollection of 
any acquaintance bearing that season- 
able name. “Inquire the gentleman’s 
business, if you please,” he said. 

There followed a short interlude in 
which he heard far-away voices blend- 
ing. 

“Mr. Winter says his business is pri- 
vate and very important,” the operator 
stated. 

Glendale shrugged. “Ask him to 
come up.” 

He rehooked the receiver on its metal 
arm, dropped the mysterious package in 
his pocket, and waited. 

Some minutes elapsed before he heard 
an elevator stop down the corridor. 
More time passed before a brisk knock 
sounded on the door. Glendale opened 
it. not greatly surprised to find that the 
Mr. Winter on his threshold was the 
same small, round-shouldered man 
whose appearance had so startled the 
pretty girl in the lobby. 

“Mr. Glendale?” 

The other bowed, ushered in his 
caller, and closed the door behind him. 
“Mr. Winter?” 

The little man nodded jerkily. 
Viewed at close range he resembled 
nothing so much as a work-worn book- 
keeper or office drudge. In addition to 
his meager height, he was thin and 
angular. His scanty hair was in a fringe 
about a bald pate, his face was gray 
and wrinkled, his eyes of infantije blue 
looked out from a guileless face be- 
neath scraggly brows. 

His nose had a crook to it, and his 
upper lip was long and pendulous. He 
wore a shabby serge suit that appar- 
ently had seen better days and of late 
had known the application of many tai- 

7A TN 


lor’s irons. Even his low shoes, highly 
polished though they were, were well 
worn. 

“I ascertained your name from the 
desk clerk,” he said, in a mild, almost 
apologetic voice. “Only a few minutes 
ago, as I arrived you were conversing 
with my daughter. I happened to no- 
tice that she handed you a small pack- 
age. She did, did she not?” 

Harmless though the blue eyes were, 
Glendale knew that before their level 
stare there could be no subterfuge or 
deception. 

“Yes,” he answered frankly; “the 
young lady did give me a package.” 

At once the face of the little man 
brightened. He jerked his head again 
in a nod. “Exactly! You will oblige 
me by turning it over to me immedi- 
ately.” 

Glendale let his face fall into thought- 
ful lines. Again the words of the girl 
came back to him. Was it possible the 
little man was really her father and had 
a rightful claim upon what had been 
given him to guard? 

“I’m sorry,” Glendale said at last; 
“I’m afraid I cannot do what you ask. 
At least, not without some better proof.” 

The other’s face darkened. He drew 
his scraggly brows together in what was 
intended for an ominous scowl. “Proof 
be hanged !” he exclaimed. “The pack- 
age belongs to me. If you insist on 
the truth I’ll tell it to you. My daugh- 
ter is little better than a common, ordi- 
nary thief. What the box contains is 
mine and mine only. She deliberately 
sneaked it from its hiding place. Hand 
it over and be sure that you’re doing 
the right thing. Come, my time is lim- 
ited !” 

Some of Grandfather Peter’s stub- 
bornness had been the inheritance of the 
present Glendale. Once filled with a 
resolve to do a certain something, per- 
suasion and argument only made him 
hold the more steadfastly to it. 

“I regret it,” he said ; “but I can’t 
do what you request. The matter con- 
cerns me not at all, but I was instructed 
to care for and guard the package, and 
I won’t betray my trust. Bring your 
daughter here, let her tell me to turn 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


the package over to you, and I'll be 
only too happy to do so.” 

Mr. Winter fingered his pendulous 
upper lip. “Impossible ! I’m leaving 
at seven for the Pacific coast. Once 
more I ask you to restore what is right- 
fully mine. Will you or won’t you?” 

“Won’t you!” Glendale answered 
cheerfully. 

The teeth of the little man closed 
firmly. His childlike blue eyes, filling 
with venom, narrowed to slits. He ap- 
peared to quake from some inner storm 
that rendered him speechless for a long 
minute. 

“Very well, then,” he said at length; 
“I have asked you as one gentleman 
might ask another. Mr. Glendale. Pm 
not a pleasant person when aroused. 
Possession of the package makes you 
a marked man. You have utterly' no 
conception of the danger that hems you 
in while you retain it. Smile if you 
wish, but what I say is the gospel truth. 
For the last time, will you return what 
I’m asking for?” 

There was something distinctly amus- 
ing in the little man’s bluster. It was 
like that of a school bully threatening 
his entire class; the snapping bark of 
a Pekingese, straining to attack a blood- 
hound. 

“No,” Glendale answered. “The 
package stays where it is.” 

With a sigh the self-styled Mr. Win- 
ter turned to the door without further 
comment. Glendale’s last impression 
before the man departed was of the 
blue eyes filled with frustrated rage. 

He shut the door after him, turned 
the key in the lock, and went back into 
the room. What, he wondered, was 
the meaning of it all ? What deep, sin- 
ister game was being played? What 
were the contents of the package that 
made it wanted so badly? It seemed 
impossible to Glendale that the pretty, 
brown-haired girl could be either the 
little man’s daughter or the thief he 
had termed her. 

Yet, the episode reversed, it was just 
as possible that Winter had spoken the 
truth. He had no way of telling, of 
knowing. Still warm within recollec- 
tion was the face of the young lady of 


the lobby. Something told him that 
she was not dishonest, that she was 
brave and courageous and was playing 
a lone hand against overwhelming 
forces * 

“I’ll stake everything on her honesty,” 
Glendale assured himself. 

He contemplated the package once 
more and dropped it into a drawer in 
his bureau. It was the solving of tan- 
gles of this kind in which Martin Fos- 
dick excelled. Should he call up his 
friend and ask advice? Glendale shook 
his head. Fosdick had his hands full 
with the Port Royal affair; and his 
friend would think him a spineless sort 
of being, unable to care or look out for 
himself in any sort of predicament. 

It would be better, Glendale decided, 
to let events shape their own course. 
Patience always had its own reward. 
If the package was so badly wanted, it 
was possible to believe that something 
would turn up before the evening 
merged with midnight. 

He seemed to know that what had 
happened was only a prelude to the 
drama itself, and that there lay in store 
for him a rush of happenings that would 
solve to his complete satisfaction the 
identity of the rightful owner of the 
box, who the girl was, what part Win- 
ter played, and in what manner Green 
Flannels of the sharp eyes fitted into 
the picture. 

" Glendale tubbed, changed to summer 
tweeds, and at seven sought the grill, 
pleasantly swept by a battery of electric 
fans. Almost the minute he sat down 
at his table he grew aware of the open 
regard of a dapper youth at a table 
across the aisle from him. 

The young man was blond and im- 
maculate, dressed in fashionable gar- 
ments. Yet there was a certain set to 
his jaw and a hardness of expression 
that were at obvious odds with the im- 
pression of refinement and breeding he 
endeavored to give. 

Once or twice he caught the youth’s 
full stare, but, engrossed with his sum- 
mary of the afternoon’s incidents, Glen- 
dale paid no particular attention. His 
demi-tasse consumed, he initialed the bill 
and sought the lobby. He reached it, 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


99 


to hear his name being* stridently bawled 
by a bell hop who was industriously pag- 
ing him. 

‘Telephone call for you, sir,” the boy 
said, when he overtook him and checked 
the public use of his name. 

With an anticipative pulse stirring, 
Glendale hurried to the switchboard. 
The operator assigned him to the end 
booth in line, the same booth occupied 
earlier in the day by Green Flannels. 

With the pulse still stirring, Glendale 
spoke and waited. For a minute he 
heard nothing except the buzz and sing 
of the wires, fairy cracklings and elfin 
echoes. Then some one asked: 

“Is this Mr. Glendale?” 

He knew a pleasant exhilaration. 

Even across the wires, the voice of ' 
the girl with the brown hair, low and 
sweet, was recognizable. 

“This is Mr. Glendale speaking,” he 
said. 

“Listen carefully, please,” she contin- 
ued. “Would it be possible for you to 
do me a favor? Would it be conven- 
ient for you to bring the package I 
gave you this afternoon to Au Prin- 
temps in a half hour? If so, I will be 
waiting for you in the foyer on the 
main floor just beyond the entrance.” 

The place she named was a popular 
Broadway cafe situated in the early 
Fifties. Its fame was known even to 
transient members of the seven mil- 
lion. It was noted for its expensive- 
ness, its dance floor, and its celebrated 
orchestra. 

“It is entirely convenient,” he an- 
swered promptly. “Au Printemps in 
a half hour. Please expect me.” 

She thanked him and rang off. 

When Glendale opened the door of 
the booth and stepped out it was to 
find the blond youth of the grill circling 
the telephone switchboard like a wolf, 
drawing closer to bend a head in con- 
ference with the operator. 

With a shrug Glendale sought his 
room. He collected hat and stick and 
wondered if it would be wise to arm 
himself. His shoulders moved once 
more. This was New York in an age 
of enlightenment, not some Western 
mining camp where it was dangerous to 


prowl at night without a weapon. He 
recalled the threats of the stoop-shoul- 
dered Winter and suppressed a laugh. 
Evidently the little man delighted in 
melodrama. 

With his watch showing that five of 
the thirty minutes had been consumed, 
Glendale dropped the mysterious pack- 
age into his pocket, extinguished the 
light, and let himself out. 

The August twilight, thick, humid, 
and oppressive, had lowered itself over 
Manhattan’s thirteen miles of table-land. 
Stars were beginning to swim mistily 
in the blue-black sea of the heavens; 
the moon crept up over the eastern rim 
of the world, hanging like a crystal 
lamp. Distantly, heat lightning glim- 
mered like the swing of a saber in the 
hands of a whirling dervish. 

On Central Park West, Glendale de- 
cided that the best way to reach his 
destination would be to walk to Broad- 
way and take a surface car. Au Pfin- 
temps was not more than a journey of 
ten minutes or less. Accordingly he 
rounded the corner the hotel was set 
upon and started west. 

The block was old-fashioned and 
tawdry. Several dingy tenements, a 
building that had once been a skating 
rink, a silent armory, and, farther on, 
a popular night restaurant occupied it. 
Save for the glimmer of street lamps 
set at infrequent intervals, the block was 
dark and untenanted. 

It was when he had passed the first 
tenement that Glendale realized he was 
being followed. This impression, hazy 
and vague at first, became a certainty 
almost at once. He traced the feeling 
from effect to cause and over his shoul- 
der saw, some distance behind, an idly 
sauntering figure that slowed when he 
slowed and went forward rapidly when 
he quickened hjs pace. 

Glendale considered the problem. Not 
alone was he weaponless, but no minion 
of the law was visible. He recalled 
vividly the threat of the round-shoul- 
dered Winter, but this time he found 
no mirth in it. He had been intrusted 
with the package and must fight to the 
last breath to retain it. 

As his shadow came abreast of a 


100 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


street lamp and he turned for another 
backward glance, Glendale recognized 
the debonair figure of the blond youth 
of the King William grill. At the same 
minute a taxicab turned into the block 
from Columbus Avenue, and, on the 
wrong side of the street, began to edge 
toward the curb. 

Back of him some one whistled three 
times. Glendale knew a quick, stab- 
bing thrill of excitement. The appear- 
ance of the taxicab and the whistle of 
the blond youth had a meaning all their 
own. What in the patois of the under- 
world was termed a “stick-up” im- 
pended. 

He realized only too well that if he 
was to save the package it was up to 
himself to do something. And, as he 
groped blindly for ways and means, he 
saw just a few feet distant the mouth 
of a small, black alley, made by the 
last two of the tenements joining. 

Quickening his gait not at all, Glen- 
dale cut sharply into the alley. His first 
glance discovered a refuse can filled to 
overflowing with old papers and trash. 
In one watch tick he had dragged out 
the small square package and had 
buried in the can — in another sec- 
ond a cigarette was between his lips, 
and he was lighting it, his back to the 
street. 

The match he struck had hardly ig- 
nited the tobacco and spluttered out be- 
fore a footfall sounded behind him, 
something hard and cold bored into his 
side, and a suave voice spoke in his ear : 

“Put your dukes up! Open your 
face and 111 scatter you !” 


CHAPTER III. 

THE GIRL OF MYSTERY. 

(OBEDIENTLY Glendale lifted his 
^ arms. A swift, deft, and delicate 
hand explored his person. It dipped 
into each pocket, padding him while the 
gun continued to remain fixed at his 
side. 

“Where's the box?” the blond youth 
demanded sibilantly. 

Glendale endeavored to give every ap- 
pearance of one badly frightened. “The 
— the package ?” he stammered witlessly. 


“Yes, the package!” the other 
snapped. “Come to life! Where is 
it?” 

“I — I haven't got it with me,” Glen- 
dale replied shakily. 

With an exclamation the other 
stepped back and away from him. “You 
stay here!” he ordered curtly. “Stick 
here for a full five minutes and keep 
your mouth shut. If you come out be- 
fore that time I'll blow your head off!” 

Menacing Glendale with the gun he 
backed out of the alley. He had 
scarcely disappeared before the door of 
the taxicab on the wrong side of the 
block slammed, and the motor 
thrummed. When Glendale reached the 
street and peered cautiously out, it was 
to find the cab headed toward Central 
Park West and the hotel. 

Well pleased by the success of his 
stratagem, Glendale retrieved the pack- 
age from the rubbish can, pocketed it 
once more, and, continuing on to Broad- 
way, boarded a southbound car. He 
had foiled the second attempt to wrest 
the package from him. Would the third 
be equally as successful? 

Au Printemps, when he left the sur- 
face car and approached the restaurant 
under the sparkling lights of the Great 
White Way, was in the full plumage 
of night, gaudily bedecked with a glow- 
ing incandescent sign that bore its name 
in multicolored bulbs. It was a three- 
story building of white stucco, pseudo- 
Spanish in architecture, with long open 
windows draped in pink silk and pro- 
tected by square, fantastic awnings. 
Perennial greens in Roman pots flanked 
a narrow doorway. From its interior 
drifted the raucous voice of King Jazz 
— the laughter of saxophones, the beat 
of eccentric drums, and the trombone's 
wail of anguish. 

Entering, Glendale stepped into a 
foyer alcove that was a sort of wait- 
ing room. It was filled with a scat- 
tering of ornate chairs ; back and 
away from it, through hanging tap- 
estries, was the main dining room 
and dance floor, well populated, despite 
the heat, by a gyrating throng. 

As he went in and looked around, a 
girl got up from a cushioned nook and 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


101 


came toward him. Glendale drew a 
breath. In silhouette against the shaded 
table lamps of the restaurant and the 
dim sconces of the alcove, her loveli- 
ness was that of a star falling to earth. 
She wore a little semi-evening frock 
that was of blue silk and vastly becom- 
ing. 

Her brown hair had been modishly 
arranged and jade earrings dangled 
against the smooth whiteness of her 
cheeks and rounded neck. Nothing of 
the trouble shadows of the afternoon 
marred her piquant face. She seemed 
animated and vivacious, a trifle excited, 
as if some unpleasant task was over 
and done with. 

“You have the box?” was the first 
thing she said. 

Glendale, deciding to say nothing of 
the happening in the alley, inclined his 
head. 

“Quite safe — tucked snugly away in 
my inner coat pocket.” 

She looked at him out of clear brown 
eyes, and he wondered again where it 
was he had seen her before — why he 
should imagine that he had seen her. 

“Thank you so much for your trouble. 
I'll take the package if you don’t mind.” 

He gave it to her, waiting while she 
excused herself to cross to a person who 
was evidently the manager of the cafe. 
He was a paunchy, puffy, florid man 
with an engaging grin and evening 
clothes that fitted him so well he might 
have grown in them. 

Glendale saw the girl give him the 
package and heard her request that he 
lock it up in his safe. He patted her 
arm and disappeared into a room the 
door of which opened out on the alcove. 

The girl returned to Glendale, her ' 
head high. “There! A load is off my 
shoulders because the package is safe 
enough now. You might not think so, 
but Jimmy Hope is one of the squarest 
men in the world. If every crook in 
creation stormed the safe he’d defend 
my package and guard it !” 

A silence fell over them. The girl 
looked at her wrist watch and then at 
Glendale. He felt his heart slowly sink. 
Was this the last of the adventure? Had 


his services terminated when the res- 
taurateur locked up the mysterious pack- 
age? 

Was he now destined to bid her adieu 
and step back into Broadway, never 
knowing the answer to the riddle ; never 
to understand the plot of the drama — 
never to see her again ? It was this last 
thought that filled him with dismay. 

“I am wondering,” she said quietly 
when he looked up, to find her eyes 
fixed wistfully upon him, “if I might 
place myself a little further in your 
debt? You have been so kind that I dis- 
like asking you — ” • 

“Please do!” Glendale entreated. 

She gave him a detniire smile. “It’s 
nothing arduous this time. I merely 
have to go uptown to Seventy-fifth 
Street, stop off and get a valise. The 
house has been empty for some time 
and — well, it will be comfortable know- 
ing some one is with me. If I may 
encroach upon your time that much fur- 
ther, perhaps we had better start di- 
rectly.” 

She picked up a light summer wrap 
and draped it over one arm. 

They went out upon light-smitten 
Broadway and found a taxicab. While 
the girl addressed the chauffeur, Glen- 
dale looked over his shoulder as if to 
find, lurking close at hand, either the 
little, round-shouldered man who called 
himself Winter, or the dapper, blond 
youth of the alley. 

“I suppose,” he said, when they were 
both seated on the worn upholstery of 
the vehicle, “it is useless to ask an ex- 
planation.” 

She allowed her hand to flutter out 
and touch his arm, her voice pensive 
as she said : “Oh, please don’t think me 
ungrateful. I would tell you everything 
if I were free to, I know you must be 
dreadfully puzzled and perplexed, but 
be patient for a little while. The skies 
seem to be getting brighter. Soon, I 
have every reason to hope, the last card 
will be played, and you will be in a 
position to know everything.” 

Glendale knew he would have to be 
content with the statement. “I know 
I have seen you before,” he continued. 


102 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


“Can you tell me where it was? Can 
you tell me how it was you knew my 
name ? Can you tell me your own 
name ?” 

She leaned a little toward him. “I 
have seen you before, but I cannot tell 
you where. Neither can I tell you 
how I knew your name, for one con- 
cerns the other. I am Marion North 
— if that means anything.” 

The cab had rounded Columbus Circle 
and was continuing on up Broadway. 
Glendale compressed his lips, thinking. 
Marion North— the name told him noth- 
ing, left him as much in the dark as to 
her identity^ as he had been before. He 
debated the idea of inquiring whether 
she was the daughter of Winter, de- 
cided she would evade the question as 
she had the others, and resigned him- 
self to the best sort of patience he could 
muster up. 

“We’re almost there,” she declared 
after a time. 

Glendale looked out of the side win- 
dow. Despite the traffic flood of early 
evening, the taxicab had made steady 
progress. They were already in the 
lower Seventies. Three more streets 
put behind, the vehicle sheered west and 
ran into the gully of a quiet side street 
where the street lamps were tethered 
moons, strung together. 

It crossed the ribbon of an aristocratic 
avenue and decreased its speed. Below 
them lay Riverside Drive, full of the 
staring eyes of passing motors, the 
1 broad, level stretch of the North River, 
flowing down to the open sea, the gaunt 
pile of the Palisades. 

Glendale noticed that* the majority of 
the private houses they passed had 
drawn shades and were boarded up, 
showing their occupants were out of 
town for the heated months. The 
brownstone residence they stopped be- 
fore was one that boasted neither the 
regular neat shield of a burglar pro- 
tective bureau nor the wooden sheathing 
worn by most of the other houses. It 
was lightless, dark, and obviously de- 
serted. 

“We get out here,” the girl said nerv- 
ously, when the cab stopped. “Please 


instruct the chauffeur to wait for us 
one block around the corner on West 
End Avenue. I don’t imagine we will 
be long, but I do not wish him standing 
here. I imagine there is a watchman 
somewhere on duty.” 

Obediently Glendale passed the in- 
structions on to the driver of the cab 
and assisted the girl to alight. They 
stood together on the pavement until 
the taxi disappeared ; then they mounted 
the stone steps of the house, Marion 
North shooting anxious little glances 
back over her shoulder. 

The outer vestibule door was opened 
without difficulty. She fumbled in the 
beaded bag she carried and produced a 
fat bunch of latchkeys. With these in 
hand and Glendale beside her, she cen- 
tered her attention on the lock of the 
inner door, this a stout affair of oak, 
trying each key in turn. 

At her elbow, Glendale caught the 
fragrance of her hair, heard the soft 
flutter of her breath, and observed that 
there was a certain furtiveness to the 
manner in which she tried the various 
keys. Could it be, he asked himself, 
that they were trespassing ; that she was 
attempting unlawful entry; was bound 
on some nefarious errand? 

At length, while he combated doubts, 
her smothered exclamation of relief 
sounded together with the harsh click 
of the lock. The door gave into purple- 
black darkness. Cool air gushed out, 
spiced with a musty tang that told of 
premises long unoccupied. 

“So much for that,” she said brightly. 
“Please close the door tight. Our des- 
tination is the front room on the floor 
above. We will,” she added, “be only 
a minute or two longer at best now.” 

Glendale closed the inner door and 
struck a match, wishing that he had 
brought a pocket flash. In the flickering 
reflection she guided him accurately to 
an uncarpeted stairway, up which they 
moved, neither seeing fit to speak until 
the first landing was reached and the 
match went out. The hush of the house 
was disturbed only by those inexplicable 
sounds of the night, ever to be found 
where darkness reigns. 

Once a board in the floor snapped so 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 103 


loudly that Glendale turned his head, 
positive that some one was behind him. 
Mice scani]>ered through the walls, lea v- 
ing the rattle of falling plaster pebbles. 
Then followed a deep, eerie silence in 
which the encompassing murk seemed 
alive with crouching, sinister shapes and 
watching eyes. 

"Just a step ahead now,” the girl 
whispered. “Please make another light. 
Pm afraid that I’m dreadfully fright- 
ened. M 

The second match lasted until they 
were over the threshold of the room 
she led the way to. This, so far as 
Glendale could determine, was a cham- 
ber of some dimensions, dusty and de- 
void of furniture. Drawn shades at 
double front window’s sealed it like a 
mausoleum. The blackness was abso- 
lute; beyond the small yellow ring made 
by the match, it seemed to roll forward 
in thick, oily waves. 

“The closet !” the girl said breath- 
lessly. “It is a brown leather valise. 
Let’s get it and hurry away from here 
— as fast as we can!” 

The closet was to the left of a pas- 
sage, connecting the front room with 
one in the rear. The door of it was 
half ajar. Glendale handed the box of 
matches to his companion and swung 
the door wide. She stepped fonvard, 
holding the light so that the interior of 
the compartment was illumined. In it 
were merely a broken coat hanger, an 
empty champagne bottle with an inch 
of candle stuck in its neck, and a pile 
of dust. 

There was no sign of a valise — brown 
or of any other color. 

“Gone!” the girl cried in a stricken 
voice. “Too late ” 

The next instant her hand was on 
Glendale’s arm, tense as a vise. Even 
as it moved down and hid itself in his 
fingers, he detected the reason for the 
gasp that escaped her lips. 

In the * street a panting motor had 
stopped; the outer and inner vestibule 
doors closed. There followed voices 
mingling in the lower hallway. Then 
Glendale and the girl of mystery heard 
footsteps on the stairs. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE FIFTH VISITOR. 

IT was Glendale who recovered first 
* from the shock of surprise. With 
something telling him that the intruders 
on the stairs were enemies and that ob- 
servation meant disaster, he quickly 
drew the girl into the passageway — not 
an instant too soon. Hardly had they 
taken up their new stand in the shelter- 
ing murk before the mingling footsteps 
were in the hall, across the threshold 
of the room they had vacated. 

A man’s voice, easily recognizable as 
that belonging to the round-shouldered 
little Winter, broke out complainingly : 
“Well, here we are, Pinkie. A minute 
now and w’e can shake a farewell day- 
day to this town. Once we secure the 
valise, at least half of our task is done. 
Then for the charming young lady who 
is responsible for all this trouble ! 
You’re positive, are you, that Glendale 
hasn’t the box?” 

“I went through his rooms like a 
cyclone,” the tones of the dapper youth 
with the blond hair said. “There wasn’t 
a sign of it anywhere.” 

“Then he’s given it back to her,” the 
other murmured decidedly. “I thought 
it was only a bluff when she passed it 
to him in the lobby. She had put 
through a phone call. Chick found out 
she had a date with Ranscome. When 
she saw' me she got rattled and lost her 
head. Ten to one Glendale handed her 
the package back fifteen minutes or so 
after she gave it to him. She’s entirely 
too clever to let a thing like that be 
out of her sight for more time than 
she can help.” 

“I don’t think so,” the blond one said. 
“I think Glendale had it, but smuggled 
it back to her after I frisked him in 
the alley. I’ll tell you why I think so. 
When he came out of the grill he had 
a phone call and I was just in time to 
tip the moll on the board to trace it. 
It was from Au Printemps. That’s 
where she hangs out, you know, when 
there’s something stirring.” 

“H’m — maybe,” Winter conceded 
reluctantly. 

“Let’s get the bag and blow out,” 


104 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


the dapper youth said. ‘This house 
gets on my nerves. I always imagine 
it’s full of dicks waiting to jewel me! 
Turn on the light, chief.” 

Footsteps were heavy on the bare 
floor. The slender beam of an electric 
torch lanced the gloom like a golden 
arrow. With the fingers of Marion 
North tight in his hand, Glendale peered 
forward, seeking to realize what climax 
lurked before them, what a whimsical 
fate had in store, what the secret was 
of the brown valise that was conspicu- 
ous by its absence. 

His ruminations were ended by the 
jar of the closet door opening — the baf- 
fled fury of Winter’s voice: 

“Pinkie, it’s gone!” 

Whatever answer the man’s helpmate 
might have made, was blotted out by 
Winter’s tense whisper : “Sh ! Listen ! 
Some one coming!” 

The sun of the torch was plunged out. 
Silence again was unbroken save for 
the sound of mice in the walls, some- 
thing that made Glendale’s pulses vi- 
brate. Low, but perfectly distinct, 
there came to his strained ears the quiet 
sound of the inner vestibule door clos- 
ing below, the quick breath of Marion 
North in his ear, the muted creak of 
the stairs. 

To the quartet in the vacant house 
was being added a fifth visitor. Who? 

The girl released Glendale’s hand ; in 
the staring darkness of the outer room 
the quiet gave no clew to the person 
who approached it of the two lurking 
within its confines. Nearer the foot- 
steps in the hall came until Glendale 
could almost count the number neces- 
sary to carry the intruder into the room. 
He inclined forward, waiting with every 
nerve on edge for what he knew must 
occur and what, without subjecting the 
girl and himself to a greater peril, he 
was powerless to prevent. 

There came without forewarning, like 
a bolt from the blue, a harsh order: 
“Let him have it, Pinkie!” 

Winter’s vicious exclamation was fol- 
lowed by the thud of a blow, a thin 
moan, the clatter of something falling, 
and the dull slump of a body sinking 
to the floor. 


“Got him good !” the dapper youth 
cried. “Come on, let’s get out of here !” 

“Wait!” Winter said. “Who is it? 
Make a light. Maybe it’s His Royal 
Highness.” 

Some one struck a match and laughed. 
There was a pause. 

“Swell chance on the big game!” 
Pinkie said disgustedly. “It’s only Rans- 
come after the valise ! And that means 
they haven’t got it!” 

Abruptly the two quit the room. 
Their steps dwindled on the stairs. The 
outer and inner vestibule doors closed 
with a slam; outside in the street the 
murmur of their voices ceased. 

“Oh, they’ve killed him !” Marion 
North cried fremulously. 

She pressed the box of matches Glen- 
dale had given her back into his hands. 
Acutely realizing the significance of her 
action, he stole forward, making a light 
that trembled despite his efforts to keep 
it steady. Breathlessly dreading what 
he knew he must behold and striving 
not to shrink from it, he found the 
figure of the fifth intruder and knelt 
over it. 

An explanation of the man’s down- 
fall lay in the broken torch on the floor 
beside him. The person addressed as 
“Pinkie” had used it as a blackjack in 
the cover of the doorway. Yet his blow 
had not been fatal, for the man breathed 
and moved. 

Glendale let the glow of the match 
fall on the upturned face. He was not 
half as surprised as he felt he should 
have been when he recognized the cold, 
dispassionate features of the hawk-eyed 
man who, wearing green flannels, had, 
that afternoon, lingered in the lobby of 
the Hotel King William. 

Glendale got up and went back to 
the girl who was at the end of the 
passage. 

“Is — is he ” Her voice quavered. 

Glendale touched her hand reassur- 
ingly, understanding what she feared to 
say. “No. They struck him with the 
torch — a glancing blow. He’ll be 
around all right in a few minutes.” 

Her breathing became more regular. 
“Then let’s hurry back to Au Prin- 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


105 


temps. They know I met you there. 
I must speak to Jimmy Hope at once.” 

Side by side they picked a cautious 
way to the well of the stairs, descended 
the steps, and passed out between the 
double doors of the vestibule that had 
seemed so stanch and adequate, but 
which had been opened so easily by 
three different factions. 

Out in the street, Marion North 
sighed. * Her vivacity, displayed in the 
restaurant, was gone; once more dejec- 
tion seemed to weigh upon her. Was 
this, Glendale thought, because of the 
mishap that had overtaken Green Flan- 
nels or because of the sought-for but 
missing valise? 

The question started a new train of 
thought. He had believed it entirely 
evident that two opposing forces were 
at work. On one side was an alliance 
between the round-shouldered Winter 
and the dapper youth. Opposed to them 
was the girl herself and the man with 
the hawk eyes. Still it appeared that 
neither side had secured the wanted 
valise. Who, then, had taken it? 

Turning into West End Avenue, 
Glendale discovered their taxicab driver 
dutifully awaiting them. 

“Au Printemps,” he said to the 
chauffeur, helping the girl to enter the 
cab and seating himself beside her. 

They moved off, retracing their way 
toward the Rialto. 

“I had such hopes,” she began, “such 
hopes that everything was moving for 
the best. But now I am not so sure 
of it. If the man who calls himself 
Winter has failed to get the valise, it 
is not unreasonable to believe it has got 
into other wrong hands. And if this 
is so, the tangle is more complicated 
than ever.” She sighed again heavily. 

“I don't suppose,” Glendale said rue- 
fully, “you can tell me what connection 
there is between the valise and the pack- 
age you handed me this afternoon? Yet 
there must be a connection — I am sure 
of it.” 

The girl’s brown eyes regarded him 
lingeringly. “Yes; there is a decided 
connection between the two. When you 
learn what I mean you will be aston- 
ished. I know. It isn’t at all kind to 


keep you in the dark, but it can’t be 
helped. Another directs my moves and 
to this person I have pledged my silence. 
You didn’t tell me,” she added after a 
pause, “that you had been held up and 
searched.” 

Glendale explained in a few words, 
and she nodded. Then Miss North 
went on: 

“You have been awfully kind and 
brave. I’m sure I don’t know what I 
ever could have done without you. 
First, this afternoon — Winter knew I 
had the box, because, you see, by a 
stroke of luck I was able to take it from 
his apartment. The fact I was in the 
busy lobby of a hotel meant little to 
him. He is the most dangerous man 
in the world ; he stops at nothing. I 
know he would not have hesitated to 
attack me. Then, to-night, I would 
have positively expired if you were not 
with me to go into that house.” 

The taxicab was passing the Winter 
Garden. The hour lacked only a few 
minutes of eleven, and in anticipation of 
the theaters closing, lines of motors were 
beginning to thread the aisle of Broad- 
way. Ahead, Glendale glimpsed the 
sparkle of Au Printemps, the girl stir- 
ring on the cushions beside him. 

“One last favor. When we reach 
the cafe I will wait outside in the taxi. 
Will you go in and tell Jimmy Hope 
that I would like to speak to him a min- 
ute?” 

As Glendale nodded, the cab came to 
a stop before the dazzling face of the 
cafe. He alighted and made his way 
inside, seeing nothing of the rotund 
manager — -which led him to ask a pom- 
pous captain of waiters for information. 

“Is Mr. Hope about?” 

The head of the serving brigade 
turned. “No, sir. Mr. Hope left about 
ten minutes ago. He won’t return here 
until to-morrow morning.” 

With the syncopated beat of music, 
following him like a horde of goblins, 
Glendale picked his way back to Broad- 
way. On the pavement he came to an 
abrupt halt, something sinking within 
him that was as heavy as lead. The 
night life of the White Way flowed 
from gutter to gutter in a brilliant pag- 


106 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


eant, but the curb fronting Au Prin- 
temps was free from vehicles of any 
description. The taxicab in which 
Marion North awaited him had disap- 
peared. 

CHAPTER V. 

LABYRINTH OF THE UNKNOWN. 

/^JLENDALE was neither enraged nor 
_ astounded to find his rooms at the 
King William in a chaos of disorder. 
From what he had heard Pinkie saying 
to Winter, he knew that the search for 
the mysterious package had penetrated 
to his suite. The dapper youth had left 
no stone unturned in seeking it. 

The bedchamber had suffered the 
most. Here the bureau drawers had 
been yanked open and their contents 
strewn about. Pictures on the wall 
were awry, rugs heaped together, the 
mattress on the bed slashed in four 
different places. The living room was 
upset, but by comparison it was more 
orderly, for the reason that it offered 
less chances for concealment. Glendale 
perceived the miscreant had gained en- 
try through a fire-escape window. A 
circle had been cut in the glass under 
the latch, large enough to admit a slen- 
der hand. 

Glendale tidied up the best he could 
and retired. When he awoke, the hot 
sun of another day was well up over 
the city. From early indications it 
promised to be a torrid record breaker. 

Glendale tubbed, shaved, and break- 
fasted, resolved that, now he had lost 
all traces of the mystery, it was time 
to seek the advice of his friend Martin 
Fosdick. Perhaps, he concluded, after 
all he had made a mistake in not tele- 
phoning him the previous evening. 

How was Glendale to know that some 
malignant fate had not overtaken the 
girl with the wistful brown eyes and 
the lustrous brown hair? Try as he 
might, he could not put from him the 
recollection of what she had termed 
Winter. “The most dangerous man in 
the world,” she had called him. And 
secretly, though he would not admit it, 
he felt that it was the hand of the round- 
shouldered man that had drawn the 


taxicab away from the entrance of Au 
Printemps. 

Breakfast completed and the first cig- 
arette of the day afire, Glendale ob- 
tained his hat and stick. He informed 
the management of the hotel that his 
suite had been broken into ; then he 
went out. Martin Fosdick’s agency oc- 
cupied two floors in Harpsichord Hall, 
a modern office building on Forty-sec- 
ond Street, across from Bryant Park 
and the Public Library. 

When Glendale reached it his card 
was taken in by an office boy who re- 
quested that he seat himself in the wait- 
ing room. Five minutes elapsed before 
a blond young woman, whom he recog- 
nized from previous visits as his friend’s 
secretary, came in with his card. 

“Mr. Fosdick/’ she said, “will not be 
in to-day. He is away on a very im- 
portant case. I don’t expect him here 
much before to-morrow afternoon.” 

Back on Forty-second street Glendale 
knit his brows. Fate appeared to be in 
a jesting humor. He could think of no 
possible means of finding a way back 
to the girl through the labyrinth of the 
unknown. As shadowy as the preced- 
ing night itself, the drama with all the 
characters concerned in it had vanished 
into thin air. It was as if a curtain had 
rolled down between a stage and the 
audience of one. The riddle intricate 
had got away from Glendale. 

It was only when he was crossing 
Times Square he suddenly remembered 
that, alone of all things, something still 
was stationary and permanent, bulking 
largely through the mists of his per- 
plexities. 

This was the empty house on Sev- 
enty-fifth Street which he had pene- 
trated with Marion North so recently. 

Could he hope to find in the building 
some tangible something that would re- 
ward his labor? Did the hawk-eyed 
Green Flannels still lie supine on the 
floor in the front room on the second 
story? At least, he told himself, he 
had nothing to lose and everything to 
gain if he decided upon a pilgrimage 
to the house. Recrossing the Hub of 
the Universe, Glendale hailed a surface 
car and boarded it. 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


107 


There was no chance of mistaking the 
house in the vivid shine of the hot Au- 
gust day. The block itself displayed 
but little activity. A coal truck was 
running a stream of black diamonds 
down a hole in the pavement; an ex- 
press wagon, piled high with trunks, 
was receiving more from a house near- 
est the corner of West End Avenue. 
A maid w*as lowering the awnings of 
a place across the street. 

Glendale continued until he was 
abreast of the house in which he had 
lurked the night before. Viewed by 
daylight it was a complacent affair of 
brownstone, different neither in size, 
shape, nor appearance from those hedg- 
ing it in. Its windows were fairly 
clean ; save for the fact that every shade 
was jealously drawn, it appeared in- 
habited. 

Glendale appraised the house quizzi- 
cally, passing its stoop and trying to 
decide if it was worth while to test its 
double doors and seek admittance. He 
was a pace or two away from it when 
something shot through him that was 
like the flash of a spark along a fuse. 

This was the closing swing of one 
of the doors Jie had been thinking about, 
and the sudden appearance on the top 
step of Pinkie, the dapper youth with 
the blond hair. 

Lifting his hands to shield his face, 
in the attitude of a person tryiug to light 
a cigarette, Glendale stopped in his 
tracks and used his eyes. Without the 
trouble of a glance about him, the youth 
ran lightly down the steps and turned 
in the direction of Broadway. When 
he had crossed West End Avenue, 
Glendale leisurely followed. 

There was a cigar store on the south- 
west corner of the street’s intersection 
with the avenue. The blond youth 
promptly stepped into it. When Glen- 
dale reached it and looked cautiously 
through the open door, it was to find 
that the person he followed was in the 
act of entering a telephone booth, four 
of which were at the rear of the store. 

Judging the proximity of the cigar 
counter to the booths, and deciding to 
risk it, Glendale entered. Keeping his 
back to the rear of the shop and his 


face out of range of the other’s vision, 
through the door of the booth, he edged 
along the plate-glass case, bending and 
considering the cigars on display. When 
he had backed to within earshot of the 
booth, he heard the blond youth give 
the central operator a number which 
was unintelligible. His words, however, 
which immediately followed, were not. 

“This is Pinkie speaking, boss,” he 
said. “I just left the house. Rans- 
come’s gone. I don’t know whether he 
pulled out by himself or if some one 
helped him. Anyway, he’s taken the 
air. What’s the next thing on the 
books? I'm up here on the corner of 
Seventy-fifth Street.” 

Glendale tingled. Without question 
the youth was conversing with Winter. 
He had taken the one chance and made 
good on it. At last he was on a high- 
way that led to something definite. He 
purchased three cigars and continued to 
hang upon every word that filtered out 
from the booth. 

“I’ll fix that up right aw r ay,” Pinkie 
went on. “I’ll see Mike Ryan and hire 
his bus. I’ll be up about eleven o’clock 
unless I get a bad breakdown here in 
town. You know what I mean. Have 
Chick meet me at eleven at the float. 
Tell him to wait if I’m not there on 
the dot. Right? ’By,” 

He left both the booth and the store 
hastily, passing so close to Glendale 
that his sleeve brushed his arm. 

When Glendale followed him out, the 
dapper one was swinging up on the 
front of the running board of a south- 
bound open car. For a wild instant it 
appeared that he must make a clean get- 
away. Disregarding all traffic laws, 
Glendale surged forward in a fifty-yard 
sprint that carried him up to the end 
platform of the car where he scrambled 
aboard, turned, and discovered his 
quarry well forward, still unsuspecting. 

Intuition told Glendale that there was 
still much to learn. Whether he learned 
it depended upon his ability to stick 
close to the heels of the aggressive 
Pinkie. What he had heard in the 
cigar store seemed to suggest that the 
last scenes of the drama were shifting 
to a locale other than the metropolis. 


108 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Pinkie had spoken of a “bus” and a 
“float;” the former seemed to insinuate 
flight, the latter a rendezvous somewhere 
upon the water. High hope flooded him. 
At last, after hours of stress and doubt, 
the girl with the brown eyes seemed 
somewhere just beyond, not swallowed 
up and lost in a muffling desert of dark- 
ness. 

Keeping a wary eye glued to Winter’s 
accomplice, Glendale allowed his imagi- 
nation to paint mental pictures of 
Marion North. Once more she was in 
the lobby of the Hotel King William, 
giving him the package. Once more 
she was radiant and beautiful against 
the shaded table lights and sconces of 
Au Printemps. Once more her little 
white hand rested in his in the black- 
ness of the passage of the empty house. 
He felt himself strangely drawn to her, 
with heart and pulses quickening their 
beat. 

He had nothing save his own stead- 
fast confidence and faith to cling to — 
no logical way of knowing who and 
what she was ; no certain way of prov- 
ing she was not Winter’s daughter, an 
adventuress, a bird of black plumage, 
a thief. By her own admission Miss 
North confessed that she had filched 
the package she had handed him from 
the apartment of the round-shouldered 
little man. 

But despite this, his heart told him 
that she was unsoiled and guiltless; a 
girl whose feet trod dark ways, but 
whose eyes were turned always to the 
light. 

Glendale’s reflections were ended by 
the sight of Pinkie arising to give the 
bell rope a lusty tug. The surface car 
had delved into the Fifties, and Flash 
Alley roared just ahead. The dapper 
youth swung off the car and headed for 
the pavement. Glendale allowed his 
conveyance to move on to the next cor- 
ner before alighting and turning back. 

It was now somewhat after the noon 
hour and the thoroughfare was well 
populated with pedestrians, clerks, and 
office hands of the neighborhood bound 
for luncheons. The throng checked 
Glendale’s advance and it was three min- 
utes before he discovered Pinkie well 


down a side street, swinging briskly 
along. 

He took up the pursuit again with a 
breath of relief, taking pains not to 
press the other too hard, for, despite 
his haste, the immaculate youth seemed 
to have an inclination to look back every 
now and then, a fact that made Glen- 
dale dodge behind people in front of 
him and linger in doorways until the 
other put more ground between them. 

In this fashion they both crossed 
Eighth Avenue. It was then that Glen- 
dale sighted the destination of the one 
he trailed. Midway down the block 
was a large garage. It was into this 
building that the man turned. 

With an introspective frown, Glen- 
dale halted and narrowed his eyes. So 
far his good fortune had been phenom- 
enal. His feet were firmly planted on 
the brink of clear revelations; he must 
do nothing to jeopardize his luck, lest, 
when victory confronted him, it be 
snatched away, its laurels replaced by 
the sour grapes of humiliation. He de- 
cided to maneuver with infinite care 
and so began to edge closer to the 
garage. 

This, a three-story building, sprawled 
well along the street. Its fireproof 
doors were drawn wide. Out of them 
floated the splash of a hose, the pur 
of a motor being started and stopped, 
the cheerful sound of whistling. Be- 
cause the hour was lunch time, no chauf- 
feurs idled before it. 

Prudently Glendale approached the 
first open door. Though he was fa- 
vored by no loungers loitering about to 
speculate upon his presence, this piece 
of luck was balanced by the fact that 
some one from within might glimpse 
him and come out to learn his wishes. 
But the good fortune that guided him 
continued to smile, for he had hardly 
taken up his new stand, before the voice 
of Pinkie, loudly lifted, sounded. 

“Where’s Ryan, Eddie?” he called 
to some one presumably in the rear of 
the place. “Hey, Eddie, come here a 
minute, will you?” 

The purring of the engine ceased. 

“ ’Lo, Pinkie,” some one said cor- 
dially. “Looking for Mike? He went 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


109 


over to see about getting some tires vul- 
canized. What’s on your mind besides 
your hat?” 

“How are the chances for getting the 
Packard at ten to-night? I got a lot 
of things to do this afternoon and I 
can’t fool around and wait for Ryan to 
come back. You know whether the bus 
is booked or not, don’t you? What’s 
the answer?” 

“She’s booked up to six,” said the 
other. “After that you can have her 
any time you want. Where are you 
going and how long do you want to 
keep her?” 

Glendale’s lips tightened. On the an- 
swer of the blond youth hinged the com- 
plete success or failure of the enter- 
prise. 

“We’re going up to Bailey’s place be- 
yond Pelham Bay Park. I’d like to 
have a clever boy at the wheel. The 
boss and me might have to get out in 
a hurry, and I want some one who 
knows how to drive a few on the job. 
I’ll hire the bus until five or six to- 
morrow morning. Write me a ticket 
for it and tell Ryan I will be here at 
ten o’clock sharp. It’s worth a cen- 
tury. Got that all straight, Eddie?” 

“Got you!” the second speaker said. 
“She’ll be ready when vou want her, 
and ” 

Glendale waited no longer. 

Aware that what else he might hear 
probably would l)e inconsequential and 
that Pinkie was likely to come out at 
any minute, he crossed the street and 
headed for Broadway. A warm flush 
of success rioted in his veins. The last 
link in the chain seemed welded. 
“Bailey’s place beyond Pelham Bay 
Park !” He had learned the setting for 
the last act of the mystery, a definite 
clew to the whereabouts of the pica- 
roons who he was sure had everything 
to do with Marion North’s disappear- 
ance. 

On Broadway he determined to put 
into effect a plan he had stored in the 
back of his mind and walked south, to 
the outskirts of theater land. 

An Printemps, two streets below, was 
a different place by day. With its glit- 
tering sign extinguished and its pink 


draperies limply disconsolate in the 
streaming August sunshine, it was cheap 
and tawdry. Glendale entered between 
the Roman pots of plants, stepping into 
the foyer alcove where, the previous 
evening, the girl with the brown eyes 
had arisen to meet him. 

The cafe catered principally to the 
night crowd of the Rialto. But few of 
its tables were occupied by diners con- 
suming a midday meal. Tranquillity 
prevailed ; the restaurant was a very 
different place from what it had been 
on the occasion of his last visit. 

The door of the manager’s office was 
ajar. Within it, Jimmy Hope, in flam- 
boyant black-and-white checks, a pongee 
shirt with a soft collar speared by a 
jeweled pin and a knitted cravat, sat be- 
fore his desk, engaged with a cigar and 
a heap of bills. 

He looked up as Glendale’s shadow 
fell athwart his desk and nodded affably. 

“How are you ? Not looking for Miss 
North, are you?” 

“I was wondering.” Glendale began 
awkwardly, “whether she had called for 
the package she gave you last night?” 

The restaurateur shook his head. 
“No; not yet. It is locked up in the 
safe and it’s going to stay locked up 
until she comes here and asks me for 
it. Say, what does the darn thing con- 
tain, anyway? You’re the third person 
who’s been in here this morning trying 
to get a line on it.” 

“The third !” Glendale exclaimed. 

The manager grinned mirthlessly. 
“Yes; the third! One — two — three, 
count ’em. The first was some chap 
with patent leather, yellow hair, and a 
pair of shifty eyes. He had the nerve 
to tell me that Miss North sent him 
down for the package. I told him I 
didn’t know what he was talking about 
and sent him on his way. The second 
was a little better. He just came in a 
little while ago. His name was Rans- 
come, and he seemed to be trying to 
get a line on where Miss North was. 

“I gave him all the information I had 
until he began to chirp about the pack- 
age,” Hope continued. “Then I told 
him not to slam the front door on his 
way out. You’re the third one. I don’t 


110 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


know what the idea is, but I’ll tell you 
this much. The one who gets that lit- 
tle package out of my safe will have to 
use either hypnotism or dynamite !” 

CHAPTER VI. 

WEARING A MASK. 

A GAIN on Broadway, Glendale turned 
in the direction of the Bryant 
Agency, which he soon reached. Fosdick 
had returned, it appeared. The office 
boy once more disappeared with his 
card, came back, and bade him follow. 

With anticipation keen within him, 
Glendale was ushered into the private 
office of his friend. Fosdick sat before 
a glass-covered desk. He was dictat- 
ing a letter to his blond secretary, but 
dismissed her and turned to Glendale. 

‘‘Hello, Archer! Sorry I wasn’t in 
when you called this morning. I re- 
turned about ten minutes ago — didn’t 
expect to, but affairs rather slumped at 
the last minute. You look worried. 
Here, sit down and tell me all your trou- 
bles.” 

Glendale seated himself and without 
prelude plunged into his story. He be- 
gan with the scene in the lobby of the 
King William, building the tale step by 
step until he concluded with his visit 
to Au Printemps. Fosdick listened 
without comment, punctuating the nar- 
rative once or twice with a nod, but 
otherwise displaying no particular in- 
terest or concern. 

“I’m going up to Bailey’s place be- 
yond Pelham Bay Park to-night. I’m 
going to follow the Packard this Pinkie 
hired,” Glendale added after he had 
finished the narrative of past events. 

“If your friend spoke about a float,” 
Fosdick said, “it means his destination 
is somewhere other than Bailey’s. I 
know that place well. The chances are 
that the rendezvous is at Cranberry 
Island, farther out.” 

For some time the two spoke ear- 
nestly; Fosdick became attentive, anx- 
ious, displaying a flash of animation 
which told the other that the detective’s 
indifference had been merely a bland 
mask which hid a keen interest. 

“Another thing,” Fosdick said at last. 


“I’ll supply you with a car so you can 
follow the Packard. I’ll send it up to 
the hotel at half past nine. Drop a gun 
in your pocket before you start out.” 
He stood and offered his hand. 

“Do you believe there’s something big 
in it?” Glendale asked. 

The detective donned his mask again 
and shrugged. “Perhaps. It won’t 
hurt to look into it. It’s an interesting 
story. You can never tell what’s going 
to result until you probe things.” 

They shook hands, and Glendale de- 
parted. 

CHAPTER VII. 

BIRDS OF PREY. 

T'HE night held the promise of thun- 
1 derstorms. Far away lightning 
flickered; thunder was like the echoes 
of elfin artillery. The metropolis, ex- 
pectant of cooling showers, lay in a 
breathless calm. The street noises were 
hushed. The city seemed to go on tip- 
toe; a spirit of adventure was abroad, 
Orientalizing street and avenue that 
writhed in a welter of their own heat. 

In the two-seated racing roadster that 
Fosdick had sent to the hotel for him, 
some forty minutes previous, Glendale 
lurked a hundred yards west of Ryan’s 
garage. The car was drawn toward the 
curb in such fashion as not only to com- 
mand a view of the doors of the place, 
but to be free to spring away in in- 
stant chase, once the pirate vehicle char- 
tered by Pinkie made an appearance. 

His watch marking the hour of ten 
precisely, Glendale lifted his gaze to the 
chauffeur. The man, lank and tall, had 
introduced himself as Gus Tremaine. 
Whether he was one of Fosdick’s aids 
or only drove for the Bryant Agency, 
Glendale had no way of knowing. The 
man sat moodily taciturn, only the 
brightness of his eyes betraying his in- 
terest in the proceedings. 

Glendale turned his gaze from his 
watch to the open doors of the garage. 
“We shouldn’t have to wait long now,” 
he remarked. “The man we’re to fol- 
low said ten o’clock. When the Pack- 
ard appears I don’t want you to crowd 
it too closely; neither do I want you 
to lose sight of it. A happy medium 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


111 


between far and near will be the right 
thing, I think.’’ 

“He won’t get away,” Tremaine 
promised. 

Ten more minutes elapsed without 
sign of the dapper Pinkie or the hired 
car. Glendale trained his glance on the 
garage. A night-hawking taxicab was 
having its tank filled from the gasoline 
pump on the sidewalk. A limousine 
with a chauffeur dozing on its front seat 
was the only other car before it. Some- 
where inside a dim light burned and 
the splash of the hose sounded again. 
Fifteen more minutes elapsed. At last 
half past ten arrived and then twenty- 
five minutes to eleven. 

“Looks like he wasn’t coming,” the 
lean Tremaine remarked casually. 

Glendale grew restless. Had some- 
thing unlooked for cropped up to mar 
what seemed a perfect plot? Had Pinkie 
been aware that he had been trailed 
and had he made the arrangements to 
throw his shadower off the scent? 

Mature consideration of the idea 
made Glendale conscious that his deduc- 
tions might be correct in every particu- 
lar. Thinking it useless to sit and spec- 
ulate idly with the minutes running 
away, lie opened the side door of the 
car and got out. 

“Wait here,” he said to Tremaine. 
“I’ll be back directly.” 

Slipping across the street he found 
it an easy matter to peer into the ga- 
rage from the outer gloom. Visible 
within the place were two men in rub- 
ber hip boots who with hose and 
sponges were industriously cleaning a 
seven-passenger touring car. Of Win- 
ter’s partner there was no sign ; neither 
did Glendale see a Packard standing in 
readiness for use. 

With a twitch to the soft cap donned 
for the occasion, he entered the garage 
and addressed the mechanic who was 
using the sponge. “Seen anything of 
my friend Pinkie? I was to pick* him 
up at ten-fifteen and he hasn’t shown 
himself yet.” 

The man tossed his sponge into a 
pail of water and signaled the custodian 
of the hose. “W hat time did Pinkie’s 
bus roll out, Eddie?” 


The other rubbed a cauliflower ear. 
“Fifteen after nine. It was to pick him 
up at Skelley’s place in Harlem at quar- 
ter of. If you’re looking for him you’re 
out of luck, bo. By now he’s halfway 
up to Bailey’s place.” 

“What’s the quickest way to get up 
there?” Glendale inquired. 

1 he man shifted his tobacco from one 
side of his face to the other. “Straight 
up "to Pelham Parkway. Follow it to 
the Shore Road. Take the City Island 
turn to the right, but turn left before 
you reach the bridge. It’s a dirt road 
all the way out to Bailey’s, but it ain’t 
so bad. Stay on it, and it will take you 
right out at the hotel.” 

Glendale thanked him and returned 
to tjie roadster. He informed Tremaine 
of the new turn of events and asked 
an opinion. 

“The best thing is to get right out 
there,” the other advised. “If your 
man hasn’t got too much of a start on 
us we can overtake him on the road. 
Jump in and let’s go!” 

Through the lower part of the city 
and the Bronx Tremaine drove with a 
vast respect for traffic rules and regula- 
tions. But once Bronx Park was passed 
and the smooth level of Pelham Park- 
way began, lie coaxed the roadster for- 
ward, swinging the needle of the speed- 
ometer far over. 

They rushed through the night like 
an express train striving to make up lost 
time. A self-created wind whistled by 
Glendale’s ears; the arc lights dipped 
past like shooting stars; twice he heard 
the scream of a patrolman’s whistle and 
once glimpsed a chasing motor cycle 
which they lost instantly. The boule- 
vard ran straight and true into the Shore 
Road. 

Here Tremaine slowed the roadster to 
a more decorous rate of speed, snapped 
back a lever on the dash he had pulled 
up before their flight, and chuckled. 

“A little invention of Mr. Fosdick’s. 
When I open her up wide I pull the 
switch and a couple of wires turn the li- 
cense plates over so nobody can read 
them. ‘Of course the cops will phone 
ahead, but the description they got of 


112 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


us when we passed don’t cut any ice. 
IT1 put up the top and dim the big 
front headlights and nobody will as 
much as speak to us. Wait and see if 
I’m not right.” 

Nobody did halt them though they 
passed a patrol booth at the City Island 
turn, where two policemen with motor 
cycles were watching the highway. 

“First road to the left before you 
reach the bridge,” Glendale said. 

“I know the road,” Tremaine an- 
swered. “It leads to Bailey’s old place. 
It used to be a hang-out for picnickers, 
bathers, fishing parties, and soaks in 
the old days before prohibition came 
along. Now it’s pretty well run down. 
I’ll open her up again as soon as we 
make the turn.” 

The dirt road the mechanic in Ryan’s 
garage had spoken of was discovered 
without trouble. It was perhaps five 
miles long, narrow, and full of unex- 
pected twists — turns that bothered Tre- 
maine not at all. 

Once more he shot the car along like 
a locomotive, slowing only when the 
road became full of broken clamshells, 
and a mile ahead the misty vista of 
the Sound spread out like a flat, black 
mirror, hung with filmy curtains. 

They turned twice and then struck a 
down grade that led to some sort of 
a shelving beach, back from which 
bulked a huge, ramshackle wooden 
building, dark except for the shine of 
a kerosene lamp in one window that 
overlooked a rickety porch with a sag- 
ging railing. 

“That’s Bailey’s,” Tremaine an- 
nounced. “Looks like the Ritz, don’t 
it? Lot of folks mistake it.” 

The car stopped. Staring, Glendale 
stroked his chin. To the east, in the 
night, the north shore of Long Island 
loomed vaguely, like a low-drifted bank 
of cloud. Off to the left were the far- 
away lights of some town that might 
have been New Rochelle or Larchmont. 
Between the two, a wall of humidity, 
dull and lusterless, had taken body since 
the twilight, masking the skies and shut- 
ting down upon the sea like the rim of 
some great bowl. 


Glendale shook himself. This was 
the setting for the last act of the drama. 
What would come out of it? What 
were the true characters and the iden- 
tity of those who took the leading roles? 
He alighted from the roadster and 
looked at his watch. It was some twenty 
minutes after eleven — twenty minutes 
past the time that Pinkie had promised 
to be present at the “float.” 

He wheeled and surveyed the night- 
draped panorama in front of him. Be- 
fore the dilapidated building was a sort 
of wooden runway that led across the 
beach, against which small, puny wave- 
lets flung themselves monotonously, to 
a landing wharf of some size, close to 
which a few dingy boats nestled wearily. 

As his eyes fell upon the float, Glen- 
dale recalled what Fosdick had said 
concerning Cranberry Island. He knit 
his brows, wondering if the speculation 
of his friend were correct — determin- 
ing to verify it. 

Putting his feet in motion he made 
his way to the empty hotel, mounted 
the veranda steps, and knocked loudly 
on the weather-stained door. The sum- 
mons was such as to bring him face to 
face with an angular man, whose seamy, 
tanned face wore a sandy stubble of 
several days’ growth. This individual 
was attired in a soiled, collarless shirt, 
a pair of khaki trousers, and apparently 
not much else. 

He favored his caller with a sleepy 
stare. “What you want?” 

“I’m looking for a pal of mine,” 
Glendale replied glibly. “Friend by the 
name of Pinkie. I was to meet him at 
Skelley’s at a quarter of ten, but I was 
late and missed him. Do you know if 
he’s got up here yet?” 

The man in the doorway hesitated a 
moment ; then he said : “He went out 
to the island about twenty minutes ago.” 

Glendale knew the tingle of triumph. 
Fosdick was right. It was an island! 

“You mean Cranberry Island, don’t 
you?” he questioned. 

“Sure. What do you think I mean 
— Blackwell’s?” the other answered sar- 
castically. “If you want to get out 
there you’ll find boats a plenty down at 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


113 


the float There’s oars in the boathouse. 
The door of it’s open. Bring the boat 
back and tie it up when you get through 
with it.” 

“How do I get out to the island?” 
Glendale asked dubiously. “Where does 
it lie?” 

The man laughed unpleasantly. “Say, 
sonny, don’t you know nothin’?” 

“Pinkie didn’t tell me,” Glendale re- 
plied smoothly. “I was supposed to 
meet him here and go out with him. 
I’ve never been up this way before.” 

“Well, it’s a mile and a half straight 
out,” his informant said sullenly. “Just 
lay on to the oars and mind the rocks 
when you get offshore. There’s not 
much current to speak of. Pull straight 
and you can’t miss it.” 

The door, slamming in Glendale’s 
face, cut short his thanks. 

He returned to the roadster and 
found Tremaine drawing meditatively 
on a corncob pipe. Glendale’s watch 
showed him that it was half past eleven. 
He turned to the road and listened. 

“Are you one of Mr. Fosdick’s as- 
sistants?” he asked the silent Tre- 
maine. 

The man stirred and looked up. 

“No; I only drive for him.” 

Glendale, after a few more words 
with Tremaine, located the boathouse 
the angular gentleman in the khaki 
trousers had spoken of, helped himself 
to a pair of oars, and made his way 
down to the wharf. Here, with the 
aid of a pocket flash he had brought, 
he selected a fishing dory that seemed 
cleaner and lighter than the other boats 
about it. 

With pulses beginning to hammer 
anew, Glendale, alone, took his bearings, 
cast off, fitted the oars to rusty locks, 
seated himself, and pulled lustily to- 
ward the open Sound. 

The humidity walled him in ; the 
lights of the waiting roadster became 
firefly specks and then disappeared en- 
tirely. Fantastic water sounds floated 
back to him from the open sea. Once 
he heard the pant of a ghostly motor 
boat passing on the starboard beam; 
once the sucking gurgle of a whirlpool; 

8A TN 


the unceasing toll of a bell buoy, and, 
far away, the grind of the propellers 
of some night-prowling Sound steamer. 

Glendale continued to row. He 
stopped only to consult his watch in 
the light of the flash, judging his dis- 
tance by the elapsing minutes more than 
by anything else. His strenuous efforts 
at the oars brought no fatigue to weigh 
heavily upon him. 

He seemed as fresh and vigorous as 
an athlete ready for some grueling, 
crucial test of strength. His nerves 
were steady and alert; he believed that 
he was ready to face what might con- 
front him, resolute, spurred, fired, and 
inspired by the knowledge that each and 
every tick of his watch and stroke of 
the oars brought him closer to infor- 
mation concerning Marion North. 

It was almost a half hour later be- 
fore his quick ears caught the sibilant 
sigh of the Sound along a sandy shore, 
the beat of it against rocks. Backing 
water, he stared narrowly over the bow 
of the dory, detected the dim outlines 
of the island, and began sculling cau- 
tiously in. 

He discovered the rocks spoken of, 
negotiated a careful passage through 
and between them, and came upon placid 
water that flowed up to the edge of 
a natural beach out from which a dock 
jutted and two motor boats, a dinghy 
and a rowboat with an Evinrude motor 
at its stern, were moored. Glendale 
shipped his oars quietly, secured the 
dory to the landing pier with a length 
of ill-smelling bowline, and climbed out 
and up on the dock. 

A minute later his feet were planted 
firmly on solid terrain. Through the 
mist, less than a quarter of a mile away, 
a light burned steadily. He walked to- 
ward it, his right hand dropping to the 
fully loaded automatic he had stored 
away in his hip pocket. Come what 
may, he informed himself grimly, this 
time he would not be found weaponless 
and unprotected. 

The light grew. Closer to it, Glen- 
dale saw that .it burned behind the drawn 
shades in the first-floor window of a 
building that appeared not a whit dif- 
ferent from Bailey’s hotel that he had 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


114 

/ 

left on the mainland. Here before him 
was the same bulk of decaying wood, 
rickety, weather-beaten porch, tumble- 
down steps, and broken railing. He 
stood still and considered it, asking him- 
self if, at last, his journey had ended; 
if perplexity was over and done with 
for once and all. 

The sand muffled his footsteps effec- 
tually. He crept up to the window and 
listened at its sill. Voices were faint 
and indistinct within; for all of its 
antiquity and desuetude, the place had 
stout and substantial walls. Moving 
away, Glendale continued on, circling 
the place and seeking a means of en- 
trance which he presently found in a 
small, rear door that hung on a single 
hinge. 

He used his flash, entered, and found 
himself in a small hallway that skirted 
what, in an earlier and happier day, had 
been kitchens and serving rooms. The 
passage ambled complacently around 
bends and corners, ending at length in 
a wide, oblong space in the front of 
the building where Glendale hesitated, 
a thrill of excitement stabbing him. 

Directly opposite from the place 
where he stood, light stained a grirpy 
transom and gushed out from under 
the closed door. He was separated only 
by a few feet from the black birds of 
prey. 

Drawing his automatic he inched his 
way toward the door, reached it, and 
crouched beside it. The voices now 
were perfectly audible. He heard some 
one giving an order and then a care- 
less answer: 

“Sure ! I'll fetch her in right away !" 

Before Glendale could move, the door 
he crouched against was yanked open 
from the inside, and a rush of illumina- 
tion blinded him. 

In a flash savage arms gripped his 
throat, wrested the weapdn from his 
hand, and dragged him forward while 
a harsh voice, filled with a jubilant note 
of surprise, rang in his ears: 

“Well, well ! Will you look who's 
here! If it isn't our merry little play- 
mate of the King William with a pop- 
gun and everything!" 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IN THE MURKY LIGHT. 

DEFORE he could strike a blow in 
his own defense or wrench himself 
free from the clutching fingers of the 
dapper, blond man, some one in back 
of Glendale pinned his arms to his sides, 
holding him with strait-jacket force. 
Simultaneously another occupant of the 
room, a burly man with the dark, vice- 
marked face of an underworld gangster, 
caught up a coil of tarred rope from 
one corner and surged forward. 

In a trice Glendale was securely 
trussed up and pushed into a backless 
chair. The one who had seized his arms 
stepped around in front of him, looked 
him over with a half smile, and turned 
to the man who resembled a gangster. 

“Slip out, Chick," the round-shoul- 
dered Winter said, “and see if our 
friend brought any of his pals or rela- 
tives with him. Take a good look while 
you’re at it and don’t be afraid to use 
your rod." 

The gangster left the room ; Winter, 
as harmless and inoffensive appearing 
as ever, blinked his mild, blue eyes and 
turned back to Glendale. 

“So it’s you," he said unconcernedly. 
“Frankly, your perseverance and stub- 
bornness astound me. Will you never 
learn to stop butting in on what does 
not concern you? You’re almost as an- 
noying as some of these stupid detec- 
tives I occasionally jest with. What 
brought you here? What do you want? 
What’s the idea?" 

The angry retort on Glendale’s lips 
remained unuttered. After all, words 
would avail him or aid him but little. 
He realized that the most important 
thing was to keep a cool, level head and 
try to reason a way out of his predica- 
ment — which appeared so hopeless as 
to be ludicrous. 

“Pretty foxy," Pinkie chuckled, 
touching his slightly disarranged cravat. 
“Trailed us all the way here from the 
city like a great big man and was planted 
right at the front door the minute I 
opened it. What’ll we do with him, 
boss ?" 

Winter's wrinkled face assumed an 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 115 


owlish expression. “Do? Leave him 
to cool his head and heels and to pon- 
der what it means to be rash. Ah, 
Chick. Coast clear ?” 

The burky gangster, returning, closed 
the door behind him. “He’s alone, boss. 
He come out in Bailey’s dory. There’s 
no one else around.” 

Winter nodded. “I thought so. Get 
the girl, Pinkie. We can’t afford to 
waste all night on this interfering gen- 
tleman, as much as we love his com- 
pany.” 

As the blond youth left the room, 
Glendale’s heart leaped and hammered. 
Marion North was a prisoner in the 
island rookery! Hot blood pounded 
within him. He strained forward in 
his chair; but he was forced to content 
himself with working his bound wrists 
together behind his back and letting his 
eyes roam the chamber. 

Though the rest of the building was 
falling down, the room was neatly ap- 
pointed in somewhat the style of a mod- 
ern office. A huge steel vault was op- 
posite Glendale. Set between the win- 
dows with the drawn shades and a squat, 
metal filing cabinet, was a large ma- 
hogany desk. A fairly presentable rug 
was on the floor. The bare plaster w^alls 
were hung with shotguns and rifles. 
The light was from a copper ship’s lamp 
suspended from a chain on a bracket. 

“Yes,” Winter said pleasantly, 
shrewdly interpreting what the medley 
of thoughts in Glendale’s mind con- 
cerned ; “your pretty young lady friend 
is here, safe under lock and key. I 
might explain that I was standing in 
the shadows on the north side of Au 
Printemps when you and she drove up 
last night. When you got out of the 
taxi I got in. 

“The slight and delicate pressure of 
a .38 is a remarkable thing for making 
the feminine sex change their minds,” 
Winter went on. “This is the first 
opportunity I have had to interview her. 
Possibly you may be interested in hear- 
ing some of my questions and her an- 
swers. Do stay a while and make your- 
self perfectly at home. I might add 
there is a humorous side to this affair 
which tickles my risibilities and ” 


He was interrupted by the opening of 
the door. 

Pinkie entered, a step behind Marion 
North, who, unbound, crossed the 
threshold. Her gaze, weary and wist- 
ful, darted to Glendale; her pale face 
mirrored a faint, sensitive flush. He 
answered the look with a smile that was 
intended to be brave, reassuring, and 
free from chagrin, but which he knew 
was, at best, only a stiff, distorted grin. 

She still wore the pretty evening 
frock of the previous night. Though 
she had undoubtedly suffered and was 
at the lowest ebb of her endurance, she 
held herself proudly erect as Pinkie es- 
corted her to a chair beside the mahog- 
any desk and waved her into it. 

“Good evening, my dear Miss North,” 
Winter said, with a bow. “I sincerely 
trust you have entirely recovered from 
your indisposition of last evening. Do 
sit down and compose yourself. There 
are several matters which I must talk 
over with you. I presume you can im- 
agine what they are.” 

Glendale, working at the rope at his 
wrists, saw Pinkie jauntily light a cig- 
arette and wink at the burly gangster. 
Both took up a station on either side of 
the chair that the girl occupied, obvi- 
ously interested to learn what Winter 
would say. 

The little man dropped into the swivel 
chair and faced Marion North across 
the desk. He clipped the end from a 
symmetrical cigar, lighted it, and sat 
back with the same languid ease he 
might have used in a club lounge. 

“My dear,” he began, with almost 
parental concern, “surely you are now 
beginning to realize how extremely silly 
it is to hope to outwit me. I admit it 
was very clever of you to learn the 
location of my apartment in town and 
to slip in and get the box. But to hope 
to retain it any length of time is only 
the fatuous idea of a very unsophisti- 
cated young person. By the way, did 
you happen to tell Mr. Glendale what 
the box contained?” 

“No ; I did not,” she replied in a low 
voice. 

Winter exchanged a glance with his 
confederates. They smiled broadly. 


116 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


‘This is deliciously amusing,” the lit- 
tle man said cryptically. “But to get 
down to business, I’m going to ask you 
a frank question and I want a like an- 
swer. Was it your charming employer 
who removed my brown valise from the 
houSe* on Seventy-fifth Street last 
night?” 

Marion North moved her shoulders. 
“I don’t know,” she answered truth- 
fully. “My instructions were to go 
there and get it. I was given skeleton 
keys to open the innef front door. 
When we — when I oj)ened the closet I 
found it was empty. I don’t know who 
obtained the valise.” 

Glendale saw a shadow of worry 
darken Winter’s sallow face. 

“The presence of Ranscome,” he said, 
“would seem to indicate that your em- 
ployer didn’t get the grip. Ranscome, 
I have been told, left the building.” 

The brown eyes of the girl lighted. 
“I’m glad !” she said. “It was a das- 
tardly thing to strike him down in the 
dark!” 

“I ought to kick myself in the ribs 
for not having put more stuff on the 
torch !” the blond man declared vi- 
ciously. “I ought to have caved his 
roof in instead of pulling the soak. 
That’s what I get for being kind- 
hearted !” 

Winter fingered his chin. “Let’s re- 
turn to the box,” he said purringly, “for, 
after all, it is that which concerns us 
most. I trust the hours you have been 
held captive have not been spent in vain. 
I hope, my dear girl, you have at last 
come to your senses and will try to 
hoodwink us no longer.” 

With his docility and apparent gen- 
tleness vanishing into thin air, Winter 
swung forward in his chair and rapped 
out a quantity of staccato sentences: 
“Where’s the box? What have you 
done with it ? I w*nt it ! I must have 
it! I will tolerate no more delay or 
subterfuge! Where is it?” 

The words cracked like the snap of 
a whip. In white-lipped desperation, 
Marion North stared into his wrinkled 
face, small h$nds clenched and quiver- 
ing at her sides, her eyes wide and 
frightened. 


“I shan’t tell you!” she whispered. 

Straining at his bonds and rewarded 
by a slight loosening of one rope, Glen- 
dale flushed with admiration for her 
courage. Transfixed, he watched Win- 
ter’s face turn to brass, impenetrable, 
inflexible, creased by the gash of a grim 
smile. 

“Is that,” he asked suavely, “your 
final answer?” 

“I shan’t tell you !” she repeated, clos- 
ing her lips on a little sob that forced 
itself between her shut teeth. 

Pushing back his chair, Winter got 
up. He tapped the ash from his cigar 
and frowned at his watch. “Then, my 
dear,” he said, with perfect urbanity, 
“you automatically commit a great 
crime. By refusing and continuing to 
refuse to tell me what you know, you 
definitely put a quick end to the exist- 
ence of the young man seated on your 
immediate right. Do I make mvself 
clear?” 

With a startled gasp Marion North 
jumped up. All the color drained from 
the piquant oval of her face, leaving it 
pallid, drawn with the agony of a fear 
she flinched before. 

“What — what do you mean?” 

Winter looked at the glowing tip of 
his cigar before turning his back on 
her to address the blond Pinkie: “Slip 
your gat out. I shall count three. If 
this distressed young lady refuses to 
divulge the whereabouts of the package 
before I end the count, you will let our 
interfering friend here have the whole 
clip. Catch the idea?” 

The dapper one smiled eagerly. “Got 
you coming and going, boss!” 

He promptly dragged out an auto- 
matic revolver with a short, sawed-off 
muzzle. Cold perspiration sprang to 
Glendale’s brow. There was no mis- 
taking either the meaning of the vi- 
brant undercurrent in Winter’s com- 
mand or the light of unholy satisfaction 
that fired the shifty eyes of his asso- 
ciate. 

Glendale stared straight into the 
round, black mouth of the weapon that 
drew a bead on him. while Winter be- 
gan to count: 

“One — two ” 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


117 


Marion threw herself forward with 
a strangled cry : “Wait ! I will tell you 
everything !” 

The breath that had caught in Glen- 
dale’s throat left it. He blinked away 
the perspiration that trickled down into 
his eyes as Winter laughed with quiet 
good humor. 

“Didn't I tell you there was nothing 
like a gun to make young ladies change 
their minds?” the bandits’ leader said 
smoothly. “Come, speak up, my dear. 
Where’s the box?” 

Exchanging a look with Glendale that 
was filled with the dull hope that flick- 
ered low within her, Marion North laid 
her shaking hands on the desk top. “I 
gave the package to Jimmy Hope last 
night,” she whispered in a lifeless voice. 
“He locked it up in the safe at Au 
Printemps.” 

The faces of the marauders wore 
smiles of triumph. . 

“I knew it!” Pinkie cried. “Hope 
gave me a song and dance and tried to 
play the dumb Isaac, but I knew it was 
a stall !” 

Winter tugged at his chin, thinking. 
“Get the young lady’s wrap, Chick.” He 
looked keenly at the girl. “My dear, 
you and I will journey forthwith to 
Broadway. It’s scarcely one o’clock, 
and we can reach the cafe in an hour 
if we hurry. I dislike rushing you, but 
you must get me that box to-night. Mr. 
Glendale will remain here as a hostage. 

“You. Pinkie, and you. Chick, will 
endeavor to entertain him to the best 
of your ability,” Winter continued. “If 
for any reason Miss North should 
change her mind and refuse to give me 
what I want, I will telephone old man 
Bailey and have him row out and tell 
you. This time we won’t bother to do 
any counting. Just fill Glendale full 
of lead and let it go at that!” 

“Sure thing!” Pinkie said cheerfully, 
as Chick left the room. “Nothing would 
give me more pleasure. I owe this lob 
something on account! I’ll croak him 
the minute I get the word !” 

Awaiting the return of the gangster, 
Winter puffed placidly at his cigar. The 
girl rested wearily against the desk, head 
lowered. Perceptible shadows were be- 


neath her eyes and cheek bones, pathetic 
records of what she had endured, of the 
stress and tumult within her. 

Glendale saw and knew; his throat 
tightened inexplicably. In a frenzy of 
desperation he renewed his efforts to 
free himself, his heart leaping with ex- 
citement when one strand of rope 
dropped over his fingers and his wrists 
separated, first an inch — more — two 
inches. The light was dim, and Winter 
did not see what the captive was doing. 

He encountered the brown eyes of 
Marion North again as Chick returned, 
bearing her smart, summery cape. She 
donned it without a word and looked 
at Winter, who, fitting a cap to his ton- 
sured head, darted another glance at his 
watch. 

“Ready?” he inquired. 

Together both moved forward. 

“Watch our friend carefully,” the lit- 
tle man said over his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry,” Pinkie returned, toy- 
ing with his automatic. “All the cops 
in the big burg couldn’t spring this baby 
when I’m on the job!” 

Winter reached the door and dropped 
a hand to the knob. 

As he did so, Glendale dropped the 
bonds that had circled his wrists and 
leaped for Pinkie. 

It was the unexpectedness of the 
move of one Supposed to be securely 
manacled that crowned the stratagem 
with success. He knocked aside the 
arm of the blond youth as the automatic 
exploded harmlessly, tore it from his 
hand in a twinkling, hurled him into a 
corner with a short-arm blow, and swept 
the room with the captured gun; the 
smothered cry of the girl was music 
in his ears. 

“Back to the wall and hands up ! I’ll 
shoot the first one who makes a false 
move !” 

Glendale’s order was complied with 
at once. The burly gangster placed his 
shoulders to the wall and lifted grimy 
hands. Winter, less rapid in his move- 
ments, allowed the fingers of his right 
hand to stray toward his jacket pocket. 

Glendale took up a position back of 
the desk. “Up with your hands, Win- 
ter! Don’t make the mistake of reach- 


118 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 




ing for a revolver! Miss North will 
attend to getting the artillery out?” 

In a silence profound, the little man 
stretched for the ceiling. The sleek 
Pinkie, muttering imprecations, attained 
his feet and took up a stand beside the 
gangster. 

“What now?"’ Winter inquired plac- 
idly. 

Glendale surveyed the room with a 
stern, relentless gaze, master of the sit- 
uation at last. “Miss North/' he said, 
disregarding the question of the little 
man, “you will be good enough to re- 
move the weapons of our friends and 
place them here on the desk before me. 
Begin with Mr. Winter, and 99 

His words were blotted out by the 
crash of a revolver — the sudden sweep 
of blackness as the brass lamp on the 
bracket plunged out with the silvery 
tinkle of broken glass. 

In a watch tick the stark, awesome 
darkness was torn with the surge of 
conflict, the stamp and scuffle of feet, 
heavy commands, the shrill voice of 
Pinkie screaming an oath. 

Glendale felt the air kicked up by 
a whistling blow that fanned his face. 
He rounded the desk, to collide with 
an invisible body the arms of which 
promptly twined about him. 

“Here's where we even up!” The 
rasping voice of the burly gangster 
panted in his ear. “Here's where you 
get yours!” 

Glendale lashed out with both fists. 
His right crashed to the unseen face of 
his antagonist with such force as to 
hurl the gangster away and back from 
him. The man endeavored to clinch, 
but Glendale fought him off, finding his 
jaw with a left hook that had behind it 
every ounce of power at his command. 

The gangster reeled away, toppled, 
and fell with a crash at the same minute 
the battle, which had begun so unex- 
pectedly, terminated with disconcerting 
suddenness. 

“Lights!” some one ordered briskly. 

The glow of a lamp g/ew until the 
room was completely illumined again. 
Glendale blinked at the shadowy figures 
filling the room. 

Near the door Ranscome, the hawk- 


eyed man in green flannels, stood guard 
over the battered Pinkie whose wrists 
wore steel handcuffs. A pace distant 
three men with drawn guns hedged in 
the round-shouldered Winter. 

Back and away from them Fosdick 
stood with an arm about Marion North. 
“Ah, Archer, safe and sound, I see!” 
the detective said. “Sorry I was late, 
and so unable to meet you at Bailey's, 
as you and I arranged to-day. We had 
two blow-outs on the way up which 
delayed us. Tremaine told me where 
you were, but, to cap the climax, we 
got lost in the mist and almost rowed 
to Europe. Excuse us for putting out 
your light. Ranscome, here, didn’t seem 
to know that you had our friends just 
where you wanted them !” 

Fosdick indicated the silent Winter 
with an airy gesture; then he went on: 
“Archer, as a detective you’ve got me 
backed off the boards! I had a suspi- 
cion who these individuals were, but 
to you alone must go the credit of bag- 
ging your own crook ! I didn’t tell you 
to-day. I, too, was after the alleged 
Winter, because I wanted to give you 
a little surprise. Let me introduce you 
to the Port Royal thief — a man I've pur- 
sued for many a long day — Mr. Hugo 
March, alias Winter !” 

CHAPTER IX. 

DREAMY STARS. 

DY dead reckoning the hour was two 
o'clock in the morning or some- 
thing later. A thunderstorm had come 
and gone, and the air was fresher, 
cooler. Stars, cold and glittering, were 
white ships in the blue sea of the heav- 
ens. Among them the moon hung like 
a crystal lantern. 

Tn the roadster driven by the taciturn 
Tremaine, leaving the City Island road, 
Glendale looked down at the shadowy 
face of the girl beside him. Since that 
minute they had left the room in the 
island rookery, which he had come to 
understand was Hugo March's treasure 
chamber, she had said but little, con- 
senting with a nod to his proposal that 
he take her back to the metropolis, so 
that she would not be compelled to ride 


119 


UNDER SPARKLING LIGHTS 


in Fosdick’s machine with the heavily 
ironed prisoners. 

Now, as he bent his gaze upon her, 
she looked up and smiled faintly. 

“I can tell you at last!” she mur- 
mured. 

“You are one of Martin Fosdick’s 
operatives?” Glendale said. 

She inclined her head slowly. “Yes; 
one of his agents. Don't you under- 
stand now where it was you saw me 
first? It was that afternoon when you 
came to the office with Mr. Fosdick. 
You passed me in one of the outer 
rooms, but you didn’t appear to take 
much notice of me. 

“It is not a very long story,” she 
went on. “Our chief knew that it was 
Hugo March who had broken into your 
country estate.^ We found him here in 
New York and ringed him in. Rans- 
come, the man in green flannels, who 
is another of Mr. Fosdick’s agents, dis- 
covered that March had split the loot 
in half. The heirlooms they packed 
away in a brown leather valise which, 
I just learned, was taken by Mr. Fos- 
dick from the house yesterday after- 
noon. The Katupur Ruby ” 

All at once knowledge swept through 
Glendale. “And the ruby,” he ex- 
claimed, “is in the box that is in the 
safe at Au Printemps!” 

The red lips of the girl parted in a 
smile. “Yes; yours when Jimmy Hope 
returns it to me on the morrow! He 
has often aided me before, because, in 
the cafe, I have found the beginnings 
of many trails. You see, when March 
knew he was trapped, he wrapped the 
box up and prepared to mail it to him- 
self at some address out of town. By 
the barest chance I was able to make 
it mine before he was able to carry out 
his plans. He learned that I had taken 
it and hemmed me in closely. 


“Meanwhile,” Miss North continued, 
“I had got a telephone call through to 
Ranscome and arranged to meet him at 
the King William so I could give him 
the box. I’m not certain if March 
learned of the call or if it was just an 
accident that brought him to the hotel. 
Sufficient to say that at the sight of 
him I completely lost my nerve.” 

Glendale drew a breath. “And the 
presence of Ranscome last night in the 
empty house?” 

“He wasn’t aware that Mr. Fosdick 
had already made the brown valise with 
the heirlooms his,” Marion North ex- 
plained. “He had the same orders I had 
and a duplicate set of the skeleton keys 
to get in with.” 

They were on the Pelham Parkway. 
To the southwest the island metropolis 
lay supine, still lifting its garish re- 
flection to the clouds. Glendale 
glimpsed it before looking down again 
at the girl whose brown head drooped 
wearily to his shoulder. 

“Is this the end?” Glendale asked in 
a low voice. “Does the termination of 
our riddle intricate mean that we are 
never to see each other again? When 
may I come for you?” 

The brown eyes she gave him were 
like dreamy stars, confident and trust- 
ing. “To-morrow — if you wish,” she 
whispered. 

At the wheel, Tremaine moved his 
long legs. “It looks as if it’s going to 
be cooler,” he said succinctly. 

Did you like this story, or did you not? 
If you liked it, please let us know why in 
a letter, briefly worded. If you did not 
like it, let us know that and why. And 
while you are about it, comment on any 
other story in this number, or give us 
your opinion of the number as a whole. 
The editors will appreciate any letter you 
may send. 


» 3 1 >WWfi: 

THE HOME MAKER 

By George J. Southwick 

IT’S not the “fine fixings” that make it a home, 
Nor is it the good things of life; 

It’s that dear little woman to all of us known 
As mother, or sister, or wife. 



Illustrations by Jo Lemon 


A Doctor Needed 

T'HE proposal of Hugo Stinnes, the 
1 0 f Germany, that 

be taken out of gov- 
and placed in his 
charge, does not 
seem so undesirable 
when the facts of 
the situation are 
borne in mind. 
Stinnes is already 
master of the main 
artery of transporta- 
tion in Germany — 
the River Rhine. 
His steamboats 
speed up and down 
that waterway in 
large numbers. 
Cargo-carrying ves- 
sels belonging to anybody else are sel- 
dom seen. They are the swiftest boats 
of their kind known on any river in 
the world. 

The company that runs them is the 
only thing in the transportation line in 
the country that seems under control of 
somebody and is well managed. They 
are boats that actually leave on schedule 
and arrive on time. The contrast they 
form in this respect to the government- 
run railroads is striking. One should 


the railroads there 
eminent control 



always be provided with time-consuming 
devices when waiting for a train on a 
German railroad. You have time to 
study a language, medicine, astronomy, 
or read the treaty of Versailles. 

Your study of science and history is 
brought to a close by the arrival of the 
train; you are not likely to continue it 
after you get in the car. Usually you 
have need of all your skill and fighting 
blood to get in the car; the train is 
quite likely to arrive full, not only as 
to the seats, but the 
standing room in the 
corridors. 

Nobody kicks any 
more about trains 
arriving behind time 
in Germany. You 
are so glad that they 
arrive at all, and you 
are able to get out 
of the jam. it is not 
so bad as the New 
York subway in re- 
gard to the crowd- 
ing, but that is about 
the only thing you can think of that 
they do not equal in disagreeableness. 

Thus it occurs that when the traveler 
hears Stinnes wants to take them over, 
he does not feel that anv calamity has 



THE WORLD’S SHOP WINDOW 


121 


been proposed. He sees those Rhine 
steamboats plying their way steadily and 
swiftly and thinks that a dose of Doc- 
tor Stinnes’ medicine might make the 
German railroads well again. 

Moving an Army 

C PEAKING of the subway, it is quite 
^ a little jerkwater railroad that bur- 
rows and serpentines its course beneath 
the tumultuous life of New York. Un- 
like most of the world’s subterranean 
railways, it .shoots above ground now 
and then, as if coming up for air, then 
dives back again into the bowels of the 
earth. And there it stays for the greater 
part of its 225 miles of single tracks. 
It is four tracked a good portion of its 
distance. 

What is called the East Side Division 
is 22 miles in length; the West Side 26 
miles long. It is all 
within the city lim- 
its, but in some of 
i t s stretches the 
structure is through 
fairly open country 
— the sparsely set- 
tled regions included 
in Greater New 
York. If you stood 
at the Times Square 
station you would 
see more trains pass 
in a day than you 
would see on the greatest and busiest 
railroad in the world. During the hours 
of maximum travel alone, from 7 to 9 
a. m., you would see pass more than 
400 trains carrying 3,270 cars. 

If you stood at the «■ Grand Central 
station, on the other side of town, you 
would see pass during these two hours 
412 trains carrying 3,376 cars. That 
makes an average of 4 cars a minute 
passing each station. These figures 
cover, of course, both the express and 
the local trains. 

The bulk of New York’s commercial 
and industrial army is transported to the 
front between the hours of 7 and 9 in 
the morning. In the evening they go 
back to the rear for refreshment, recre- 


ation, sleep. Only in the idea of the 
movement, however, and not in its man- 
ner, is there anything suggestive of an 
army, unless it might 
be an army in panic. 

Whether it be ad- 
vancing or retreat- 
ing, these forces, in 
the subway, push 
and pull and jam one 
another, and what is 
more interesting, 
they seem to enjoy 
it. If they traveled 
comfortably during 
the rush hours, each 
person seated and the aisles unob- 
structed by strap hangers, it would take 
16 cars a minute passing a given point, 
or a continuous train from one end of 
the line to the other. 

Ex-Kings Their Pie 

pNTERPRISING confidence oper- 
^ ators do not find it difficult these 
days to pick some dethroned monarch 
upon whom to practice their arts. The 
war and its attendant social and political 
upheaval left a good many kings out of 
a job. Naturally they are keen to get 
back into their soft berths; they want 
once more to wear royal raiment and 
sit at a sumptuous board ; they long for 
the good old days when they were fed 
and clothed by the 
people who did the 
work. 

It is upon this nat- 
ural desire that the 
confidence operator 
plays. Usually he is 
some ‘'nobleman” 
w h o himself was 
compelled to work for 
a living when the 
king lost his grip. He 
has the ear of the de- 
throned monarch and 
he fills it with the rosiest of dreams. 

Take the case of ex-Emperor Charles 
of Austria-Hungary. The confidence 
noblemen got around him in Switzer- 
land and told him how easy it would 





122 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


be for him to go to Hungary and get 
back his old job and fat salary. They 
assured him that the people were sick 
of the republic, that they longed for a 
king, and that it would be like finding 
a throne. The republican army, for ap- 
pearance sake, would make a show of 
resistance, but quickly his standard 
would be embraced. 

And poor Charles listened and be- 
lieved; he went, he saw, he was con- 
quered. The republican army made a 
show of resistance, just as the confi- 
dence operators had said, but it was 
a resistance in which hand grenades 
were used so effectively that Charles’ 
army lost two hundred killed and a 
thousand wounded. The rest fled in all 
directions; some of them are running 
yet. Charles was taken prisoner. He 
had a chance then to think the adven- 
ture over, and see how he had fallen 
for a confidence game. 

It might be a warning to other job- 
less royalties not to let noble operators 
induce them to part with their remain- 
ing coin to finance a throne-regaining 
enterprise. But so long as there are 
crown jewels to be turned into cash, 
the titled bunco boys will be on the job, 
and hold out the lure of alleviating the 
unemployment situation among ex- 
kings. 

Down with the Kill-joys 

l all know there is something about 
the seafaring life that makes men 
stanch and true, and drives out of them 
a lot of nonsense that is given to staying 
in the systems of 
those who live ashore. 
A seaman is up 
against the hard fact 
of Old Neptune and 
his merciless on- 
slaughts, and the 
truth becomes his 
faithful companion. 

A good many of the 
prominent residents 
met with in Nantucket 
are men who have 
served their time on the sea. They 
love to spin yarns, of course, as all 


sailormen do, but some of the things 
they tell you are accepted on the Pur- 
ple Island as historical data, and who 
dares to be a doubter? 

For example, there is the record of 
the second Jonah. In 1870, so the truth- 
loving chroniclers declare, one Marshall 
Jenkins attacked and struck a sperm 
whale. The wounded creature turned 
on the boat, bit it in two and sounded 
— went beneath the surface — with Mr. 
Jenkins in its jaws. While the crew 
was clinging to the pieces of the boat 
the whale broached 
and threw the man 
into the floating fore 
part of the broken 
boat. 

Another bit of im- 
pressive historical 
data presented to the 
visitor has to do with 
Captain Peter Pollock 
of the bark Lady Ad- 
ams . No time is given 
to the episode — only a 
place. The place is the 
Atlantic Ocean. And there was a whale. 
So we are told of the place, and the 
whale, and it was Captain Pollock’s op- 
portunity. He killed that whale, and 
he was mildly suq^rised, too, when he 
cut it up to find in it an iron which he 
had thrown when in command of the ship 
Lion, thirteen years before, and in far- 
distant waters. 

Probably some scoffer will raise his 
voice and demand proof of these his- 
torical data. You can’t help that sort 
of thing. There are kill-joys in every 
land — and sea. 

» 

Noisy Parliaments 

IF we feel -discouraged now and then 
* by the exhibitions of rough-house 
given in the lower branch of our na- 
tional legislature, we have only to look 
across the water at what goes on in 
the parliaments of Europe. It occurred 
in the last session of Congress that Rep- 
resentative Burke, of Pennsylvania, a 
Republican and member of the Con- 
ductors’ Brotherhood, called Represent- 
ative Blanton, of Texas, a liar. Blanton 





THE WORLD’S SHOP WINDOW 


123 


retorted with “You’re a damn liar,” and 
Burke countered with “You’re a dirty 
dog.” There was a rush at each other, 
but the usual thing followed: Friends 
kept the two apart, and there was no 
physical encounter. 
Apologies were of- 
fered, the offensive 
remarks were ex- 
punged from the 
record, and peace 
reigned once more. 

Such occurrences 
in the House of 
Representatives are 
so rare that the 
newspapers make a 
story of them. In 
the Chamber of 
Deputies of France and Italy the pro- 
ceedings day after day are so noisy, so 
disorderly that the situation is accepted 
as a normal one ; nolbody but the foreign 
visitors seem to see anything remarkable 
about it. With all the shouting, “ball- 
ing,” “booing,” and “hissing” that go 
on in these so-called deliberative bodies, 



the stranger winders how they can dis- 
cuss any subject and arrive at any sane 
conclusion. Yet they 
do, as any one who 
studies the results 
of these tumultuous 
“debates” must ad- 
mit. 

In the Italian 
chamber there are 
many party groups, 
and each one seems 
unwilling to let the 
representative of any 
other group hold the 
floor in peace. 

Scarcely is he 
launched into his speech, when the bois- 
terous interruptions begin, and soon the 
president is ringing his bell for order 
and tearing his hair in despair. We 
might get used to that sort of thing in 
Washington, perhaps, if it occurred at 
every session. But until it does, let us 
cheer up even if a Burke does occasion- 
ally call a Blanton an unwashed poodle, 
or words to that effect. 




A WINTER NIGHT 

By Jo Lemon 

"W^HEN the red sun drops in the pine treetops, 
* And the woodland aisles grow dim, 

And the shadows creep in the silence deep 
Where the trees stand tall and grim — 

Then a million eyes from the velvet skies 
Are on watch from rim to rim. 

All the winter night on a world of white 
In a twinkling host they beam, 

And the silver rays of their brilliance plays 
Over field and hill and stream — 

Till they find rebirth on the quiet earth 
And as crystal snow gems gleam. 

Every high-hung star from its place afar, 
Through the night air clear and cold, 

Drops a jeweled gift over sweep and drift — 

Till the rising sun grown bold, 

With the Midas touch of his glowing clutch 
Has reset them all in gold. 



HE game had been on for 
nearly three eventful quar- 
ters. In their new stadium 
the gridiron knights of 
Thatcher College were enter- 
taining without gloves the red-and- 
black-clad pigskin experts from Griggs, 
a rival institution. The visitors were 
not supposed to win, since they had 
been invited — as they were for the sec- 
ond Saturday in each November — to 
provide a merry little work-out for 
Thatcher's violet- jerseyed varsity. The 
big game of the season — the annual 
classic with Henderson — would be 
played in the same stadium a week later. 

However, the athletic collegians from 
Griggs had forgotten their manners and 
were giving their heavier opponents the 
tussle of their lives. It was terribly 
shocking. 

Out of the thousands looking on, no 
one showed more interest than ruddy, 
gray-haired Jim Magill, who for al- 
most twenty-five years had been the 
trainer of Thatcher athletes. The game 
meant a great deal to him, for his son, 
a senior, who for two seasons and the 
one nearly over, had been a member of 
the battered and unsung scrub team, 
at last had got on the varsity, and as 
quarter back, was leading the Thatcher 


attack against the dogged men from 
Griggs. 

And Thatcher men rejoiced, for they 
knew how much it meant to the old 
trainer to see his son on the team. Every 
one regarded highly the picturesque 
Magill, who was a college fixture, talked 
of by Thatcher graduates the country 
over. With the passing years, as class 
followed class out into the great world 
of joys and disappointments, the hair 
of the faithful trainer had turned from 
brown to grayish brown and at last 
to gray, but his cheeks were as red, his 
eyes as bright, as they were on the Oc- 
tober day back in the nineties when 
he took i\p his work of keeping the Vio- 
let athletes at top condition. 

As he watched the game from the 
side lines, the trainer realized that his 
son was showing enough ability to cause 
him to be picked for the eleven that 
would face Henderson. And if he 
played in that contest, Raymond Magill 
would win his letter — the honor that was 
so prized by Thatcher men. 

“Harder, Thatcher, harder !” cried 
the little, blond-haired quarter as he 
sent the slippery half backs, or “Tiger" 
Irwin, the Violet’s colossal captain and 
full back, crashing into the stubborn 
Red and Black line in an effort to add 



PIGSKIN MAGIC 


125 


to the meager three points Thatcher had 
to Griggs' nothing. “Get through, men, 
get through !” 

For a time the Thatcher knights 
gained consistently, and then — fate 
scowled darkly. The usually alert Ir- 
win, to whom the ball was to be thrown 
for a fake-punt dash around left end, 
failed to be in position, and the yellow 
pigskin struck the ground far to the rear 
of the Violet team. There was a mad 
scramble that ended with a flashing 
Griggs end picking up the ball and run- 
ning for the touchdown which put his 
team in the lead. The under dog, like 
the proverbial worm, had turned with 
a vengeance. 

Soon the third quarter ended. After 
the teams had changed goals, Griggs 
kicked off, the ball falling into the wait- 
ing arms of Raymond Magill, who was 
playing deep. Swerving with dazzling 
speed, the former scrub ran nearly twen- 
ty-five yards before he was thrown. 
“Signals !” he called out. “Get through, 
Thatcher, get through! Harder, men, 
harder !” 

Mixing old and new football, Magill 
started an attack the like of which sel- 
dom had been seen on the Thatcher field. 
The versatility of the plays, with the 
speed at which he called the signals, was 
baffling; but the Griggs men, with vic- 
tory within grasp, fought back like 
tigers. 

However, there is an end to human 
endurance, and the doughty Red and 
Black footballers at last began to give 
way before the attack the trainer’s son 
sent against them. The tide turned, 
and, shortly before the whistle blew, 
Irwin battered an opening through cen- 
ter, running for the touchdown that 
changed defeat into victory. 

After the game “Tot” Nimick, the 
Violet’s head coach, said to the exuber- 
ant trainer: “Jim, Ray will get into the 
Henderson game. Perhaps not at the 
start, but he’ll get in.” 

Tt had been the ambition of Jim Ma- 
gill’s later years to see the son, whom 
he had trained to play football from 
boyhood, representing old Thatcher in 
a Henderson game. And now — well, 
destiny, or chance, or whatever it was, 


played the gray-haired trainer an un- 
kind trick. Or maybe it was just the 
inevitable. Jim Magill had worked hard 
that fall; he had given the best that he 
had in him to get “his boys,” as he 
called them, in just the right condition 
for the big game, and so, after all, per- 
haps what happened was not strange. 
On the Tuesday after the Griggs game, 
the trainer was taken to his home an 
ill man. 

II. 

R OBERT PENFIELD, university 
doctor and friend of the trainer, 
hastened to the little white frame dwell- 
ing that Magill had built on a tree- 
lined street not far from the stadium. 
The physician said that his gray-haired 
friend was the victim of a severe cold. 
He gave Martha Magill, the trainer’s 
piquant, spectacled wife, who was small 
of stature, careful directions for her 
husband’s care. To these directions 
Mrs. Magill, who was a stickler for 
discipline, added many of her own. 

The trainer’s wife readily admitted 
that she could not understand the im- 
portance of her son making the foot- 
ball team. What she wanted him to 
make was the Thatcher chapter of the 
Phi Beta Kappa, that organization of 
students who so excel in their studies 
that if given Mr. Edison’s jolly list 
of questions that have tripped up so 
many of the common or garden variety 
of college men, they might manage, with 
fair breaks in the luck, to escape the 
cellar grade. On the other hand, Jim 
Magill somehow did not seem to appre- 
ciate all the allurements of making Phi 
Beta Kappa. 

The most important week of the col- 
lege year wore on, and although the 
trainer showed improvement, the doc- 
tor did not seem optimistic about his 
seeing the coming game; Mrs. Magill 
said that there was no chance whatever. 
The idea was too preposterous for 
words ! 

Thursday evening Raymond Magill 
left with the varsity squad for the coun- 
try club at which the players would 
rest until the morning of the big game. 
The old trainer could hear the din as 


126 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


fifteen hundred students, headed by a 
brass band, paraded across the leaf- 
strewn campus to the station that they 
might cheer the departing pigskin war- 
riors as their gleaming special train 
pulled out into the darkness. On all 
such previous occasions Jim Magill had 
been with the squad. 

On Friday the trainer was improved 
— so much so that he was able to dress 
and go downstairs, to sit in a big, com- 
fortable rocking-chair in the cozy liv- 
ing room — and he expressed his hope of 
getting to the game. But his wife, at- 
tired in a homy-looking old blue house 
dress, had a different opinion. 

“Don’t be so foolish, Jim/’ she said. 
“You’re old enough to use some sense. 
What if Raymond is going to participate 
in the game to-morrow? You’ve seen 
him playing football for ten year§, even 
if it wasn’t against this Henderson team 
you talk so much about. He can tell 
you all about the game to-morrow night. 
You’re lucky to be downstairs.” 

The doctor came in the afternoon, 
and his words to the eager old trainer 
were not especially encouraging, in so 
far as they related to Magill’s getting 
to the game on the morrow. Soon after 
the physician left, some workmen of 
the local telephone company arrived to 
unite the house connection with a line 
that ran directly to the stadium’s press 
stand. The thoughtful manager of the 
team, realizing how much the game 
would mean to the trainer, had provided 
for sending him reports of the contest 
play by play. Jim Magill was very 
much in the minds of Thatcher men. 

III. 

CATURDAY morning was clear and 
^ cold — fine football weather. From 
his sitting-room window the trainer 
watched the thousands of pigskin enthu- 
siasts flock into the little college town. 
He had watched crowds like it since he 
was a boy — Jim Magill always had lived 
in Thatcher — and he thought that some- 
how they did not change so much, ex- 
cept that they were larger and that years 
before there had been no automobiles. 
The smiling, charmingly costumed girls, 


radiant in the yellow sunshine of the 
November morning, were as pretty, 
though no prettier, than the girls of the 
early nineties, the mothers now, stately 
and with graying hair. 

Doctor Penfield came at ten o’clock 
and looked long and hard at his old 
friend. Martha Magill was in the room, 
and the physician looked at her, too — 
quizzically. He started to say some- 
thing, and then stopped. 

“Jim thinks that he is going to the 
game,” Mrs. Magill said to the atten- 
tive doctor. “Did you ever hear of 
such foolishness? He’s perfectly ab- 
surd, and ” 

“Shucks!” the old trainer exclaimed. 
“I’m feeling fine. What do you think 
about my going out ?” he asked the doc- 
tor. 

“You’re better to-day, Jim, but you 
are not entirely well, and perhaps the 
safe thing would be for you to stay in. 

But — but ” The doctor’s eyes met 

those of Mrs. Magill — and dropped. 

“He’s going to stay home,” the train- 
er’s wife said sharply. “He shouldn’t 
take Ray’s playing too seriously. Of 
course, it’s all right to have the boy on 
the team — if he hasn’t neglected his 
studies. I want to see him make Phi 
Beta Kappa, doctor.” 

“Confound Phi Beta Kappa!” said 
Jim Magill. 

The doctor laughed, although he wore 
•a key of the scholarly*organization. “I 
guess you’d better not go to the game, 
Jim. I’m sorry, for I know how much 
you want to go.” Before long the man 
of medicine had gone. 

As game time approached, Magill, 
sitting by the telephone in his living 
room, got the first message. It came 
from Clyde Foster, the Violet’s uncon- 
quered long-distance runner, who out of 
friendship for the trainer had offered to 
keep Magill informed of the game’s 
progress. Foster gave the Thatcher 
line-up, and the trainer was not sur- 
prised that “Toots” Moffat, veteran 
quarter back, was starting the game. 
But Nimick had given his word that 
Raymond Magill would get into the 
crucial struggle. 


PIGSKIN MAGIC 


127 


IV. 

COON Foster told Magill of the first 
^ play. Thatcher had kicked off, 
Dudley Olcott, Henderson's phenom- 
enal full back, getting the ball. A Violet 
player threw him in his tracks, and 
then Henderson punted. 

A strategic Thatcher offense gained 
some thirty yards, and then the green- 
clad team from Henderson held. When 
Irwin punted, Olcott, again getting the 
ball, dashed thirty yards before 
“Whitey" Parke, brilliant Violet half 
back, threw him to the brown turf. But 
Olcott's gain was merely a start. 

Magill turned anxiously to his wife 
when Foster had told of further plays. 
“It looks bad, Martha," the trainer said. 
“I wish I was there to cheer the boys 
on." 

The Green's gains were not long, but 
they were consistent — and enough. Ol- 
cott seemed irresistible, and before the 
first quarter ended the score was seven 
to nothing against the men whom Jim 
Magill had trained. In the second 
period neither team scored. 

After the first half had ended, Ma- 
gill walked to the window and looked 
toward the stadium, the concrete back 
of which he could see through the nearly 
leafless trees. 

“Henderson kicks off," Foster tele- 
phoned as the third quarter began. 

And then the big Green team started 
another bewildering offense. They 
made two successful forward passes, 
and then, changing to old-fashioned 
line plunging, the Henderson backs 
tore great holes in the Violet team. 
They were halted at times, largely by 
the terrific tackling of Tiger Irwin, but 
the halts were only momentary. 

As the end of the period approached, 
Henderson had the ball on the Violet’s 
five-yard line. And then there came 
one of those remarkable stands for 
which Thatcher teams had been known 
since Jim Magill was a boy. Three 
mighty Henderson rushes netted less 
than a yard ; the fighting spirit of 
Thatcher was aroused, but perhaps too 
late. The Violet had the ball directly 
in front of the goal posts, and Dudley 
Olcott, going back a safe distance, made 


the goal from the field that gave his 
team three more points. Then the quar- 
ter ended. 

The trainer, a peculiar glint in his 
blue eyes, went to the windows and 
opened each a trifle ; Martha Magill was 
out of the room and so she did not see 
her husband’s maneuver — which was an 
odd one, because the room was cool 
enough. 

Mrs. Magill came into the room as 
Foster told the trainer that the last quar- 
ter had begun. Thatcher kicked off, and 
Henderson, playing conservatively, 
punted on second down. Listlessly Jim 
Magill heard about the plays that fol- 
lowed. How soon, the gray-haired 
trainer asked himself, would Nimick 
keep his word? 

And then something happened ; 
through the opened windows there came 
a mighty din, a roar that was raucous 
and unintelligible. It resolved itself at 
last, however, into the sweetest music 
that the old trainer and his wife ever 
had heard. Some thirty thousand people 
were shouting the name of their son — 
“Magill, Magill, Magill!" The cheer 
came again; then a third time. Magill 
jumped from the telephone. 

“Isn't it wonderful, Jim?" said the 
gray-haired wife. 

“It's fine, Martha." 

The trainer's wrinkled hand trembled 
just a little as he took the receiver off 
the hook to answer the madly ringing 
telephone. 

“Magill at quarter in place of Mof- 
fat," Foster said. “We have the ball — 
on our thirty-yard line. Parke gets five 
yards at center ; Morse fails at end." 

For what seemed long minutes to the 
eager old trainer, he got no further 
message. Something had happened. 

Then Foster cried ecstatically: “Ma- 
gill runs forty yards through the whole 
Henderson team! He's got the ball 
again; he's going around left end, a 
clear field ahead — no, a Henderson man 
has " 

Jim Magill heard no more. Letting 
forth a wild shout of triumph, he threw 
down the telephone — with such vehe- 
mence that it bounded through a near-by 
window — and dashed for the clothes 


128 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


rack in the little hall. Grabbing his 
overcoat and a battered old soft hat, he 
ran from the house. 

V. 

'T'HE veteran trainer reached the side 
1 lines just in time to see his son, 
getting the ball from the center, crash 
between tackle and end for the touch- 
down that, with the kicked goal, gave 
his team seven points. Jim Magill 
cheered in glee; then, with thousands 
of other Thatcher adherents, he sud- 
denly remembered that the Violet 
knights were still behind. And the last 
quarter was going fast. 

W hen play was resumed, with Hen- 
derson kicking off, Magill tried a punt- 
ing game, hoping for a Green fumble or 
at least a gain by the exchanges. He 
got the latter — to a slight extent — and 
then, from his thirty-yard line, he 
launched another offensive. “Harder, 
Thatcher, harder !” the blond-haired lit- 
tle quarter cried. “Get through, 
Thatcher !” 

Parke got the ball, but was thrown 
in his tracks by a meteorlike Green end. 
There were three minutes left. Coach 
Nimick, who had been standing next to 
the old trainer, and talking with him, 
looked eagerly toward the field and then 
toward the blanketed substitutes on the 
long bench. He beckoned to one, and 
a lithe, violet-clad youth ran to him. 

On the chalk-lined field, Tiger Irwin, 
playing his last game for Thatcher, 
plunged desperately off tackle for eleven 
yards. Magill called the signals with 
dizzying speed ; while seventy thousand 
watched breathless, Irwin again crashed 
. through the big Green line. He made 
| five yards. 

By the series of line plunges, Magill 
managed to draw in the Henderson de- 
fensive backs; suddenly he sent Harold 
Morse, fleet left half back, whirling 
around the opposite flank. Morse 
reached the Green’s forty-yard line be- 
fore he was downed. And then Irwin 
was notified that only one minute of 
play was left. 

Irwin, running with phenomenal mo- 
mentum, shot through center like a tor- 


pedo and made five yards. Parke, called 
on, failed to use the precious seconds 
to advantage; then Magill got around 
end for a slight gain, but not enough 
for a first down. A few seconds were 
left. 

The whistle blew, for some one had 
requested time out. Then the hushed 
thousands saw a Thatcher substitute run 
wildly on to the field and to the referee. 
It was “Never Fail” Carroll, the famous 
Violet drop kicker, who that fall had 
made more goals from the field than 
any other man in the East. 

Three points would tie the score — 
turn defeat into a draw game, and so 
it was apparent to all what Magill would 
do with his last play. Carroll spoke 
hastily with the referee and then took the 
place of “Whitey” Parke, who walked 
slowly from the field. Despite his well- 
known ability as a player, Parke had 
not stood up too well under the fire of 
the big game — and he knew it. 

The teams lined up, and at once the 
dependable Carroll ran into the kicker’s 
position. He was able to stand directly 
in front of the goal posts, and about 
on the thirty-yard line. As Magill be- 
gan calling out signals, Carroll held out 
his hands to receive the ball. “Break 
it up!” cried the Green hosts, at last 
realizing that perhaps victory would be 
snatched from them. “Don’t let him 
kick it.” The old trainer, at a point as 
near as he could get to the players, was 
motioning wildly toward the little quar- 
ter back, who was yelling the signals 
decisively. 

As the ball was passed, the Hender- 
son backs broke through the Violet line- 
men and rushed upon the defenseless 
Carroll — but they were too late. The 
best drop kicker in the East, apparently 
forgetting his vocation and the chance 
for glory, had thrown the ball in a beau- 
tiful forward pass straight into the arms 
of the speedy Morse, who had run far 
to the left. 

The demoralized Henderson players 
hardly realized the extent of the fake 
drop-kick play, of the pigskin magic the 
old trainer’s son had used, before the 
lightninglike Morse sped across the last 


PIGSKIN 

white chalk line for the touchdown that 
won the game. 

VI. 

I ATER, Jim Magill, with some thou- 
sand other seemingly wild men, 
shook his son's hand on the field of vic- 
tory. “Good work, Ray!” was all he 
could find words to express. 

“Pm glad you got here,” the thrilled 
player said, a smile on his ruddy cheeks. 
“I saw you on the side line as I was 
calling the signals for the last play, and 
all at once, as I noticed the beseeching 
look on your face I knew who really 
had sent Never Fail Carroll into the 
game, and why. I knew you wanted me 
to stake all on a forward pass — to take 
the long chance for victory, not the easy 
one for a meaningless draw game, which 
both sides would hate. You wanted 
either victory or defeat. And so I took 

the long chance, and ” 

“And won !” exclaimed Jim Magill, 
a note of triumph in his voice. “I 
wanted to see you in the game, Ray, 
playing for Thatcher, but, even more 
than that, I wanted to do something to 
help along to victory, and as I listened 
at home to the report of the first half 
I thought up the forward-pass play to 


MAGIC . 129 

be used around Carroll as a drop-kicking 
threat. I knew that your football in- 
tuition would tell you what to do if he 
was sent into the game. So I made 
up my mind that I’d get to the field no 
matter what happened, and see that the 
famous drop kicker went in just ” 

“Just in time to make a forward 
pass,” the blond-haired quarter back fin- 
ished, and smiled. “It was fine.” He 
paused for a moment, then asked laugh - 
ingly : “But how did you get by 
mother ?” 

The trainer’s eyes twinkled. “I didn't 
get by her — she came first. I just 
opened the windows a little so that she 
could hear the crowds cheering your 
name — as I knew they would when you 
got into the game — and that was enough. 
I knew from the start it would be.” 
Jim Magill paused as hi£ wife ap- 
proached through the crowd. 

“Did you ever see anything like it?” 
the fiery Mrs. Magill asked enthusi- 
astically. “To think, Raymond, of 
your making a touchdown !” 

“Almost as good as making Phi Beta 
Kappa?” The trainer’s eyes still had a 
merry laugh in them. 

“He’ll make that, too,” Mrs. Magill 
said quickly — and he did. 



TALKING AND DOING 

By Charles Horace Meiers 

T'HE more you talk the less you do, 

1 For when you talk you lose some “steam,” 
Which might be used in putting through 
The project outlined in your dream. 

When you are silent, and reserve 

\our steam for effort grand and new, 

You act with greater strength and nerve, 

The less you talk the more you do. 


9A TN 



|B§jn3j HE female fish hawk made her 
swoop, gallantly struck the 
silvery trout that weighed a 
g||l]lra generous three pounds, and 

e* industriously started to 

ascend with the comparatively heavy 
burden. Flapping her wings awk- 

wardly, she rose from the lake for per- 
haps a score of feet before she gained 
her bearings ; when she did, she traveled 
slowly but surely upward, pointing for 
the craggy rocks on the towering bluff 
where her young were waiting in the 
nest. 

The fish was a cumbersome and un- 
wieldy load, yet the intrepid mother at- 
tained a speed that was truly remark- 
able. Decidedly she needed it, because 
the brood that expected her were nearly 
famished. Fully as important, however, 
was the fact that she and her mate, al- 
ready, had made several futile trips of 
the same kind. The eagle pair, alas, 
were apparently experiencing one of 
their most hungry mornings. They had, 
so far, robbed the two smaller birds of 
at least four or five speckled beauties. 
But now, as she increased the swiftness 
of her flight, the hawk told herself that 
possibly the lust of her enemies was 
satiated. They were not, anyway, vis- 
ible to her sharp and*gimletlike eyes. 


Suddenly she realized her mistake — 
or optimism. When she was hardly fifty 
or sixty feet from her lair, a thunder- 
ous whirring in the air, as well as the 
raucous cry of her mate, caused her to 
glance above. What she saw sent a 
surge of rage through her heart. From 
out of a gnarled old pine, not a hun- 
dreds yards away from her own home, 
the two savage monarchs of the air were 
coming. 

Valiantly, doggedly, the lighter- 
winged creature essayed her mightiest 
to increase her speed. It did her no 
good. Although she accomplished the 
well-nigh impossible, and got to within 
a scant thirty feet of her nest, the pow- 
erful rulers of their territory were upon 
her. Even so, she struggled bravely 
to evade them, but the thing was hope- 
less. Swerve as she would, zigzagging 
in her course, she eventually had to re- 
linquish the hold of her talons on the 
trout. 

When she did, the two great birds 
subsided in their attack and dexterously 
shot down for the falling quarry. It 
was the male who salvaged the prey, 
and the finned denizen of the waters 
was not more than a dozen feet from 
the surface of the lake when the claws 
of the eagle sank in. 


THE WAYS OF TRAPS 


131 


From a purely impartial viewpoint, it 
was perhaps an exceedingly perfect 
piece of work; but, to the hawks who 
were vainly endeavoring to calm their 
offspring, it was undoubtedly as heinous 
a stroke of villainy as they could im- 
agine. It is true that they were well 
accustomed to it, that it was literally an 
age-old story, yet on this particular 
spring morning it galled more than 
usual. 

Never had their young been more 
hungry, or more vitally in need of food, 
and the next action of the fish-killing 
pair proved this indisputably. About 
a league away, over the opposite cliff 
on which the eagles dwelt, was another 
and smaller lake. The trout, there, were 
not so plentiful, nor did they run as 
large on the average, yet the hawks oc- 
casionally flew to the spot when hunt- 
ing became too hampered on their home 
preserve. 

As a rule, during the season when 
there were fledglings in the nest, one 
of them stayed to guard the young; 
now, believing that the appetites of the 
bigger birds were partly appeased, and 
that no other marauder was about to 
molest their offspring, they both cut off, 
straight and swiftly, for that other body 
of water that lay beyond the cliff. 

II. 

the fish hawks passed over the nest" 
of the eagles, high in the air, they 
saw that they had judged correctly. The 
two great monarchs, gorging themselves 
and feeding their young, did not deign 
to cast a single glance upward at the 
pair that they must have known were 
traveling above them. The hawks real- 
ized, however, that had they remained 
on the lake, the others, out of sheer 
gluttony, would have continued their 
thievery of trout for perhaps an hour 
longer. As it was, the hawks could be 
back, each returning with a trout in 
different directions, in not much more 
than half that length of time. 

This plan, too, was carried out almost 
to the minute that they had scheduled. 
They worked deftly, their movements 
lightninglike. Sensibly, each procured 


a fish, ate it, and then set about obtain- 
ing food for their young. They cap- 
tured two fat and luscious specimens, 
and, each taking a route close to the 
treetops, that would keep them out of 
sight of the eagles, they sailed off for 
the home among the high and' jagged 
rocks. Not more than thirty minutes, 
either, had been consumed in their ar- 
duous and valiant task. Certainly they 
were a brave and hard-working pair, 
and due credit should be given them. 

The Gods of the Wild, however, were 
against the game little pair ; cruelly and 
almost needlessly against them, it surely 
seemed. When they arrived at the nest, 
a panic overtook them. The home of 
twigs and leaves had been torn to a 
shambles, and all that remained of the 
fledgelings was a scattered mass of 
feathers and bones. Dropping the trout, 
they circled over and over the devastated 
ruins of their dwelling, uttering shrill 
and crazed and heartbroken cries. 

After a time, however, a semblance 
of reason returned to them. Their first 
thought had been that the eagle pair 
were to blame ; but, on closer inspection, 
they learned that this was not so. Their 
keen eyes, after studying the ground, 
told them that it was an enemy of whose 
trespassing they had never dreamed. 
A week or ten days previously, on one 
of their trips to the pioneer farming 
country farther east, they had noticed a 
slim and gaunt gray body — a lone tim- 
ber wolf who had for some unknown 
reason worked down from the North- 
land. And it was the tracks of this 
alien visitor, beyond the vestige of a 
doubt, that stamped him as the mur- 
derer of the progeny of the intrepid 
pair. 

III. 

T'HE wild creatures, whether they be 
of the finned or the feathered or 
the furred tribes, have no time to waste 
in sorrow and mourning. Their lives 
are too replete with danger, too taken 
up with the plain business of obtaining 
sustenance. This is not to say, however, 
that they may not luxuriate in the grim 
yet satisfying emotion of vengeance. 
The hawk pair, indeed, had instantly 



132 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


vowed to make the killer of their young 
pay the full price for his crime. In 
precisely what manner this was to be 
accomplished they had not the slightest 
idea, yet they were almost pathetically 
certain that the thing would come to 
pass. 

Their fervor in this, their belief, was 
really praiseworthy. The determination 
was firmly embedded in their brains, and 
it never left them. They went about 
the work of rebuilding their nest; they 
hunted for their prey as usual; they 
continued living on in the same spot as 
before ; yet never for an instant did they 
forget what they now deemed their 
solemn duty. The gaunt and gray foe 
from the North, someway, somehow, 
would undoubtedly be compelled to set- 
tle the score. This was as positive, to 
the winged avengers, as was the daily 
rising of the sun. 

It was not until the beginning of the 
third day, after their home had once 
more been put in order, that the fish 
hawks started out on the track of their 
enemy. This was in consequence, 
partly, of the fact that they had ex- 
pected him to appear in the neighbor- 
hood ; also, being old campaigners, they 
were firm exponents of the axiom that 
it is folly to rush matters when you 
have time at your disposal. When at 
last they did set out, they had no defi- 
nite course of action in view, for they 
were of the school that believed that 
you must first do your finding. 

Decidedly they were not laggard in 
the searching. Useless though it was 
to follow the trail of the wolf when he 
had come on his murderous errand, they 
nevertheless did so. As they had 
thought, it led them to nothing more 
than thick and almost impenetrable for- 
est. They spent their days, after this, 
in scouring the land that bordered the 
habitations of the scattered farmers who 
were gradually pushing their way deeper 
into the backwoods. * And on the fourth 
afternoon, when they had almost given 
up the quest until the next morning, 
they came upon the vicious alien in an- 
other of his depredations. 

In among the heavy timber, a young 
settler had cleared a small patch of land 


and erected on it a comfortable cabin 
of rough-hewn logs; to one side, per- 
haps a hundred feet off, he had built 
a chicken coop that housed a dozen 
hens and a rooster; and they were, to 
him, just about his most-prized posses- 
sions. When he left home, either to 
tramp to the lumber town a dozen miles 
away, or else to help out a neighbor 
who was likewise breaking farm ground, 
he always took particular pains to see 
that his fowls were carefully locked 
up. 

On this occasion he had exercised 
his usual caution, but one of the feath- 
ered creatures must have evaded him. 
From their vantage point in the air, any- 
way, the hawk pair viewed the scene 
below with eyes that burned a baleful 
hatred. The wolf had caught the wan- 
dering hen as she had been vainly try- 
ing to make her way back into the wire- 
inclosed yard, and, after having greed- 
ily devoured her, he himself was now 
endeavoring to break through the mesh. 
He had found out that this was impos- 
sible, but then he had cunningly given 
his attention to starting to burrow out 
a hole beneath it in order that he might 
so enter. What is more, he was suc- 
ceeding. 

Fascinated, the winged pair balanced 
high above and watched his every mi- 
nute movement. Whether he would have 
gained his point they were not allowed 
to know. So intent were they on the 
scene below, that for once they failed 
to note the approach of a human. In- 
deed, their first warning was a lively 
and cheery whistle, made by the young 
settler as he returned with a heavily 
laden pack. 

At the same time the gray marauder 
heard the merry tune, and the speed 
he exhibited, at the merest hint of the 
presence of an enemy, brought a gasp 
of surprise from the winged travelers 
of the skies. With a bound that truly 
made it seem as if his muscles were 
fashioned of steel, he sprang back from 
the wire, whirled madly about, and shot 
off through the protecting trees like a 
streak of grayish lightning. 

Although, however, he may have man- 
aged to keep from the sight of the man 


THE WAYS OF TRAPS 


133 


creature he was robbing, he was com- 
pletely ignorant of the fact that the eyes 
of the parents whose young he had mur- 
dered were fastened scrupulously upon 
him. This grim and implacably hating 
pair kept closely and silently to the tips 
of the trees and followed him to the 
abandoned bear cave he had taken for 
his den. 

IV. 

T'HE knowledge that they were aware 
1 of his permanent headquarters 
gave the fish hawks immeasurable re- 
lief and further hope. Shortly after 
dawn, the morning after, they were 
hovering over the tallest pine that grew 
close to his lair. All that day, reli- 
giously staying out of sight of their 
quarry, the relentless avengers trailed 
the killer of their offspring. They ate 
singly, snatching the first trout that 
came their way and partaking of it in 
record haste. Not once, from the time 
the wolf left in the morning, until he 
made his return at dusk, was he ever 
away from the supervision of their eyes. 

This did not apply, only, to the first 
day of their indefatigable vigil. In 
fact, if ever a pair of denizens of the 
wild, of the land or the water or the 
air, displayed what might be termed an 
almost uncanny persistence, surely these 
two hawks did so. In their hate, in 
their decision to mete out a just venge- 
ance, there was actually something of 
the artistic. It was a thing that utterly 
absorbed them, heart and body and 
brain, and that thrust aside every other 
thought. Eating, sleeping, existing, 
were purely incidental. Vengeance, and 
rightful vengeance, was all that mat- 
tered. 

From the standpoint of the human, 
the question might well be asked for 
precisely what situation the winged pair 
were waiting, and in what manner they 
were hoping to accomplish their revenge. 
In answer to this, it must be stated that 
the dwellers of the wild kingdom are 
of necessity forced to struggle continu- 
ally for sheer existence. To them, from 
sunup to sundown, and, in some species, 
the whole night as well, is simply an 
offensive or defensive series of hours. 


During them, all sorts of conditions, of 
problems, arise, and it is the one who 
is always ready, who is always keyed 
up to the point of action, who is best 
capable to take advantage of any chance 
opportunity. 

Recognizing all this, it must be con- 
ceded that the avengers of the air were 
primed to swoop down on their errand 
of rightful destruction whenever the 
slightest opening was given them. How 
it would come, what it would be, they 
could not tell; they knew, only, that 
some day, somehow, they would come 
upon their detested enemy with the odds 
all in their favor. And to this end, day 
after day and night after night, they 
maintained their guard and waited. 

V. 

'T'HE rule that patience and persever- 
* ance are usually rewarded is espe- 
cially true when it comes to the denizens 
of the woods or the air or the waters. 
Assuredly they are needed, and the lack 
of them has undeniably accounted for 
many an unnecessary tragedy, for many 
a defeat that might and actually should 
have been a victory. 

In the case of the valiant birds, 
though, no laxity was evidenced. Their 
hate was too acute, their desire to give 
payment for the death of their young 
was too great, to allow them to forget 
their mission for even a fraction of a 
second. But it seemed, at times, that 
their hopes were futile. 

During his every waking hour, while 
he was up and abroad, they trailed the 
alien stranger from the North. For a 
week they did this, for two weeks, for 
a month or more, and still the chance 
for which they were hoping never came. 
It would have discouraged many another 
more sturdy pair, yet the bereaved and 
determined parents stuck, nobly to their 
task. 

And shortly after a clear dawn, in 
early summer, their dogged persistency 
bore fruit. They came upon their 
quarry in the condition in which they 
had been hoping to discover him since 
the beginning of their quest. 

Shrewd and experienced veterans of 


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the game that the winged pair were, 
they knew the probable actions of the 
wild kindred perhaps as well as any 
other dwellers of the open spaces. They 
were aware that nine times out of ten 
a hunter would return to the spot where 
he had been foiled in procuring his 
prey. Every day, therefore — several 
times during it, in fact — they would 
make their way to the cabin in the patch 
of cleared ground. There, in the safe 
and unseen security of a thickly foliaged 
old oak, they would perch on the top- 
most branches and scrutinize the dwell- 
ing below. 

Luck, for a while, had not been with 
them, for the young settler in the log 
home had remained close to the vicinity, 
doing more work about his small yet 
beloved habitation. At last, however, 
the hawk pair saw him depart, one 
morning, with a pack slung over his 
shoulder that suggested a trip to the 
logging camp. It meant that he would 
be gone, for a certainty, practically un- 
til sundown ; and it meant, most impor- 
tant of all, that the crafty wolf would 
make his entrance upon the scene. And 
with hope in their hearts the avengers 
of the air had waited. 

VI. 

AN hour had gone by after the depar- 
** ture of the man creature before 
the wolf showed on the grimly set stage. 
He came boldly, confident with the 
knowledge that his human foe was ab- 
sent. He went, swiftly and directly, to 
the wire-inclosed yard that housed the 
chickens. Here, with the deftness of 
long practice, he marched to the slight 
burrow that he had started on his pre- 
vious visit. 

Apparently it had not been noticed 
by the busy pioneer of the woods, for 
it was in the same state as that in 
which he had left it. He was, more- 
over, well versed in the ways of traps, 
and he saw that none were placed for 
him. This assured, he immediately got 
into action. 

Utterly oblivious of the wild clucking 
and clattering of the fowls inside, he 
set about the business of digging his 


tunnel with a swiftness and doggedness 
that were almost venomous in their in- 
tensity. Judging from his aspect, for- 
tune was with him. The young settler, 
with more than the work of two men 
on his hands, had of necessity been com- 
pelled to hurry in some of his tasks. 
The coop for his egg purveyors had 
been one of his hasty jobs, and after 
twenty minutes or so the gray murderer 
had made his way inside. 

There was a mad noise from the scat- 
tering fowls, there was a single shriek 
of an anticipated feast from the wolf, 
and there was also a slight sound, un- 
heard by those on the ground, on the 
highest limb of the ancient oak. It was 
the intake of breath, and nothing more, 
of the winged pair that had been keep- 
ing their faithful vigil. Instantly, too, 
they got into action. 

Through it all, they retained the cool- 
ness of their brains, the perfect control 
of their bodies. With a sudden dash, 
in which each acted in exact accord with 
the other, they flattened their wings and 
shot downward like proverbial arrows 
from the bow. They did so noiselessly, 
and were so successful in their attack 
that he at whom it was aimed was not 
aware of it until they had come to 
rest upon the highest strand of wire. 

Even then, indeed, the wolf did not 
see them. He was too taken up, too 
wholly engrossed, with the fattest fowl 
of them all, after which he was leap- 
ing with a rage that was well-nigh in- 
sane. But then, on one of his bounds, 
his eye chanced to fall on the pair that 
were viewing him. And instantly, as 
if some ghastly premonition had gripped 
him, he seemed turned to stone. 

VII. 

p?OR one of those fractions of a sec- 
* ond that impress the participants 
as literally being hours, the hawks and 
the killer of their young stayed glaring. 
It was the female who broke the ten- 
sion. With a terrifying shriek, she 
whirled madly out, straight for the face 
of her bitter enemy. The latter turned 
to meet her, even springing up with a 
vicious snarl, but she somehow switched 


THE WAYS OF TRAPS 


135 


in her course, at the last moment, and 
he was confronted by the male. 

Conclusive evidence was given ; then, 
that the whole affair was a prearranged 
plan. As the wolf whirled to meet the 
other hawk, something like panic over- 
took him. He remembered that he was 
practically a prisoner, with only a small 
aperture of escape left him. The man 
creature might return at any moment, 
and if that happened disaster was cer- 
tain. Awkward and harmless though 
he told himself they were, these brain- 
less birds were nevertheless an extreme 
annoyance. Without waste of time, he 
must annihilate them. 

Before he had completed his spring, 
however, he learned that he was enter- 
ing the biggest and most perilous battle 
of his career. The beak of the female 
hawk, as the wolf lunged for her mate, 
penetrated his eye and blinded him hope- 
lessly. 

When his eye went, his nerves did 
the same. Emitting a shriek that could 
come only from a creature in the throes 
of madness, he leaped into the air. He 
did it wildly, spasmodically, without the 
vestige of a hint of reason. Over him, 
through it all, hovered the winged pair 
— waiting, waiting. But whether they 
would have been able to accomplish their 
destruction further will never be known. 
In the grim grip of battle though they 
were, their every sense was nevertheless 
under perfect control. They heard, in 
the distance, the whistling of a man 
creature — the same merry tune that had 
warned the wolf that other day. He, 
this time, was not aware of it; he was 
too utterly beside himself with pain 
and despair. 

The fish hawks, close though they 
were to what they deemed supreme ven- 
geance, were too wily and experienced a 
pair to take chances. And, each emit- 
ting a raucous shriek of rage, they made 
swiftly and surely for the protection 
of the tallest tree. From there, they 
at least saw justice done. The human 
appeared, halted abruptly at the noise 
made by the shrieking wolf, and sud- 
denly brought a rifle to his shoulder. 
A boom of red came, and the marauding 


alien from the Northland went down to 
the death he had well merited. 

Back in their home, the devastated 
though rebuilt nest, the pair of fish 
hawks looked forward to another year. 


The Passing Months 


/~\FTEN it is not realized that the 
^ names of the three autumn months 
and of December are misnomers, ut- 
terly wrong so far as their meaning 
goes. For instance, September, derived 
from the Latin septcm , should be the 
seventh month instead of the ninth ; 
likewise the three others are each wrong 
by two months. 


The names of the last four months 
of the year went askew away back in 
the reign of Augustus Caesar, Emperor 
of Rome. The ruler, with the aid of 
astronomers and other savants, changed 
the calendar, adding two months — July 
and August — to the ten months of the 
old Roman year. At once, of course, 
those named from the Latin numerals 
became wrong. 

Augustus neglected to change the 
names, but he did not forget modestly 
to call one. of the new months after him- 
self. The other — July — he named in 
honor of his well-known uncle, Julius 
Caesan 


Long before the reign of Augustus, 
January had been named in honor of 
Janus, the Roman god of beginnings. 
Also February had been named in honor 
of Februus, a Roman deity in whose 
honor ceremonies were performed at 
that period of the year, and April, from 
the Latin verb apcrio, meaning to open. 
May was named to celebrate Maia, god- 
dess of growth, and June from the Ro- 
man name Junius. March derived its 
name from Mars, the god of war. 


A Hearty Reception 

fYRATOR’S wife: “Did the people 
^ applaud ?” 

Orator: “Applaud? They made 
about as Vnuch noise as a rubber heel 
on a feather mattress!” 



ISS KENYON hung on to the 
edge of that queer stratum 
of society known as “nice 
people” as she hung on to her 
youth — with a tenacity of 
purpose and a subtlety of makeshift that 
fell little short of the marvelous. The 
loss of either would have been unthink- 
able. 

The tiny apartment which she and 
Alice occupied was in as fashionable 
surroundings as the most particular 
could desire, and at the same time, para- 
doxically, was just as undesirable, 
squeezed in as it was, high up in the 
rear of the big apartment house, its 
best view the alley beneath. But it 
was fascinatingly cheap, considering, 
and the fact that it was in the Lake 
Court outweighed any disadvantages 
you might mention. 

Their drawing-room-boudoir-recep- 
tion-hall-dining room became, at night, 
their one bedroom. Only the kitchen- 
ette arose to the dignity of an exclusive 
personality. Yet, in the face of all this, 
up until the middle of May, the two 
lived serenely, not to say monotonously. 

After a few restless, uneasy weeks, 
however, a night came suddenly when 
the little shell of a home found itself 
in the path of a storm. And yet, daily 
expecting it, it was not exactly a storm, 


but more in the nature of Ajax defying 
the lightning, with Alice attempting the 
repetition, giddy headed enough to take 
the part of Ajax, and escaping the dire 
consequences only by the meteorlike ad- 
vent of a certain, blue-flowered water 
pitcher. 

On this night, had the gay little 
French clock on the mantel been able 
to tell the time, which it had not done 
these many years, it would have pointed 
its spidery little hands to midnight. 
Over the expensive nook there lay a 
deeper, more solemn quiet than its four 
new walls had ever before recorded. It 
was the quiet of a great, nameless fear, 
for Alice was gone; the small watcher 
by the window, where the alley light 
shone in, knew not where. 

II. 

r^ARELESS, flippant, as she had 
^ grown of late, before noon Alice 
had walked sinuously out in that newly 
adopted manner of hers which poor 
Miss Kenyon hated, without so much 
as a word as to her destination. To 
the good woman's spinsterlike way of 
thinking, Alice was allowed more free- 
dom, as it was, than was good for one 
of her age, for she tried not to inter- 
fere too much with her pleasure. But 
to stay out at night — without her ! 



THAT STILLY NIGHT 


137 


Into the dusk of the alley poor Miss 
Kenyon’s blue eyes were burning ex- 
pectantly. To her undying shame she 
knew that Alice would come that way. 
She invariably did. 

So unlike Miss Kenyon, so utterly 
bourgeois, 'as it were — Miss Kenyon al- 
ways used that word in preference to 
democratic — Alice never seemed to mind 
coming that way. For one thing it was 
closer, and to youth, with so much to 
do, every minute saved, counts. Any 
hour of the day she used it, and would 
run breathlessly up the stairs— the back 
stairs — quite unconcernedly. 

In so many things Alice was unlike 
her benefactress, in spite of the' care- 
ful training Miss Kenyon had given her. 
Probably it was blood telling, though 
Alice’s mother had been the most gentle 
of souls. She had died when Alice was 
quite little, and Miss Kenyon, out of 
sheer goodness of heart, had taken Alice. 
No legal ties held them, now that Alice 
was grown, only a certain compatibility 
of temperament, and perhaps gratitude 
on Alice’s part, kept them together. 

Miss Kenyon’s heart had never 
needed a false front, or a lip stick, or. 
the tiniest touch of cosmetic. Gray 
hairs might hide in her temples, wrin- 
kles— figuratively— tear at her soul, but 
her heart remained ever young. Warm, 
impulsive, romantic, she saw in Alice a 
pinnacle upon which to hang her dreams. 

Necessity made her live alone, to look 
on, save on rare occasions, the passing 
show about her, and it made her feel 
younger to have the company of some 
one young. Alice was undeniably pretty 
and graceful, carrying with her a cer- 
tain charm that seemed to attract, and 
every little triumph brought to Miss 
Kenyon, like old songs heard again, 
memories of her own girlhood. But 
Alice’s first suitor had proved a keen 
disappointment. 

III. 

E7VEN for Alice’s sake Miss Kenyon 
could not find a good point in him. 
A lazy, worthless, ne’er-do-well; dis- 
reputable in appearance and in fact, yet 
for a short while he seemed to exert 
a powerful fascination for Alice. 


Doubtlessly she was at that age when 
most members of the opposite sex, be 
they but a trifle daring and impudent, 
with a studied swagger and an air of 
general naughtiness about them, can be 
counted upon to make a tremendous ap- 
peal to natures like hers. 

His ways were so obviously not Miss 
Kenyon’s ways that he was promptly 
denied the privilege of calling at the 
flat. Alice, however, seemed quite con- 
tent to meet Joe outside. 

Miss Kenyon appealed to her once, 
vainly, and thereafter she let her go 
her way. Alice, on that occasion, had 
made not the slightest attempt to an- 
swer her. With studied, languid rude- 
ness, right in the midst of Miss Ken- 
yon’s halting speech, she had strode out, 
and a few minutes later, from the win- 
dow, Miss Kenyon saw the two, heads 
together, strolling off down the alley. 

Thereafter, in the daytime, Alice 
came and went as she pleased. Only of 
nights, by sheer force of a firmer will, 
was she kept safely within, save on 
those rare occasions when Miss Ken- 
yon accompanied her. And day by day, 
in manner, at least, she became more 
insolent and rattle-brained. 

Then, quite breath-takingly, the Mer- 
ril-Keats came to town and took the 
big house next door. Old Merril- 
Keats had made a bunch of money 
somewhere and, though undeniably so- 
cial “climbers,” they belonged to Miss 
Kenyon’s “nice-people” class. 

Alice immediately nabbed Bobbie. 

IV. 

T'HE speed and coolness with which 
Alice did it astonished Miss Ken- 
yon. Within a week she had established 
herself on a more intimate footing, ap- 
parently, than she had ever accorded 
Joe. Joe, as a matter of fact, might 
just as well not have existed, so com- 
pletely was he ignored. 

Miss Kenyon looked on, aghast. 
While she outwardly approved of Bob- 
bie, Alice’s treatment of Joe made her 
uneasy. Alice’s slights toward her she 
quickly forgave, as it was her nature to 
be forgiving, but she knew Joe well 
enough to know that he would not treat 


I 


138 TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


the slight lightly. In the succeeding 
days grave fears began to assail her. 
Several times she had seen Joe follow- 
ing them or glowering at the two when 
they passed. 

As with Joe, Miss Kenyon was firm 
in not letting Alice go about at night 
with Bobbie, but on the other hand Bob- 
bie was allowed to spend quite a num- 
ber of evenings in the flat. On this 
occasion, having primped more than 
usual, Miss Kenyon remembered, Alice 
had gone out before lunch; and now, at 
midnight, she was still away. 

The little old maid sat by the win- 
dow, her faded, anxious eyes scanning 
the darkness until the distant single toll 
of a far-off, downtown clock proclaimed 
the first hour of the new day. Almost 
with the sound her vigil was rewarded. 

V. 

INTO the wide circle of light beneath 
* the alley lamp came Alice and Bob- 
bie, sauntering slowly, obviously so en- 
wrapped in each other that neither the 
hour, the alley, nor the silent watcher 
was of the slightest moment to them. 

Miss Kenyon leaned far out, hoping 
that Alice would look up. She could 
not bring herself to call out to her, to 
shout, vulgarly, into the night at some 
one, at Alice, in the back alley! It 
might sound foolish, but Miss Kenyon 
had been delicately reared in the old 
school. Above all things, she was a lady. 

A little wooden, cluttered bench sat 
against the far wall of the alley upon 
which the janitor’s children played, and 
Alice calmly seated herself thereon and 
made room for Bobbie. Miss Kenyon, 
after a moment, did the next thing to 
calling. She slipped out and went softly 
down the back stairs. 

It was the first time she had ever 
gone that way ; had ever thought, even, 
to use the servants’ entrance, and she 
went shudderingly. Quite noiselessly 
she reached the back door. She knew, 
at this late hour, that all the entrances 
were locked for the night, and she must 
let Alice in. Timidly she slid the bolts, 
the dim hall light aiding her, and opened 
the door a little way. Her heart sud- 
denly stood still when she looked forth. 


VI. 

ABOVE the two on the little bench, 
** a shadow, on the wall, moved. It 
was Joe ! Directly over the unsuspect- 
ing Bobbie, he leaped. 

Miss Kenyon’s tiny, suppressed 
scream was lost in the instant struggle 
that ensued. Joe’s sudden drop had 
tilted the little bench and the janitor’s 
children’s tin playthings added to the 
din. Alice shrieked once, shrill, terri- 
fied, and Bobbie had given a startled, 
deeper-toned grunt; then Joe and he 
joined in a guttural, quarreling duet 
as they fought. 

Alice stood by and watched for a 
helpless, silent moment. It was the age- 
old, primeval struggle of two determined 
males for the mate which both fancied ; 
the obvious result of fate’s attempting 
the impossible triangle. Miss Kenyon 
clutched at the door in terror. 

Momentarily the struggle waxed 
fiercer. Joe, treacherous, cruel, sought 
to do murder; Bobbie, equally deter- 
mined, with Alice at stake, meant to 
slay. Rending, clutching, their breath- 
ing hoarse and choked, each strove for 
a vital spot. Alice, sickened, weak with 
fright, became aware of the slit of dim 
light in the partially opened door and, 
shrieking, ran toward it. 

The two, panting, heaving, rolling fig- 
ures fought on, oblivious to everything 
but their desire to kill. Death lurked 
in the shadows where their tumbling 
bodies, suddenly stilled, held each in the 
other’s taut embrace, lay alert for some 
sign of weakening. 

It was then that a near-by window 
flew up with a bang, and a blue-flow- 
ered china pitcher flashed against the 
wall above the struggling pair and broke 
their death grapple by its fragments. 

“Gosh darn them cats!” roared the 
janitor sleepily. 

In a flash, save for a scurrying of 
velvety paws, the night relapsed into 
its wonted stillness. Poor Miss Ken- 
yon, cautiously climbing the creaking 
back stairs, held her breath at each 
overloud footfall. At the top step, im- 
pudent, composed, Alice sat, smoothing 
her toilet, with a languid forepaw. 


Tjw' 

( Ethel and James Dorrance 


CHAPTER I. 

THE WRECK ALARM. 

ITHIN the wings of his nearly 
completed seaplane, Paul 
Hathaway, pliers in hand, 
paused in his tuning-up to 
remark to the machine that 
had taken form under his workmanship : 

“You’d never have the heart to flop 
on me, friend flying fish? Whither 
thou goest — well, don’t doubt; I’ll be 
along.” 

An impatient grunt drew his glance 
across the open-faced workshop, which 
was on the Nantucket harbor front, to 
a tool box where sat his favorite air 
partner, a slim, white, bull terrier. 

“The sage who invented that saw 
about a prophet not being without 
honor save in his own country said a 
mouthful, eh, Y utu ?” 

The dog thus consulted assumed a 
pleasant look; then it yapped generous 
and guttural agreement. 

“Trouble is folks have such long 
memories about the fellow next door,” 
declared the young man, removing a 
cap and brushing back his thick brown 
hair. “These ’Tucketers never will for- 
get that I once played ‘Darius Green 
and His Flying Machine’ to crowded 
houses. A whole chest ful of medals 
never would convince them that we 


could fly, buddy ace. They’ll believe 
only when they see us taking off.” 

The dog, of course, was not of an 
age to remember his gray-eyed master’s 
early ambitions to emulate the gulls that 
gathered off Brandt Point with the 
changing tides. Thrice with improvised 
wings he had essayed flights out of 
the loft doors of his uncle’s barn Qn 
the home farm that clung to the island 
town’s skirts. And thrice he had been 
borne home broken as to bone if not 
spirit. 

The war had returned the older and 
wiser Paul Hathaway a lieutenant with 
spread-wing insignia and two decora- 
tions on his breast, while tucked beneath 
his close-cropped thatch were several 
incipient inventions which he believed 
would make oversea flying a safer art 
— less a gamble with death. At once, 
however, difficulties had begun to form 
in phalanx. 

The “admiral” of these difficulties, 
in full uniform and strutting out ahead, 
was the opposition of the uncle who 
had assumed the responsibility of the 
orphan on his mother’s death. Hard- 
fisted Cap’n Absalom proved entirely 
out of sympathy with the returned fight- 
er’s ambition and refused to advance 
for experiments one penny from his 
many thousands of dollars amassed 
while whaling the Seven Seas in those 




140 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


halcyon Nantucket days of the B. K. 
Era — meaning before kerosene. 

The World War had interfered with 
the old salt’s plans for his only heir, 
but a spirit of patriotism had enabled 
him to meet that disappointment with- 
out complaint. He did not propose now, 
though, to aid any peace-time hobby 
that would further cheat him out of a 
proper return for time and attention 
expended upon his nephew. Openly he 
begrudged Hathaway the toilsome hours 
spent in the shed workshop and tight- 
ened his purse strings into a hard knot. 

Cut off from this source of necessary 
supply and discredited among their 
neighbors of means, the naval reservist 
had thrown his last dollar of savings, 
as well as all his energy and time, into 
the construction of the passenger plane 
upon which he now was putting the fin- 
ishing touches. His plan for further 
financing himself concerned the sum- 
mer’s swarm of “locusts” — from New 
York, Boston, and Providence, from 
z the Deep South and the Far and Mid- 
dle Wests — which soon would descend 
upon the purple isle, their pockets ajin- 
gle with vacation coin. In their crav- 
ing for new sensations and their will- 
ingness to pay for such lay the airman’s 
hope of banking with the Pacific Na- 
tional enough flight fares to see him 
through later experimentation and pat- 
ent-office expenses. 

“Do I hear you asking, Yutu, why 
the dickens, if I knew all this about 
prophets, I ever came back to ’Tucket?” 
he continued the dog-eared colloquy. 
“Say, old dear, can’t you guess the right 
reason ?” 

“Reckon I can !” 

Hathaway’s muscles stiffened from 
mental surprise. At the wink of one 
red-rimmed, black-freckled canine eye, 
focused not at him but just beyond, he 
flung himself around on his wing seat 
to discover Great Joy, a reward sight 
for any masculine not stone-blind. 

Just outside the shadow of the shed’s 
overhang roof stood the girl child of 
Cap’n Prince Joy, his uncle’s implacable 
enemy from the days gone by — a mis- 
named native daughter who had grown 
from little-girl witcheries into the hon- 


ors of the toast of the island from Great 
Point to Muskeget. Small as the par- 
ent-paid tribute of her first name was 
large, dark-haired and eyed as her dis- 
position was bright, pale-skinned as the 
blood of her heart was red, she drew 
up in her “middy” of white atop a blue 
skirt, and saluted snappily. 

The laugh with which she pulled the 
absurdly small sailor hat off the mass 
of black hair at the back of her head 
and clambered to a seat beside Hatha- 
way must have convinced the most 
casual observer that the feud of so 
many years’ standing had failed to 
“take” with the second generation. 

“You’ve been listening to our sacred 
confab, you big, little rascal?” Hatha- 
way put the question with a sternness 
discounted by the glad-faced smile due 
the sight of her. 

Quite unblushingly she made the ad- 
mission. 

“You say you can guess the reason 
I came home to be the town’s pet side 
show ?” 

“I said I reckoned I could,” she cor- 
rected him. 

“Then do you reckon you can name 
her — the reason ?” • 

“Reckon I can name a reason, al- 
though not necessarily to my mind a 
right and proper one. Shall I?” 

Gray eyes lowered to black with a 
look of fond expectation. 

“Harriet Gardner!” 

The flush mounting upward from 
Paul’s open-necked flannel shirt showed 
surprise and probable confusion. And 
she clamped her momentary triumph, 
much as he had been clamping the piano 
wires, by a laugh thrown over her shoul- 
der toward the cliffs, where a certain 
pretentious “cottage” called The Suds 
stood out from among other frame pal- 
aces of the summer colony. 

“Off the island with Harriet — all 
Gardners !” His disappointment was real. 
He hoped that some day Great Joy 
would forgo teasing him. She might 
so easily have been frank and named 
herself as the reason that had brought 
him back to their native Nantucket, 
knowing what he did know about proph- 
ets and their own country. 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 


141 


“Paul! Your ingratitude shocks me. 
You should be told, if you haven’t al- 
ready suspected, that the lovely widow- 
by-law is concentrating her vicarious 
brains upon a scheme to finance your 
inventions.” 

“Suppose you heard that from her 
charming brother, Rupert, who, I hear, 
is distinguishing you with his attention/' 
He was irritated, despite his good na- 
ture, by her persistent thrumming on 
this — to him at least — utterly false note. 

And she added another discord. 
“Aided by alimony — isn’t that just too 
alliterative for anything?” 

“Too much so for me.” Hathaway 
picked up his pliers and transferred his 
attention to the seaplane. 

For a moment it seemed that Miss 
% Joy meant to leave him to his righteous, 
indignant gloom. A touch on his arm, 
however, presaged one of her unac- 
countable changes of mind and mood. 

“Did I ruffle the eagle’s feathers? 
Never mind. Let me smooth ’em down 
by telling you the latest and best-ever 
jokelet on my adorably absent-minded 
Aunt Sally.” 

“Won’t listen to a word of any joke 
until you admit that you absolutely know 
I would rather junk all my aviation 
plans than accept a cent from ” 

“Of course,” she interrupted. “To 
be sure. My fault. Now open wide 
your ears! This morning Aunt Sally 
went down to the six-thirty boat and 
waved Uncle Jonathan off on a trip to 
Bedford. By the time she’d got back 
home she had forgotten all about that 
event and proceeded to cook his break- 
fast with her own, as per usual. When 
she had it on the table she called him. 
Failing to get any answer, she rushed 
over to our house in high dudgeon to 
fetch him before his coffee got cold. 
Now, isn’t that the limit, Paul?” 

“Almost, I should say.” 

Hathaway chuckled and she joined 
him with her lilting laugh. The blight 
of the rich off-islanders was forgotten 
in amusement over the girl’s absent- 
minded relative. Indeed, so suddenly 
friendly did the young man grow that 
his arm demonstrated the fact to the 
lissom waist within the middy blouse. 


“If my father only could see me 
now!” she whispered. 

“And my uncle — me, you big, little 

Joy!” 

“My Paul !” 

From the fervor of these murmured 
utterances, a great deal might have been 
fixed up then and there except for the 
shrieks of an excited boy who at the 
moment spun past on a bicycle. 

“Wreck — wreck — wreck!” he cried. 

What far-at-sea islander can with- 
stand the magic of that call, with the 
spell of salvage bred into blood and 
bone? At once both girl and man were 
all attention. 

“Where away and what?” Hathaway 
shouted after the boy. 

“Cargo boat on the shoals.” Revers- 
ing his answers, the youngster spun out 
of sight on his errand of alarm. 

His scant information was amplified 
the next moment, however, by the ap- 
pearance of one Elihu Shearman, a 
whaler mate who never had won his 
ship, but who, despite that failure, was 
Paul’s most trusted confidant. 

“Coconut oil !” Elihu exclaimed. 

The young pair stared at him, not 
at once connecting his panted puzzle 
with the boy's shrieks. 

“Wake up. you two!” Elihu urged. 
“Don’t you follow me? It’s coconut oil, 
I’m telling you. Coming in beyond the 
jetty, just driving ashore thick enough 
to make the fortune of all of us.” 

“But how — when ” Hathaway 

had no need to complete his question. 

“Big freighter’s run smack on the 
shoals in the fog. She's pumping her 
cargo overside and the dry nor’easter’s 
bringing it to port. Come along, and 
with a flowing sheet !” 

Hathaway and Miss Joy did not de- 
lay, for both had been born on Nan- 
tucket. 

CHAPTER II. 

SOAP SALVORS. 

T'HE tw’o heirs of an old-time hate 
1 separated at the entrance of the 
improvised seaplane shop. Great Joy 
and Hathaway never walked together 
on the streets of Nantucket — at least 


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not in the daytime. Only a moment did 
they spare for their parting, for both 
naturally desired their share of fortune's 
flow. 

“I first must go home/’ said the girl, 
“and see that my father has heard the 
news. The official wreckmaster of the 
island, he would be terribly put out if 
he were late in reaching the place of 
disaster.” 

Paul Hathaway’s smile, as, dog at 
heels, he strode away, was in part for 
the mention of her father's office, about 
which he had knowledge that seemed 
to have escaped the other villagers. 
Even to Great, much as she meant to 
him, he had no wish to explain this bit 
of ammunition which he was, in fact, 
holding in reserve. But he heeded her 
admonition to hurry. 

Turning into Harbor Road, he hove 
in sight of Ed Hayes, the genial boni- 
face of the Point Breeze Hotel. Catch- 
ing up with him was no sprinting feat, 
as he walked slowly on account of the 
large tin utensil which he was dragging 
behind him. 

“Greetings, Sir Edward!” Hathaway 
saluted him. 

“Same to you and many of them, 
my lord and noble duke!” came the 
characteristic response from this off- 
islander who had spent so many winters 
in town that he almost was considered 
a native. 

“Why the family wash boiler?” Hath- 
away fell into step with the heavier 
‘man's mood as well as his feet. “Are 
you thinking of paddling out to the 
wreck like the famous owl and pussycat 
who put to sea in a beautiful pea-green 
boat?” 

“And why not the family wash 
boiler ?” Hayes countered. “What could 
be more appropriate, I'm asking you, 
since it's soap we're setting out to save ?” 

“Soap? Where do you get that first 
aid to the next-to-godliness idea ? Elihu 
Shearman was singing a none-too- 
smooth song of coconut oil.” 

Hayes shrugged a superior shoulder; 
two of them, in fact. “Your ignorance 
astonishes me!” he exclaimed. “In the 
name of Colgate, that you shouldn’t 


know the oil of the coconut is the heart 
and soul of the cleanest soap in the 
world !” 

As they hurried along the sanded 
road, each bang of the tin container 
at the hotel man's heels announcing 
them one stride nearer the beach of 
alleged treasure, Hayes unburdened 
himself of such news as he knew about 
the wreck. He had seen and talked 
with the coast guardsman from the 
Muskeget Life Saving Station, at the 
innermost tip of the island, who, the 
telephone wire being down, had brought 
in the word on a motor cycle. 

Hayes said that no time need be spent 
on human salvage, since the Silverton, 
a huge English freighter, had piled up 
the previous morning in a fog thick as 
the calm of the sea had been “dead.” 
She was resting easy, with every pros- 
pect of being safely hauled off by the 
fleet of tugs that had been wirelessed 
to her rescue. 

“The victim was loaded with oil from 
Africa or Egypt or wherever it is that 
coconuts grow,” he explained. “In hope 
of lightening the ship and pulling her 
off, they've been pumping the liquid 
cargo overside for the past twenty-four 
hours. The oil congeals as soon as it 
strikes cold water and the nor’easter is 
bringing miles of it down upon us — 
let us hope to our everlasting welfare 
and glory. And there you have the 
whole of it, m’lord and noble duke !” 

As they passed the MacDougall bun- 
galow and quartered beachside to the 
Cliff Baths, they had evidence that they 
were not the only ones who had “the 
whole of it.” The entire town seemed 
to be moving en masse and at speed to- 
ward the place where the “treasure” was 
destined to be piled up. And soon they 
saw with their own eyes that the guards- 
man had not exaggerated the remark- 
able facts. 

“Looks like field ice to me,” com- 
mented one. 

“Out of season for ice, you gump!” 
said another. “It’s suds of some sort.” 

“Suds of no sort never came in solid 
like that. Guess again!” 

“No, folks; quit your guessing. It’s 
what the life guard said it was and 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 


143 


nothing else — congealed coconut oil. 
Give me one moment, dear friends.” 

The last speaker was Mistress Elinor 
McDevitt, poetess of local renown. Her 
request for a moment with her muse was 
granted and to this result. 

“It’s a sea of fleeces, in junks and 
chunks, and big and little pieces !” she 
cried ecstatically. Shaking her bobbed 
mane, she seized upon the prosaic 
wooden washtub which she had brought 
from her Step Lane “lair” of poesy and 
dashed toward the shore line that she 
might be the first to meet and greet the 
incoming tide. 

Not at once did Hathaway join the 
crowd of beach combers being aug- 
mented each minute by fresh arrivals 
from the village — men, women, chil- 
dren, all drawn by the lure of the island- 
er’s hope of receiving something for 
nothing from the sea. He felt he could 
well spare a moment to take further 
stock of the interesting situation, since 
within him a bifold doubt demanded at- 
tention. Was the oil worth saving, and, 
if so, would it belong to the salvors? 

He soon learned that he was not alone 
in speculation over the value of the 
jettisoned substance. 

“I tell you it must be worth a lot 
to be cargoed fifteen thousand miles,” 
argued one marine philosopher. 

“Three hundred dollars a ton.” The 
coast guardsman who had brought the 
news spoke authoritatively. “The mate 
of the Silverton told me so. And they're 
going to pump over nine hundred tons 
of the stuff.” 

The problem in mental arithmetic was 
simple. Hathaway’s mind leaped to the 
answer in the back of the book. A share 
in two hundred and seventy thousand 
dollars’ worth of anything honest cer- 
tainly was worth a man’s best effort. 

Several of the men, older than Hath- 
away, recalled convincingly the wreck 
of the Norwegian bark Mentor , bound 
for Boston from Cienfuegos, Cuba, with 
a cargo of sugar and abandoned by her 
crew after striking one of the shoals 
south of Nantucket. Two boat_crews 
from the island had boarded her, sal- 
vaging both vessel and cargo, to a value 
of seventy-three thousand dollars. 


The circumstances were different, to 
be sure, and the salvors’ share had been 
a trifle under fifteen thousand, but even 
that was a memorable island acquisition. 
None there could afford to forget that 
it had meant seven hundred and fifty 
dollars the man for a few days’ work. 

In the absence of any constituted au- 
thority, general oversight of the salvage 
operation had been preempted by one 
“Squid” Mahong, a backward -minded 
citizen whose obsession for years had 
•been that the electors would make him 
chief of police. Divers acquaintances, 
in ill-conceived jest, regularly promised 
him their votes and a triumphant elec- 
tion, but something always happened to 
deprive him of victory. As weak in 
mind as he was powerful in body, Squid 
generally was regarded as just about 
what his sobriquet implied. To the 
befuddled aspirant to office here was op- 
portunity to practice “policing,” with 
everybody too busy even to laugh at 
him. 

For housewives, at least, the ap- 
proaching harvest of wind and wave 
had especial interest. Jabbering among 
themselves they remembered the war- 
time sinking of the Port Hunter on 
Squash Meadow Shoal and the faring 
forth of their men-folk in “cats” and 
“chuggers” to snag a cargo consisting 
of bales of underclothing from wide- 
open hatches. 

* For days and weeks afterward the 
back yards of Nantucket had presented 
unusual “wash” to the inspection of 
passers-by during the drying-out process 
of that gleaning. To the lines of one 
would be clothespinned dozens of un- 
dershirts; to those of another so many 
pairs of drawers that one not in the 
know must have thought the family cen- 
tipedal. The bales, quite naturally, did 
not come assorted. The wives, how- 
ever, had traded back and forth, making 
complete suits in matched sizes, and had 
folded them away in cedar chests — 
enough and to spare for generations 
yet unborn. 

Now had hove in prospect soap for 
a century. And these feminine ’Tuck- 
eters knew how to make it. One who 
knew how particularly well was Aunt 


144 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Sally Joy, who had just arrived in the 
“flivver” with Great and the “official” 
father. 

The combing of the beach already 
had begun when Hathaway’s uncle and 
nearest of kin had arrived, trundling a 
barrow which, in turn, trundled a rake 
and scoop shovel. Although Captain 
Absalom Hathaway was reputed rich, 
as island riches go, he was far from 
above grasping this opportunity of the 
ocean. At sight of his nephew’s inac- 
tivity, he stopped for an incredulous 
stare. 

Short and knotted was this last of 
the whaling skippers, his round, red 
face embellished by white chin whiskers, 
fringing below his clean-shaven upper 
lip. Except' that occasionally these 
whiskers were trimmed he might have 
been a reprint from Nantucket’s golden 
’30’s. “Of the sea salty” was the gen- 
eral air of him, gruff his manner and 
gnarled his fists from the packet days 
that had followed those of the whalers. 

Domineering from force of habit, 
powerfully “sot in his ways,” he hid a 
heart beneath his hairy chest whose 
worth many of the new generation 
failed to appreciate, although often, as 
now, that chest was fully exposed to 
inspection through his hatred of collars 
and habit of wearing his shirt unbut- 
toned. Even his nephew found it hard 
at times to remember that his doughty 
relative, according to his lights, thought 
only for the best interests of his natural 
heir. 

“Standin’ around ; standin’ around, 
and with a tidal wave of money flowing 
for’ard!” 

Cap’n Absalom rumbled his most pa- 
cific utterance; now he bellowed with 
a force and volume that brought an 
emulative, protestant growl from the 
white terrier crouched at the younger 
Hathaway’s heels. . 

“Ain’t you never goin* to show no 
family spirit, Paul?” he demanded. 
“The sea was mighty good to your an- 
cestors — it’s ready to be good to you, 
too, if you’ll only give it a chance. Look 
to it, you airlubber, for your inheri- 
tance !” 

Paul Hathaway would have been 


stupid indeed not to realize that the 
final disposition of a fortune founded on 
oil depended on his adoption of some 
seafaring pursuit. Indeed he clearly 
saw the misfortune to the tank steamer 
as his own opportunity for a coup that 
would work two ways in his favor. His 
mind upon a wide-decked gasoline boat 
not at the moment engaged in the dig- 
ging of clams, he turned on his heels 
and started back toward the water front. 

He was covering the distance at long 
strides when hailed from a limousine 
which had been driven as near the scene 
of salvage activity as the sand would 
allow a car of such weight to go. He 
recognized the voice before he saw, 
framed in an open window, a lady’s 
face. They were, in a way, alike — the 
face and voice of Harriet Gardner, both 
sweet, confident, expectant. No young, 
foot-free man would have thought of 
disregarding their dual summons. Re- 
ward for the most fastidious surely was 
promised in her delighted smile. 

Despite the fact that Hathaway did 
not share her delight at the meeting, he 
had no more reason to assume an un- 
pleasant attitude toward the widow than 
toward any other gracious woman. Dis- 
regarding the haste that would be nec- 
essary if he meant to go on a salvage 
hunt, he changed his course and headed 
toward the widow. 

CHAPTER III. 

FLASH OF SUSPICION. 

'PHE Purple Isle” has subtle but in- 
* sistent voices in its plash of waves 
and sough of winds that call back sooner 
or later all who once have listened to 
its siren songs. Many of its itinerant 
cottagers have formed the habit of com- 
ing early in springtime, weeks ahead of 
the “season’s” resorters, and of linger- 
ing on through those vital, colorful 
weeks that break gloriously after the 
hard-at-works have returned home. 

The Gardner family were enthusiastic 
members of this leisure contingent and 
doubtless would have been ferried over 
from New Bedford w T ith their automo- 
biles and servants, by this time, even 
had the emotional daughter of the house 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 


145 


not been hurried by her interest in a 
certain unemotional young islander. 

# She was a vivid young woman, Har- 
riet, both in looks and nature. Birth 
had been generous with her in coloring, 
lines, size, and disposition. She was 
over the average in height, but sym- 
metrically and smoothly built. She was 
fair, with a reddish depth to the blond 
of her hair and the porcelain of her 
cheeks and the full cut of her lips that 
gave her a breath-taking brilliance. And 
her heart was declared by those who 
knew her best to be as warm as her 
beauty. 

Indeed she gave and took her loves 
in life with regardless generosity. Born 
to money, besides this combined power 
of looks and personality, she had grown 
into a creature whose wishes were hard 
to deny. 

As she watched Hathaway’s approach 
through the window from beneath the 
frame of a distractingly becoming sport 
hat, the assumption of an assured con- 
quest which showed in her smile was 
something to be feared by one as yet 
unconquered and determined not to be. 

“Hello, you !” she called to Hathaway 
with easy informality when he had come 
within range of her voice. 

“Ahoy on the weather bow and greet- 
ings!” he offered with his right hand. 
“We must consider the season opened 
now that you have arrived.” 

“Now that I’ve arrived? Just as 
though you didn’t know, Mr. Delin- 
quent, that The Suds and all the house 
contains have been opened wide for ten 
days or so! You haven’t come near 
enough to see the color of a bubble.” 
Her reproach was both wistful and 
stern. 

Hathaway was hard put for defense, 
as she had him on every count. The 
coming of the Gardners, with an ex- 
pensive French roadster, a sedan, and 
a touring car, with a trap and high- 
stepping team, with a pair of riding 
horses, and some dozen servants, must 
have attracted attention even in mid- 
season. 

As early arrivals The Inquirer and 
Mirror had done them front-page honor, 
and everybody who subscribed or knew 

10A TN 


anybody who did had no excuse for 
ignorance of their spectacular return. 
And truly, the young naval reservist had 
kept his distance from the palatial “cot- 
tage” on the cliffs, although his parting 
with the family the previous fall had 
left no room for doubt that he would 
be welcome there, come another year. 

Reason for this restraint already has 
been broached. In an hour of enthusi- 
asm, a day or so before the Gardners 
had sailed for their winter home in 
New York, Hathaway had confided to 
the inspirational widow his ambitions as 
an aviation engineer — not so much plans 
to excel in mere flight as along inven- 
tive lines. 

He had admitted that, except as a 
necessity for war, both sea and land 
planes were as yet the fad of luxury, 
just as automobiles had been during 
bygone years. Until the air machines 
could be made “foolproof” and their 
traffic planted upon a sound commercial 
basis, the banks could not be expected 
to back companies making the planes, 
Hathaway argued. But because of this 
very situation he hoped to win success 
for the devices which had taken form 
mentally if not materially from his ex- 
perience. 

“Mrs.” Harriet of the reassumed 
maiden name, with a shrewdness prob- 
ably inherited from a father whose 
wealth had been amassed by manu- 
facturing, had drawn him out to a 
greater degree than he had intended to 
go. Their talk had been climaxed by 
her offer to finance him through the 
stages of experimentation. 

The proposition had been generous 
and “without strings.” And Great 
Joy’s taunt that he would be “aided by 
alimony” was unmerited, as Harriet 
Gardner had means of her own and took 
nothing from the husband whose be- 
havior had forced her to cast him out 
of her life. Even her kindly insistence 
had jarred upon the islander’s independ- 
ence, had wounded the pride of the last 
of a line who, since the long-ago of 
Nantucket’s whaling glory, had prided 
themselves as sailing on and by their 
own. 

He had declined the offer with a hint 


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of the support which he then considered 
he had reason to expect from Uncle 
Absalom and had tried to dismiss the 
unpleasant matter from his mind. In 
midwinter, however, he had heard in 
a roundabout way that inquiries were 
being made as to his progress and could 
well imagine such answers as had been 
sent. 

“I’ve been busy as a swordfish at the 
end of a harpoon line since spring let 
me out of doors, Mrs. Gardner.” He 
squared his shoulders and spoke with 
the best grace possible. “I haven’t had 
a single social thought.” 

“Not even a Joyous one?” 

There was point to her question. He 
wondered whether by chance she had 
motored past his open-faced workshop 
that morning during Great’s stolen visit. 
Uneasily conscious of the antipathy 
which had shown at the first meeting of 
the two so opposite in type, he deter- 
mined that if he could prevent it the 
woman of the world should not score 
against the island girl. To ignore her 
lead seemed the most courteous course. 

“The winter brought disappointment; 
in fact, necessitated a complete change 
in my plans,” he said pleasantly enough. 

She arched her reddish brows. “Your 
uncle? Your plans were too advanced 
for his vision?” 

“Uncle Ab captained his own ships 
so long there’s little hope of his ever 
consenting that any one else chart the 
course, especially a nephew who he 
can’t realize has grown up.” 

The smile of her wide red lips re- 
laxed. She looked genuinely regretful. 
“Why don’t you bring the plans you’ve 
perfected this winter up to the house 
and go over them with me? You’d be 
entertaining me to let me try to help.” 

Interruption more deplorable than his 
doubt broke the moment. In her “fliv- 
ver,” otherwise known as the “Joy bus,” 
that little, big person whom he usually 
was delighted to see more than any 
one else in the world, but now the least, 
came rattling toward them, evidently 
headed back to town. 

“Where away?” Paul Hathaway 
asked, as she was about to pass. 

“Telegraph office,” she called back. 


“Wreckmaster’s message has got to go 
without delay.” 

Harriet’s purplish eyes studied with 
a sympathetic look the reflex of annoy- 
ance on the young man’s usually care- 
free countenance. “That’s the awfully 
pretty native with the awfully ugly 
name, isn’t it?” she asked. 

“Right both ways,” he replied em- 
phatically. 

“Why in the world doesn’t she change 
it?” 

“Change just what— that rattletrap 
go-buggy, her mean way of running 
past her friends, or ” 

“Her name, of course. Mary Joy or 
Alice Joy ; with almost any other first 
name which she could select she’d get 
along. But Great Joy ! Why, it makes 
her a joke !” 

Hathaway looked after the speeding 
car wistfully. “You see,” he explained, 
“she didn’t choose the name herself and 
old Prince thought he was paying her 
a compliment. He’d planted it in gen- 
eral usage before she was old enough 
to spill the christening cup. Her idea, 
and, for that matter, the idea of most 
unmarried male islanders, is to take 
her out of the joke class by changing 
her last name, not her first.” 

Harriet nodded, still eying him sym- 
pathetically. “Probably she herself 
thinks that would be the simplest way 
and the pleasantest. Great Smith or 
Jones or Brown would be unique, but 
not so impossible. And, of course, she 
might do better than that. Great Hath- 
away, for instance !” 

“It does sound better; in fact, it 
sounds fine to me.” - 

Hathaway nodded back at Harriet; 
he returned her smile. He did not, 
however, feel consoled that an all-ob- 
serving pair of dark eyes should have 
seen him apparently absorbed at the 
window of the fair divorcee’s car. The 
brown, strong little hand which had 
lifted a moment from the flivver’s wheel 
had waved just a bit too jauntily for 
his peace of mind. The Great girl’s 
smile had been too joyous for sincerity. 

“When will you be around, Paul? 
To-night?” 

At the demand of his would-be bene- 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 147 


factress, he tried to return his full at- 
tention to her. “Not to-night, Mrs. 
Harriet. The truth is this — although 
you are as full of kind thoughts as 
usual and ready to back them up ” 

“Mrs. Harriet ?” she interrupted. 
“Weren’t we further along than that 
last fall? Anyhow, let’s start further 
along. Leave off that hateful prefix 
which brought me unhappiness a plenty 
and to spare. Don’t make me begin all 
over with you after every winter away 
from our island. And, for your own 
sake, remember the need of haste. Some 
one just might anticipate your inven- 
tions a season or so. That would dis- 
appoint me almost as much as you. 
Come, Paul, be sensible and — and kind.” 

For the first time Hathaway was 
tempted. She seemed to throw out some 
sort of spell as she leaned toward him. 
The warm color of her, the invitation 
of her velvet lips, the wistfulness of her 
eyes— all urged. Yet he did not need 
to think of his little, great love to fight, 
to resist. For his own sake, he must 
throw out fenders against this fascinat- 
ing creature and her overtures. 

“Mrs. Harriet — just Harriet, if you 
like — you are too generous,” he said. 
“I could have stood for disappointing 
my uncle. He’s in the family and one’s 
family gets used to being disappointed 
in one, but there are too many chances 
against me to risk involving any one 
outside. I thank you, but I’ve worked 
out a way of helping myself across the 
first expensive air pockets. If my plans 
go into a tail spin, there’ll be nobody 
hurt but myself.” 

“I thought it was money you most 
needed. If your crusty old uncle has 
refused you, how can you get enough 
financial backing?” 

Briefly he acquainted her with the 
existence of the plane which he had com- 
pleted during the winter under expecta- 
tion of profit from passengers. He dis- 
liked to go into such small-sounding de- 
tails before this woman of large wealth. 
But he owed her something, and he 
hoped that his effort would end the 
interview. 

She stared at him. “You mean that 
you’re going to be an— a sort of air 


hackman?” she asked with trembling 
voice. 

“A taxi bandit of the sky, yes.” He 
laughed. “And if I charge enough fare 
and get enough passengers ” 

“You must charge enough! As for 
passengers, say, I’ll help make sky-rid- 
ing with you a fad. Book me this very 
minute for the first flight, will you?” 

The suddenness of the tack she had 
taken — with her quick reversal from 
contempt to enthusiasm — was so unex- 
pected as almost to take his breath. 
There was nothing left to do but take 
her at her word and declare her 
“booked” for the very first pay flight 
after Yutu and he had finished testing 
his homemade flyer. 

“I was afraid you had something im- 
practical in mind,” the widow contin- 
ued; “for instance, that you had put 
your faith in this coconut-oil cargo with 
the rest of your foolish fellow islanders. 
I’m going now to fill my boots with sand 
just to have a close-up of their futile 
labors.” 

Unaided, she descended from the car 
and indicated that the chauffeur was to 
wait for her. 

“Foolish?” Hathaway asked. “Futile 
labors ?” There was deeper concern 
than he was ready to admit back of 
his questions. 

“I’ve heard that they believe it worth 
hundreds of dollars a ton,” she ex- 
plained. “It’s really too bad to see them 
wasting effort, time, and money learn- 
ing the truth. You, at least, are show- 
ing superior common sense in turning 
your back on the excitement. I’m glad 
you aren’t taken in. When you get 
around to a social thought, Paul, re- 
member that our latchstring is always 
out for you.” 

Halfway up the beach he turned and 
glanced somewhat guiltily back at her. 
He had not confessed himself on his 
way to hire a boat and strike out for a 
whale of a share of those “tons and 
tons” of the congealed oil. The house 
of Gardner had made its fortune out 
of soap; from that fact they had called 
their island place The Suds. And the 
daughter thereof pronounced their flot- 
sam dross! 


148 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


CHAPTER IV. 

PURPLE PARADISE. 

C?OR a week the salvage of coconut 
* oil continued with no abatement. 
Safe it is to say that Nantucket had 
not been so oily since those “good old 
whaling days.” As the wind continued 
its drive the harvest heightened and 
thickened. At exposed points, such as 
Beachside, it became possible to load a 
wagon in fifteen minutes. The fishing 
fleet accepted the invitation of what 
seemed Providence and brought in full 
cargoes, some of the chunks caught be- 
ing as large as bureaus. 

After the first day or two, the glean- 
ings of household salvors shrank into 
insignificance. For them the novelty 
soon wore oflf. Then, too, the island 
stores ran out of lye and potash. But 
at that, every other kitchen or yard had 
some sort of soap kettle going. Cer- 
tainly the folks of Nantucket will have 
no excuse for not keeping as clean as 
its air and sands for years to come. 

The interesting discovery was made 
that fish or clams which were fried in 
the oil took on a new and, some thought, 
superior flavor. The local editor was 
called upon to settle a dispute over the 
spelling of the word that temporarily 
fell most often from village tongues. 
Should or shouldn’t it carry an “a?” 
The conclusion in time was reached and 
generally accepted that the cocoa bean 
of beverage fame came from an entirely 
different tree. At that, there are stub- 
born islanders who still think of coco- 
nut with that “a” of argument, for they 
are wondrous debaters on that out-at- 
sea paradise of purple. 

Paul Hathaway did not hire the idle 
clam digger, as had been his intention 
before his meeting with Mrs. Harriet 
Gardner. Acting on her statement, 
presumedly authoritative, that the con- 
gealed white tide was not bumping for- 
tune to the island, he had paused on 
his return to the harbor at the 
Athenaeum Library and from the tomes 
shelved there had convinced himself that 
the tallowlike substance was scarcely 
worth the saving. 

Except for the small quantity of it 


that could be utilized in Nantucket for 
soap making, its value was too doubtful 
to occupy the time of an otherwise busy 
man. Whatever it might have been 
worth if pumped clean from the hold 
of the tanker at the New York soap 
works to which it was consigned, the 
oleaginous stuff, after its protracted 
bath in salt water and its several han- 
dlings since, would need expert refine- 
ment to be marketable, a costly opera- 
tion in itself and , one that must cause 
shrinkage in bulk. 

Although Hathaway might have been 
excused for considering that he had a 
collection of all sorts of laughs coming 
to him in return for the fun that had 
been poked at his seaplane project, he 
was too loyal a Nantucketer to hold back 
his information. And once again he 
found himself a prophet without honor. 
As well might he have tried to stop 
the rise and fall of the tide swirling in 
and out through the stone jetty as to 
control the prevailing salvage obsession. 

This he had been made to appreciate 
rather acutely immediately after his in- 
vestigation at the Athenaeum. As he 
was descending the steps of the classic 
white structure — justifiably the town’s 
pride — he saw his Great girl about to 
whiz around the corner in her remark- 
ably wabbling car. 

Hathaway noticed at once that, al- 
though she ground down the brakes and 
brought the “bus” to a quick stop be- 
side the curb, she had no smile for him. 
He had one for her, however. A dis- 
positional policy of his was to make up 
for the frowns of others with his own 
good humor. 

“I want to tell you, Joy o’ Life, not 
to bother collecting those chunks of 
grease on the water front with any hope 
of trading them for a flock of summer 
frocks,” he began. “By the time we 
could get it to market it would be worth 
about as much as seaweed or oyster 
shells. I looked it up in the library.” 

“So! You've been looking it up?” 
The snap of her glance punctuated the 
pithy comment. “How studious of you 
to go and read up in books what you 
could learn so much easier with your 
eyes !” 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 


149 


“There’s more to it than you can learn 
with your eyes,” he protested. T T want 
to tell you first of all that ” 

But his Joy was not minded to be 
told; she positively would not let him 
proceed with his discouragement. 

“And how popular your discoveries 
will make you with your fellow cits!” 
she interrupted. “All right, Paul. Let 
fortune slip through your grasp after 
your usual careless way, but don’t try 
to spoil the other fellow’s fun.” 

“It is carefulness that makes me tell 
you in time,” he returned. “The oil 
is scarcely worth cartage from the beach. 
I doubt at best if it brings day wages.” 

“And whom am I to believe?” she 
asked, with a scorn that left small doubt. 
“My dad has just received a telegram 
from Boston — the Silver ton called in 
there with other cargo, you know — to 
the effect that your no-good cargo is 
valued at something around three hun- 
dred thousand dollars.” 

All to no effect did he explain that 
this valuation was a potential one — that 
of oil undefiled. Her intolerant man- 
ner, so hard to endure after her gen- 
tle palship of that early morning, in- 
creased rather than diminished under 
his efforts to reestablish himself in her 
favor. 

Miss Joy reached for the gears. “No, 
Paul,” she declared with what he ex- 
cused as inherited unreasonableness. 
“You’d better take my tip instead of 
trying to force yours on me. Keep your 
gloom to yourself and let others accept 
the gift of the gods, even if you’re too 
indolent or suspicious or something to 
do so yourself. I’m just bright enough 
to guess that you didn’t get your infor- 
mation out of books so much as from 
a certain lady whom you seem to like 
a whole lot better than you’ll admit. The 
motive of Harriet Gardner wouldn’t be 
so hard for you to see if you weren’t 
just naturally blinded by the sight of 
her.” 

“Motive, Great? What motive could 
she possibly have?” 

“Stupid! -What motive could any 
rich vamp have for keeping you from 
grabbing your share of this free for- 
tune? Maybe it’s altogether on account 


of the family business. And yet, again, 
maybe it isn’t. Far be it from me to 
enlighten you. Think it over yourself.” 
With these veiled utterances, she 
stepped on the accelerator and drove on, 
at her usual mad pace, toward the beach. 

After efforts in several less confiden- 
tial quarters to stem the tide of over- 
confidence, Hathaway had been made to 
realize that she was not the only native 
who had noticed his interview of the 
morning with the millionaire soap mak- 
er’s daughter. Perforce, he had re- 
turned to his workshop and let the some- 
thing-for-nothing fever run its course. 

And run it did. “Coconut oil” was the 
one subject of conversation in the “loaf 
shops,” at lodge meetings, in homes, and 
at church socials. The drug stores were 
depleted of their stores of essence of 
lavender and sassafras, with which the 
oil soap might be given a pleasanter 
odor than it had brought from the 
groves of Ceylon. The neighbors were 
either swapping recipes for its making 
or testing samples by scrubbing every- 
thing in sight with the next-door prod- 
uct. 

Crossing Brandt Point Road one aft- 
ernoon the young reservist had met one 
of the island clergymen carrying home 
a sack of grease; behind him was his 
wife, pushing the sacred baby carriage 
piled high with the strange “manna” 
from — not heaven, but the sea. Still 
the wind prevailed from the northeast 
and sent surging shoreward the con- 
gealed flood. 

When Friday evening came, there was 
a summary of the situation in the local 
newspaper. It read: 

Since our last issue, Nantucket has talked 
coconut oil, wallowed in coconut oil, almost 
eaten coconut oil. Never was a place so 
greased before and probably never will place 
be again. The old whaling days, with the 
blubber and sperm, were as nothing com- 
pared to the unctiousness of the present. 
Every wagon one sees has signs of white 
coconut oil plastered somewhere upon it. 
Automobiles are well greased exteriorly, as 
well as wrthin their works. Back yards, 
streets, and docks reek with the peculiar 
scent. 

Clearly the experience is one that makes 
Nantucket either fortunate or unfortunate. 
We pray the sea gods that they have not 
excited our people in' vain over their un- 


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usual offering. # Men have set aside their 
regular labors in order to go out by team, 
auto, or boat to glean the fortune floating 
around their island home. Never was fellow- 
ship through a common pursuit more strong. 

And now comes Captain Prince Joy, our 
official wreckmaster, to tilt the flagon of 
hope at which so many of his townsmen 
have been sipping. He declares that, in the 
name of the State, he will take charge of 
the tons upon tons that have been gathered 
and hold the same for the original owners. 

Just before dinner, Paul Hathaway 
had read thus far in the most important 
piece of news of the week, when he 
tossed the blanket-sized sheet upon the 
center table and made for his hat. He 
answered neither his aunt's warning that 
the biscuits would be done in a jiffy 
nor his uncle's query about what had 
excited him. He couldn’t wait for food 
any more than he could with safety ex- 
plain to Captain Absalom w'hat he felt 
urged to do. Straight up Main Street 
he strode to the quaint brick homestead 
of the family of Joy. 

Well he knew that old Prince hated 
him, because of his close relationship 
with Absalom Hathaway, as an island 
farmer hates a fox. Not since boyhood 
days, when orphanage had forced him 
to take residence with his uncle and 
aunt, had the captain so much as noticed 
him when they chanced to pass, no mat- 
ter how narrow the street or lane. 
Never had Hathaway crossed the 
threshold of the hostile skipper. 

However, Prince Joy, at his grumpi- 
est, most unreasonable state, was the 
little Great girl's parent. At whatever 
cost to his own pride, he felt that she 
must be spared the humiliation of hav- 
ing her father take over the oil which 
the villagers had salvaged and stored. 

For once Hathaway approved the 
penchant of Colonial ’Tucketers for 
crowding their houses as close to the 
pavements as possible. There was now 
no gate to open or front yard to tra- 
verse. Up three steps to a small stoop 
he leaped and faced a brass plate which 
read: Captain Prince Joy Lives Here. 

Above, an eagle — also of brass — 
spread its wings in readiness to serve 
as a knocker, in defiance of the old- 
fashioned bell on the right which jin- 
gled cheerfully within when one pulled 


the handle far out. On a chance that 
the family were at supper in the rear 
of the mansion, the unexpected caller 
pulled this bell. His summons was an- 
swered almost at once by the daughter 
of the house, looking more homy — and 
far less formidable — in her bib and 
tucker than this particular one of her 
hard-tried suitors ever had seen her be- 
fore. 

“Paul — you?” She gasped at sight 
of him. “What in the world brings you 
here?” 

“I came, your highness, to see the 
Prince, your father. A matter that 
could not wait a moment longer.” 

His effort at cheerful reply served 
only to increase the astonishment oh her 
flushed face. 

“You must be stark mad, Paul Hatha- 
way, if you think you can stam- 
pede ” The embarrassment that 

slowed her wontedly facile tongue must 
have been due to thoughts which had 
outrun her words; certainly it was not 
because of anything either as yet had 
said. 

Since that first day of the wreck, 
when Harriet Gardner had advised 
Hathaway of the very negligible value 
of the coconut-oil harvest. Great neither 
had seen nor heard from her handi- 
capped friend and admirer. For her 
to assume now that he still preferred 
her to the colorful widow of such su- 
perior advantages bordered on the hu- 
morous. 

Her proud little head tossed, and her 
lips set tight when Paul laughed his 
lightest. 

“Much as I'd enjoy being mad enough 
to think I could stampede you into re- 
ceiving me against princely edict, if 
that's what you were about to say, I'm 
afraid I'm not up to it — not yet.” With 
the emphasis, Hathaway lowered his 
voice and head. “And I won't be, Joy 
o' Life, until I have a snug harbor in 
which to offer you refuge. It's hard 
for me to w r ait, but ” Unfortu- 

nately his voice had not been lowered 
quite low enough. 

“Hard for who to wait, eh? Who's 
cluttering up the doorway now, Great, 
settin' up to you?” Gruff was the in- 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 151 


terruption and unceremonious the hand 
that shoved to one side the slender girl. 

Hathaway found himself facing the 
amazed fury of the hardest-fisted clip- 
per master that ever had . hoisted his 
blue-white-and-blue at the back of the 
bar. 

“You — a Hathaway — on my front 
stoop ?” 

“I’ve come, sir, thinking that you’d 
rather I’d say what I have to say to 
you here than down on the square.” 
Hathaway spoke quietly and pleasantly 
enough, although every pound of the old 
tar’s overweight was quivering from ill- 
suppressed rage. 

A heavy hand reached out and 
grasped the shoulder of her who was 
the best-beloved of both. “Back to your 
ma, you Jezebel!” the retired captain 
commanded his daughter. “I’ll settle 
with you after I’ve scuttled this pirate.” 

As Great backed away, on her pretty 
face a red mantle of injury, old Prince 
took a forward lurch. 

But Hathaway stood his ground and 
said with his most agreeable firmness: 
“I hope you’ll hear me out, because 
you’re wrong in assuming that I came 
here to pay court to the princess of the 
Isle.” 

“Ho, you didn’t, you say? Why, I’d 
like to know, didn’t you, then?” 

“For reasons, sir, that you know far 
better than I. Not but what I’d like 
to. But you’re a reasonable man — you 
don’t blame me for that.” 

“Don’t know that I am so reasonable 
where you and your tribe are concerned. 
What, say, did you come for?” 

Apparently it was not going to be 
easy, this mission on which Hathaway 
had sent himself. But he had not sup- 
posed that it would be. And service 
may well be measured by the difficulty 
thereof. He’d lunge into it, assuming 
that there had been preface enough. 

“I came to talk with you about this 
coconut oil and your supposed job of 
wreckmaster.” 

“Supposed job? What do you mean, 
you barnacle-grown hulk of insolence?” 
For a moment Prince Joy stared the 
question with burning eyes. “Of course 
I ain’t been gathering oil. But as an 


official of the Commonwealth of Massa- 
chusetts ” 

“That’s just what you aren’t,” Hath- 
away interrupted. “There’s no such 
office as wreckmaster in this State any 
longer. It was abolished several years 
ago, at a time when folks were not pay- 
ing particular attention to politics be- 
cause of the war. There’s been no 
wreck here in that time or you’d have 
known. Excuse me for speaking 
plainly, but you have no more right or 
authority to take charge of this ship- 
wrecked oil than I have. For Great’s 

sake I don’t intend to see you ” 

Hathaway might better have let his mo- 
tive go unmentioned. 

“Ho, you don’t, you length of kelp? 

For Great’s sake you don’t intend 

Say, you think I care what you don’t 
or do? You dare stand on my stoop 
and defy my authority as an official of 
the greatest commonwealth in this coun- 
try!” 

He sputtered to a stop through very 
force of his indignation. To hear from 
the nephew of his bitterest enemy that 
the honor from the State of which he 
was so proud was nonexitent was too 
much effrontery, without having the 
name of his daughter offered as an ex- 
cuse. Pulling his leonine head down 
between his shoulders, in a fashion now 
and then used in quelling the mutinies 
of younger days, the venerable skipper 
started in earnest for the overbold 
enemy. 

Still, for Great’s sake, Hathaway de- 
cided that this self-sought interview had 
better end. That Prince Joy now real- 
ized that he knew the emptiness of 
his claim to authority was threat enough 
for one night. Hathaway had sounded 
his warning — had w’on the evening’s 
battle. There are cases where flight is 
valor. Surely this — with the fat fa- 
ther of the slim girl one adores on ram- 
page — was one of them! 

CHAPTER V. 

IIIS SEA INHERITANCE. 

DY Monday word of the wholesale 
u gleaning of congealed coconut oil 
had reached the outer world and brought 
pointed inquiry from the underwriters 


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and owners of the dumped cargo of the 
Silver ton. Whatever the value of it in 
its salvaged state, they evidently in- 
tended to make sure of the half to 
which they were entitled by law. 

Tuesday’s steamer brought a pair of 
cargo surveyors to the greased island — 
well-groomed New Yorkers who regis- 
tered at the Roberts House as Arthur 
Westgate and H. P. Lussiar. Shortly 
after their arrival the town crier passed 
the word of a mass meeting for that 
afternoon on Old North wharf to which 
all who had gathered and stored any of 
the oil in quantity were bidden. 

Meantime Paul Hathaway had 
deemed it advisable to justify in the 
sight of his uncle the inactive part he 
had taken regarding the salvage. In a 
night letter to a Brooklyn oil concern 
he had set forth the facts at issue and 
asked a wholesale price on the lot. The 
answer fully had sustained his position, 
even as it had forecast bitter disappoint- 
ment for the townsfolk who had la- 
bored so strenuously to accept the gift 
of the sea. 

At that, young Hathaway had no in- 
tention of wasting an afternoon on the 
meeting until, quite by chance, he 
learned the identity of the self-appointed 
escort of the two surveyors from their 
hotel to the wharf. Their route led 
past hi s’ arbor-front workshop where he 
was occupied over his nearly completed 
seaplane. 

At the sound of brisk steps, he 
glanced up to see Rupert Gardner, the 
fair Harriet’s less fair elder brother, 
passing in close conversation with the 
two strangers. Af once he decided that, 
after all, he could and would find time 
to answer that particular call of the 
town crier. Laying aside his tools, but 
making certain that his coat pocket con- 
tained the offer telegraphed from 
Brooklyn, he followed to the wharf at 
a 'pace which he hoped had a casual 
look. 

Toward Rupert Gardner, Hathaway 
cherished a dislike that was of long 
standing and had persisted against all 
efforts of the grass-widowed sister to 
wipe out. Its start had been a social 
rebuff several years previous, on an 


occasion when only Harriet’s tact had 
saved him from downright humiliation. 
Later growth had come with the florid 
manufacturer’s intolerance pf the 
islanders and their ways — an attitude 
that usually is confined to “trippers” 
and from which the cottage element as 
a class is singularly free. 

Hathaway detested the New Yorker 
for the lengths to which he would go in 
aiming his rather coarse grade of jokes 
at the ’Tucketers. This cordial dislike, 
coupled with the fact that Gardner was 
in the soap business, at once had aroused 
in Hathaway the suspicion that some 
scheme was on foot to deprive the local 
beach combers even of the small return 
that was due their time and toil. At 
any rate, he had decided to take the 
precaution of being on hand with his 
legitimate offer in case any “raw deal” 
showed its blood. 

Nearly two hundred men and boys 
had preceded him, crowding the wharf, 
and milling restlessly despite Squid 
Mahong’s efforts to police them. Most 
still were laboring under the excitement 
caused by the original estimate of the 
oil’s worth. All were suspicious and 
determined to hold out for their 
“rights.” Among the first whom the 
reservist naval officer met face to face 
was Prince Joy. That irascible's scowl 
did not surprise him, for he had heard 
through circuitous sources that the fam- 
ily enemy had confirmed his report by 
a telegram to the statehouse in Boston. 

Presently came word from inside the 
wharf office: “You Nantucketers ap- 
point a committee and come into the of- 
fice to talk it over.” 

At once dissension arose among the 
holders of the oil. “You tell ’em, 
cap’n, to come outside and talk it over 
with us,” was the crowd’s ultimatum. 

This the younger Hathaway approved 
silently and the older out loud, chiefly 
on the ground that he’d be hanged to 
a yardarm if he’d talk anything over 
in the same cabin with Prince Joy. 

Of the two visitors who responded, 
Westgate, the younger, acted as spokes- 
man so soon as the crowd had pressed 
into close enough formation for all to 
hear. 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 


153 


“Gentlemen,” he began pleasantly, 
“we are here representing the owners 
of this cargo and the marine board of 
underwriters, who have insured it, to 
see what you intend to do with the coco- 
nut oil you have secured. You probably 
think that you have something 
which belongs to you because you have 
found it. It is my painful duty to tell 
you that you have not. Every lump of 
that grease can be taken away from 
you legally.” 

A volunteer piped up for the Nan- 
tucketers: “We've got our eyes open. 
We have had experience with this sort 
of thing for many years. We've saved 
oil before, and sugar, and all kinds of 
wrecked goods. We happen to know 
that salvors have some rights just as 
well as the owners and insurers of cargo. 
We don’t intend to swallow any raw 
meat 'tween meals, and you can stoke 
that in your pipe and smoke it until 
it makes you sick!” 

“And I can tell you men another 
thing.” The visitor showed no discom- 
fiture. “Every one of you can be put 
in jail for ten years.” 

“Holy mackerel!” bellowed a doughty 
oysterman* “How come you to say 
every one of us, when the 'Tucket jail 
holds only two prisoners to a time?” 

The truthful statement of the jail's 
small capacity scored. There could be 
no order in the mass meeting after that 
— not without an interval. Amid shouts 
of derision and threats, an adjournment 
was taken until after supper, when all 
interested were to assemble in the town 
hall. 

That this structure was jammed as 
an overcrowded sardine box long be- 
fore the appointed hour ought to go 
without saying, for coconut oil certainly 
was a cohesive subject. Again Paul 
Hathaway accompanied his uncle; he 
waited and watched, convinced by now 
that unless some effective plan of ship- 
ping the oil to New York could be 
formed his fellow townsmen would lose 
their little all. 

When the issue is with off-islanders, 
Nantucket town meetings usually are 
hard to handle. That night there was 
considerable preliminary wrangling. 


Then came the low offer which Hatha- 
way was expecting — two cents a pound. 
This was made by the spokesman repre- 
sentative of the underwriters. If Ru- 
pert Gardner had a hand therein, it was 
not disclosed. 

“Two per? You call that an offer?” 
came shouted objection from Elihu 
Shearman, Paul Hathaway's particular 
friend despite disparity of ages. Shift- 
ing his quid of tobacco, the old sea- 
farer added: “I’ll leave mine in my barn 
first — leave her to melt !” 

He well might have been expressing 
the opinion of the entire native contin- 
gent. x 

“You can cook it or swim in it,” the 
second of the strangers found his feet 
to interpose, “but you must understand 
that you don't own this oil. All you 
have is a claim in it. Delivered in good 
condition, it would be worth seven cents, 
but now it is only what we know as oil 
drainage. One half the net proceeds 
is all you’re entitled to. It won't break 
us if we don't get anything out of it. 
But if you don't get anything, you're 
going to be some disappointed. Come, 
my dear friends, be sensible! Has any- 
body heard of a better price than the 
two cents we offer?” 

“Somewhat better !” Like detonation 
of a bomb Paul Hathaway's reply rang 
out. 

A stir went through the hall. His in- 
terference was all the more sensational 
because all knew that he had been off 
the oil salvage from the first. Striding 
to the platform, he proceeded to read 
his Brooklyn telegram, which offered 
four and a half cents a pound for the 
grease. He added the explanation that 
this meant about fourteen dollars a ton 
as the 'Tucketers' share. 

From old Prince Joy the feud spirit 
flared. “How do we know that offer's 
any good — that we won't be squeezed 
out of our oil?” 

“How you going to know? Well, I'll 
tell you !” Not the younger Hathaway 
answered the challenge, but Captain 
Absalom. And once on his feet at the 
call of his enemy, he'd not get off them 
until he had his say. 

“I'll guarantee that there offer's 


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good,” he went on. “And what’s more, 
I'll voyage the oil to Brooklyn in the 
Kingfisher , Capt’n Paul Hathaway, late 
of the U. S. N., master. If there’s any 
here present says that schooner ain’t 
clean enough to carry feather beds or 
that her new skipper can be beat, let 
him up and open the argument with me 
— just let him up and open!” 

The meeting broke up completely as 
a result of the islanders’ triumph. And 
the nephew of his uncle was perhaps the 
most excited, if the least vociferous, of 
the crowd. Such a tail to the kite of 
his endeavor in behalf of his fellow 
townsmen had been the last of his ex- 
pectations. And there was a thrill to 
the belated reminder that blood ran 
thicker even than oil in his difficult old 
relative’s veins which lifted him above 
the fortuitous issue. With the enthusi- 
astic congratulations showered upon 
him of those who, of late days, had eyed 
him askance, Hathaway could not help 
wondering whether the sea, after all his 
flights into upper air, did hold his in- 
heritance. 

At any rate, for one round-trip voy- 
age to the port of New York in the 
family-owned Kingfisher , he promised 
himself to live up to the precepts of 
that long line of Hathaway captains 
who never had understood what the 
word failure meant. 

CHAPTER VI. 

MAKING HISTORY. 

IT was three o’clock on the afternoon 
* of the third day after that memora- 
ble town meeting. Captain Paul Hatha- 
way, newly made master of the mer- 
chant marine, had a freshly painted sign 
hung in the after-rigging, where it 
might easily be read from the wharf 
at the end of which he had moored 
the Kingfisher. The letters of black on 
a strip of white canvas read : No More 
Oil Accepted. Vessel Full. 

Indeed, the trim schooner was loaded 
to her last hundredweight and in rec- 
ord time. It seemed that the ’Tucketers 
were as anxious to get rid of their 
white elephant of the sea as they had 
been to capture it. Once the Hathaway 


proposition had been accepted the con- 
gealed oil had begun not to pour in, but 
to be dumped in from most unexpected 
sources. 

The South Wharf had not seen such 
activity since the times before coal oil, 
and was even more thoroughly greased. 
The most patent differences were that 
instead of sperm this was coconut and 
instead of being carried on the curi- 
ously trundling, old-fashioned oil carts, 
this was transported largely on motor 
trucks. 

The public nature of this most pe- 
culiar enterprise was recognized, by 
more than the two Hathaways who had 
stepped into the breach to save their 
fellows from being imposed upon. All 
oil carriers nad to be weighed both ways 
— when bound down the wharf laden 
with oil and on returning empty — that 
individual credit might be given for the 
supply put aboard. The Island Service 
Company generously did this weighing 
and checking, without making the usual 
scale charge, that local gleanings might 
not be further diminished. 

At the schooner’s side barrels and 
sacks were placed on chutes and slid into 
the hold through both hatches. There 
a force of volunteer stevedores stowed 
it away in the closest possible space. Not 
until the hold was brimful and the deck, 
from after-house to foremast, carried as 
much of a load as the young skipper 
deemed safe to carry, was the no-more- 
oil sign put up. 

“Mighty nigh four hundred tons 
aboard,” declared Absalom Hathaway, 
on climbing to the after deck from the 
waist of the schooner where, in shirt 
sleeves, he had been ceaselessly active 
as chief stevedore. 

He extended a grimy, congratulatory 
hand to the young relative who had been 
climbing so rapidly in his estimation by 
the ladder of fulfilling the veteran 
will. 

“There’s still some oil ashore,” said 
Paul Hathaway regretfully. “But we 
can’t stretch the oak ribs of this craft. 
It will have to be held for the local soap 
experts.” 

“Your crew all signed on?” 

The old owner nodded approvingly as 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 


155 


his nephew named those he had chosen, 
from his friend Elihu Shearman, who 
had been proud to ship as mate, down 
to a couple of chaps who had sailed 
under him in an Eagle boat during the 
war. 

“If you hit it off with them all right," 
the older tar continued, “and I’ve a 
hunch from windward that you will, 
they'll make a fine start for — for some- 
thing Tve got in mind again' your re- 
turn." 

“Say, Uncle Ab, you're not reverting 

back to that old idea of my. " Paul 

Hathaway stopped short, realizing the 
sudden sharpness in his tone and not 
wishing to revive the old issue between 
them at this crucial time. 

“There, there, son," his uncle said in 
an effort to calm. “Let's not get into 
no arguments until after you've tasted 
the salt from offen your own decks. 
If I ain’t mistaken the blood that's in 
you will tell a story of its own. Tell 
me, who are them ladies hanging out on 
the wharf near the ladder?" 

The younger man turned on the bin- 
nacle box upon which he had been rest- 
ing and glanced in a direction pointed 
by Captain Absalom’s stubby fore- 
finger. There, to his consternation, he 
recognized Harriet Gardner, her maiden 
aunt, and Mrs. Allison, a sprightly 
young matron who occupied the cottage 
on the cliffs next The Suds. Without 
making any movement toward the 
schooner's rail, he identified them for 
his nearsighted old relative. 

“Well, by darn!" chuckled the vet- 
eran. “I'm a jellyfish if this ain't just 
like clipper times. Ladies alongside on 
the eve of sailing, eh? Us Hathaway 
captains always was sprucelike. 'Tis 
a good omen, son, and I trust you know 
your manners." 

The younger man did know the law 
of ship’s hospitality, but he would have 
been glad to waive it this afternoon on 
the ground that an oil-laden schooner 
wasn't any sort of place to entertain 
the frail and fair. Even so well chap- 
eroned as was the widow on this occa- 
sion, he disliked to invite her aboard, 
foreknowing that the news would flutter 
like a blackbird up Main Street ahead 


of her return that she had come to see 
him off. 

Soon Paul Hathaway heard Harriet's 
call. “Oh, sailorman, can you tell us 
whether your skipper, Captain Paul 
Hathaway is aboard?" 

The sailor — no other than Captain 
Absalom, who had ambled over to the 
rail — chortled audibly over his reply, 
doubtless at being taken for a hand on 
his own ship. “He is that, ma'am. I'll 
have him here on the wings of the wind 
to show the likes of you up our side 
steps." 

Back he rolled across the deck to his 
reluctant nephew, dragged him off the 
binnacle box, and gave him a starting 
shove toward the ladder head. “Re- 
member, the Kingfisher's your first real 
ship. Do your prettiest by her," was 
his rasped admonition. 

Forced to it, Hathaway conducted 
himself as gallantly as ever had Hatha- 
way skipper of past generations. The 
tide being high, the quarter-deck was 
raised five or six feet above the wharf 
and reached by a ship’s ladder of flat 
wooden rungs strung together by rope. 
The positive safety of this he protested 
overside to his uninvited guests, after 
an exchange of deck-to-dock greetings. 

“If you’ll reach down and take a very 
tight hold on me," suggested Harriet 
with a brilliant, upthrown smile, “I ex- 
pect — I hope I can make it." 

“I hope — I'm sure you can." His re- 
turn was dubious only through a thought 
of the agility with which his Joy girl 
would have scaled that ladder. Why, 
he wondered, are large women so sel- 
dom satisfied with their inheritance? 
Why do they insist on understudying 
their lithe little sisters? 

Hathaway regretted the insincerity of 
his seeming pleasure in reaching over 
the rail with the assistance required. 
Scarcely could he hide his provocation, 
when, as Harriet Gardner, a vision in 
green linen, stepped over the rail — he'd 
have sworn she did it on purpose — she 
clutched him in what seemed more an 
embrace than an attempt to right her- 
self. 

Doubtless the moment was shorter 
than it seemed to him, but long enough 


156 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


for, her cheek to brush his and for the 
perfume from the reddish curls that 
blew beneath the rim of the straw tur- 
ban she was wearing to get into his 
breath disturbingly. Uncle Absalom's 
open guffaw at the ‘‘accident'' added to 
the victim's embarrassment and won that 
relative a scowl so fierce that he re- 
treated forward. 

Mrs. Allison, who always featured 
her smallness, suggested that she should 
be carried aboard pickaback. However, 
she did not insist upon the opera- 
tion and in time herself manipulated the 
ascent. Harriet’s aunt, thoroughly com- 
petent as old maiden ladies are wont to 
be, remarked something pertinent about 
“a bag o' meal” and proceeded to dem- 
onstrate the ease with which schooners 
safely tied to wharves should be 
boarded. 

There ensued a conversation interval 
punctuated by “oil's” and “all's,” “aw- 
fully sweet's” and “perfect^* cunning's,” 
as the three women investigated the 
after deck of the trim packet, peeked 
into the binnacle box, complained that 
the compass was round — not square, as 
they'd always heard — objected to the ab- 
sence of bread and water in the life- 
boat dangling over her stern, and went 
to the end of the cabin to survey her 
deck load of coconut oil. 

“If I'd thought, Captain Paul, I'd 
have brought you my pet monkey to act 
as mascot on this trip,” Mrs. Allison 
said gushingly. “The little dear would 
be an ideal mascot, don't you know. 
And he just simply dotes on coconut 
oil.” 

“Then think what ravage he’d make 
on my cargo,” protested Paul. “I've 
given my bond to land every pound of 
it at the Keep Clean Soap Works.” 

“I suppose you know that you’re mak- 
ing history for Nantucket and your ship 
this voyage?” Harriet asked. 

As there was no imagining to what 
she might be referring, Paul Hathaway 
looked expectantly puzzled. 

“With your departure ours becomes 
the first island of the United States ever 
to ship coconut oil,” she explained. 
“And the Kingfisher is the only ship 
ever to sail from an American port with 


such a cargo. I admire you for finding 
a way out for the befuddled natives. 
As they tell me that dollars come hard 
here in the winter and spring, I do hope 
they'll appreciate what you get for them, 
even if it isn't the fortune they ex- 
pected.” 

“They'll take the difference out of us 
summer folks, never fear,” observed the 
aunt disagreeably, as she turned from a 
point of hesitation at the head of the 
cabin companionway. “Young man, do 
you happen to have facilities for brew- 
ing tea aboard a soap boat like this? 
I’m addicted to my cup and a half, and 
my niece, for some reason known only 
to herself — unless, perhaps, to you — 
wouldn't let me wait to have it at home. 
I get positively cross if I’m deprived.” 

Hathaway shuddered as he thought 
of the result if the aunt should become 
crosser than she seemed already. 

For several minutes Hathaway 
racked his brain over what he might 
offer his surprise visitors in the way of 
refreshment. With the demand upon 
his ingenuity came remembrance of an 
old samovar, gathered in by a previous 
skipper at some foreign port of call, 
which he had noticed decorating the 
cabin sideboard. 

This he mentioned to the thirsty rela- 
tive of Harriet, offering to raid the gal- 
ley for the wherewithal if she would 
take responsibility for handling the appa- 
ratus. Miss Gardner didn't think that 
she could — she knew she could. And 
wouldn't he, please, make said raid with- 
out delay? 

Before the Russian tea urn, souve- 
nir probably of some frozen Baltic port 
in the days when czars were czars, pre- 
sided the gray-haired Miss Emeline 
Gardner; at its side the Titian-tinted 
Harriet. Across were seated the pretty 
young matron and the captain host, his 
face animated from the exertion of ac- 
complishing the small, impromptu enter- 
tainment. 

Spread lavishly upon the checkers of 
the red-and-white tablecloth were vari- 
ous brands of crackers and cakes in their 
original pasteboard containers and sev- 
eral flavors of the freshly opened jam 
and marmalade in pots, without which 


HUNTERS OF THE DEEP 157 


no self-respecting skipper would think 
of putting afloat, even in a soap boat. 

“When do you think of starting on 
this historic voyage, Mr. Captain?” 

Evidently the strong, hot brew — and 
schooner Oolong is strong, to say the 
best of it — was beginning to thaw the 
frigid spinster. 

“We go out with the tide in the early 
morning.” He chose her somewhat su- 
percilious glance to the sprightly Mrs. 
Allison’s famed coquetry. 

From a radiant smile, Harriet looked 
suddenly serious and leaned around the 
corner of the table to invite a serious 
aside with him. “There’s just one thing, 
Paul, about this seafaring philanthropy 
that disturbs me.” 

“Point it out and overboard it goes,” 
Hathaway offered recklessly for one 
who hadn’t had “a social thought” in 
recent weeks ; at least one who wouldn’t 
admit having had any. 

“That old turn turtle of an uncle will 
be so pleased with you that he’ll untie 
the purse strings and I’ll never have a 
chance of lending first aid to aviation.” 

Although she had spoken in a low, 
rapid murmur close to his ear, most of 
her remark had been overheard. At 
Miss Gardner’s slight murmur and the 
young matron’s titter, Hathaway’s face 
flamed. And at evidence that still an- 
other had heard Harriet’s tactless re- 
mark, he sprang to his feet. 

It was at this vital moment, with 
the hand of the overardent Harriet 
clutching his arm and her appealing blue 
eyes demanding his, that Fate ushered 
into the scene great distress in the per- 
son of Great Joy. 

The succeeding chapters of this novel will 
appear in the next number of TOP-NOTCH* 
dated and out February 15th. 


A Unique Museum 

HPHE city of Philadelphia boasts a mu- 
* seum unique in the history of such 
institutions. It was established in 1894, 
and is called the Philadelphia Commer- 
cial Museum. It now comprises three 
exhibition buildings, each about four 
hundred feet in length and one hundred 
feet wide. There is also a convention 


hall covering two acres, and workshops, 
besides a large power house. 

The aim of the museum is primarily 
to aid in financial and industrial devel- 
opment, but it has also become a potent 
factor in educational work. 

There are two distinct departments 
under the auspices of the institution: 
the museum of exhibits and the bureau 
of foreign trade. The former contains 
a collection of specimens representing 
not only the natural products, but also 
the chief manufactures of the various 
countries of the entire civilized world. 
Oftentimes the methods of workman- 
ship are illustrated, as in the case of 
life-size figures in the act of weaving 
matting or feeding mulberry leaves to 
silkworms, as well as models of ma- 
chinery used. 

From the extensive collection of raw 
materials, which is constantly being 
added to, sets of specimens are made 
up and donated to Pennsylvania schools 
that desire them. Colored lantern 
slides and moving-picture films repre- 
senting innumerable industries may also 
be borrowed by schools of the State. 
Special illustrated lectures are held in 
the museum for school classes, besides 
those given for the benefit of the general 
public. 

The bureau of foreign trade is the 
department which devotes its energies 
to the development of international 
commerce. It gives individual manufac- 
turers practical information on every 
phase of export trade. 

The bureau issues regularly two jour- 
nals: Commercial America , published in 
separate English and Spanish editions, 
for circulation abroad, calling the atten- 
tion* of foreign buyers to advantages of 
purchase in the United States, and the 
Weekly Export Bulletin , giving home 
manufacturers information regarding 
conditions and opportunities in foreign 
markets. 

Not So Cruel, Maude! 

/^JLADYS: “Jack Huggins fell at my 
feet the moment he saw me.” 

Maude : “Stumbled over them, I sup- 
pose ?” 


TOP-NOTCH TALK 


News and Views by the 
Editor and Readers. 


FEBRUARY 1, 1922. 


Just a Man 

^ OW and then an author writes to 
us to ask if we would like a story 
about a self-made man. We are quite 
sure to answer that we would — that 
we are always on the lookout for that 
type of story; but we might add that 
it will be enough if the .story is about 
just a man. After all, if it is about 
a man it will be about a self-made one, 
for how else is one going to be a man? 

To say that a man is self-made ex- 
presses only half a truth, at the best. 
Tennyson, the poet, made an interesting 
emendation of the old Latin proverb, 
Pocta nascitur non fit — a poet is born, 
not made. The late laureate of Eng- 
land substituted ct for non , thus making 
the proverb read, in its translation, A 
.poet is born and made. 

It cannot be denied that a man owes 
more than he knows, in his marring 
as well as his making, to heredity and 
early training, over neither of which 
forces he has any control. 

But the task of making is not com- 
pleted when he goes forth to take his 
part in the conflict of life. Then the 
self-making or self-marring processes 
begin, then it is up to him to make good 
or bad use of the start he got from 
heredity and early training. It is up 
to him to complete the task of making 
the man. If he doesn’t make a m n 
of himself no one else will. All real 
achievement must come from inside 
and be the result of individual effort. 
If a man is not self-made he is not 


made at all, in the final estimate the 
world will make of him. 

* 

With a Handicap 

A NOTHER poet has said, “Sweet are 
the uses of adversity,” and authors 
make use of the spirit of that proverb 
to work out their stories about the self- 
made man. They make him face ad 
sorts of difficulties, and meet them as 
a man should do. In that way he makes 
himself a man. 

Sometimes the candidate for real 
manhood is started out with a heavy 
handicap. Well, it might be a matter 
worth discussing in your debating so- 
ciety whether a serious handicap in the 
race of life is good for a chap or the 
reverse. 

You hear it said of some plain man 
who has attained solid distinction that 
if only he had received a university 
education he would have been the equal 
of this, that, or the other statesman or 
author. Yet it is doubtful if he him- 
self regrets the fact that he started life 
with only a fighting chance. He has 
thrived on the uses of adversity; they 
have proved sweeter to him than the 
uses of the university. 

Who does not like to follow the for- 
tunes of such a man in a stirring tale 
constructed by an author who knows 
how to build a plot and develop it with 
dramatic force? We have an idea that 
most readers do, and for that reason 
We are glad to receive and publish that 
type of story. 

38 ? 

In the Next Issue 

rYNE of the longest and best novels 
^ we have been able to give you in 
some time will be a feature of the next 
number. It is a drama strong but not 


TOP-NOTCH TALK 


159 


heavy, with a certain region of Florida 
as its stage of action. Roland Ashford 
Phillips, who is the author, does not 
say that he thinks it is one of the best 
things he has ever written; he is not 
that kind of an author; but we say so, 
and are keen to know what you think 
about it. The story is called “Right Is 
Left,” and it will run to about sixty- 
five pages. 

Among the sport features, of which 
there is an attractive spread, is a nov- 
elette of baseball and business by C. 
S. Montanye. That name will tell you 
it is quite likely to be a story not too 
weighty in its texture and not lacking 
in flashes of humor. He calls it “Grip 
of the Game.” 

George Purdy, a newcomer in Top- 
Notch, contributes to the next issue 
a tale of the logging camp that is im- 
bued with the boxing spirit, titled “The 
Only Way Out.” We think you will 
find it an interesting yarn. 

Basket ball comes in for representa- 
tion among the sports in a story by 
Frank T. Blair called “No Milk in 
the Coconut.” This is a rather fan- 
tastic affair. We don’t know if there 
ever was such a game of basket ball 
as the author gives us here, but that 
doesn’t matter, if you are not disposed 
to take things too seriously. 

Besides the serial novels, “Treasure 
Valley,” by Alan Graham, and “Hunt- 
ers of the Deep,” by Ethel and James 
Dorrance, there will be these shorter 
stories, some of them in verse: 

“His Great Ambition,” tale of a Cen- 
tral American shindig, in which men 
from this part of the world take a 
hand, by Artemus Calloway; “Jonas 
Goes to Town,” by Ray Cummings, a 
small-town episode in which that ever- 
popular indoor sport, checkers, figures; 
“Lucky Hoodoo,” a humorous story of 
a find in the frozen North, by Frank 
Richardson Pierce; “Green Magic,” 
romance of a business woman on land 
and sea, by William H. Wright; “Sailor 


Song,” by Seabury Laurence; “Winter 
Fandom,” by Jo Lemon; “The Luck 
Hound’s Cry,” by Chilton Chase, 

Makes Himself a Book 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir: I have made a book for my- 
self of the magazine articles that you pub- 
lished under the title of “Paul Revere, Rebel,” 
some time ago. I am surprised that you 
class them as fiction. To a mere Britisher 
who has read many of the standard histories 
of the United States, the historical setting 
and the characterization appear to justify 
naming the articles as historical biography 
rather than as historical romance. 

The author does no violence to the facts 
of history, and presents these with such tol- 
erant, judicial impartiality as is too rare 
among the writers of history in any country; 
and by his vivid description and penetrating 
insight into human motives and emotions, he 
has given us a charming recreation of the 
political atmosphere of Revolutionary times 
that is altogether admirable. 

By all means let the author keep up the 
good work, which to my mind is of more 
than national importance. Wm. H. Black. 

Hankesbury, Out., Canada. 

Tribute to Dorrances 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir: I had the pleasure of reading 
a very interesting story by Ethel and James 
Dorrance entitled “Rim O’ The Range.” 

It held my interest at high tension from 
beginning to end. I hope to read another one 
of their stories, just as good, in your mag- 
azine. Very truly yours, 

(Mrs.) Elizabeth Donnelly. 

Gotham House, 38th St. and Lexington 
Ave., New York. 

Looking Through 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir: As I was looking through 
some old copies of Top-Notch I found a 
story I had missed when reading the other 
stories. It is by my favorite author, Burt 
L. Standish, entitled “Beautiful Bertie.” I 
believe it is the best story he has ever written, 
that is, outside of his books. I hope your 
magazine will continue to publish stories by 
Mr. Standish. I am always waiting for the 
next issue of Top-Notch. Yours truly, 

Clarence K. Cookus. 

Washington, D. C. 


160 


TOP-NOTCH MAGAZINE 


Upholding the Standard 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir : I do want you to know just how 
we prize the Top-Notch Magazine in my 
family. My husband has not missed a num- 
ber of it for many years. Our two boys, 
eighteen and sixteen, love it too. In fact we 
all like it. My little girls love the animal 
stories. 

We are all very fond of Ethel and James 
Dorrance’s stories. Don’t care for the soup 
king tales so much, but of course it gives 
us variety. “Colorado Jim” was fine; more 
stories like that. 

Your magazine is a clean, wholesome one. 
I am always proud to pass the copies along. 

I do think you have kept up the standard 
and good, sound, clean stories much better 
than some other magazines, and we all wish 
you the best of success. Sincerely yours, 
The Cole Family. 

North Wilbraham, Mass. 

"V 

Hope for Cook 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir: This is the first time I have 
read your magazine and regret that I have 
missed so many numbers. 

I hope W. W. Cook will be represented 
in the next issue, and that he will continue 
to develop along literary lines, and that at 
last the bonds of a genius may be broken and 
his name shall go down in the annals of 
American literature. 

I am a girl who enjoys stories of the 
West, cowboys, and stories of the Far North. 

Just a hint: Your address should be more 
prominent. Many would doubtless write you 
if they did not have to hunt for an address. 

Chickasha, Oklahoma. J. V. T. 

[The postal department people will 
not be bothered so long as you get Top- 
Notch Magazine on the envelope. 
They know where we are. — Ed.] 

d* 

Saved from the Basket 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir: Here is a kick, but I suppose 
it is no use to send it in; as you will chuck 
it in the waste basket, and never publish it. 
I am not the kind of reader to think that 


every story you print is the best ever. In fact, 
I find fault with more than one story I have 
read in your magazine. Some of them are 
altogether too long, some are too short. 

Can’t something be done about this? As 
for the serials, I never read them, although 
I know people who do. Hoping you will be 
guided by this letter — I don’t expect you to 
print it, because it’s a knock — I am very 
truly yours, G. F. Sanderson. 

Vine St., Philadelphia. 

j 

Besides the Baseball 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir: I think you have one of the 
best fiction magazines on the market, and I 
am well satisfied with the baseball stories you 
publish, especially those by Burt L. Standish. 
I like Standish’s baseball stories not alone 
for the baseball part, but his stories always 
seem to have a mystery that will grip one 
from beginning to end. Very truly yours, 

H. S. Whistler, Jr. 

Van Ness Avenue, Fresno, California. 

38 ? 

More Power to Trey nor 

Editor of Top-Notch Magazine. 

Dear Sir: In reference to the story 
“Room For One More,” published some time 
ago, and read by me in a back number, I 
would say that it is as neat a story as I 
have ever read. The plot is very well worked 
out even to the finest detail, which shows a 
well-thought-out plan. 

The story is interesting from the start, 
but I think it shows a little weakness where 
Danny rides on the upper deck of the bus 
on such a stormy night. How did Jason 
know he was to ride on the top on such a 
night, and thus be on hand to sink his knife in 
him? Why not have it a very cold night so 
it wouldn’t be so ridiculous to have him sit 
in the rain? 

Your magazine is a good one. You pub- 
lish a good variety of stories that are bound 
to strike. If one doesn’t the other will. They 
have a clear way about them which every 
one admires rather than the rubbish put in 
some others. 

More power to Mr. Treynor in his writ- 
ings, and let’s have some more of his class 
A-i stories. Very truly yours, 

James A. Brennan. 

Laurel St., Hartford, Conn. 


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A Big Raise in Salary 

Is Very Easy to Get, if You 
Go About It in the Right Way 

You have often heard of others who 

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no sentiment in business. It’s preparing for 
the future and knowing what to do at the right 
time that doubles and trebles salaries. 

Remember When You 
Were a Kid 

and tried to ride a bike for the very first time? You 
thought that you would never learn and then— all of a 
sudden you knew how. and said in surprise: "Why it’s 
a cinch if you know how.” It’s that way with most 
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AMERICAN SCHOOL 

Dept. G2192, Drexcl Ave. and 58th St. Chicago 


AMERICAN SCHOOL 

Dept. G2192, Drexel Ave. and 58th St.. Chicago 
Send me full information on how the PROMOTION 
PLAN will help me win promotion in the job checked. 

— Architect .... Lawyer 

.... Building Contractor .... Machine Shop Practice 

— Automobile Engineer . . . .Photoplay Writer 

....Automobile Repairman ....Mechanical Engineer 

. . . .Civil Engineer . . . .Shop Superintendent 

— Structural Engineer ....Employment Manager 

.... Business Manager .... Steam Engineer 

. . . .Cert. Public Accountant . . . . Foremansnip 
.... Accountant and Auditor . . . .Sanitary Engineer 
....Bookkeeper ....Surveyor (& Mapping) 

.... Draftsman and Designer . . . .Telephone Engineer 
.... Electrical Engineer . . . .Telegraph Engineer 

.... Electric Light & Power .... High School Graduate 

. . . .General Education . . . .Fire Insurance Expert 


Name. 


Address 


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ADVERTISING SECTION 



is for Safety which means you 
are sure 

That all things in Piso’s are 
perfectly pure. 


stands for Prevention, of all 
winter ills — 

Coughs, sneezes, colds and 
the shivery chills. 


for Insist on Piso’s by name 
For the words “just as good 
as” don’t mean “Just the 
same. ” 


that it’s good for the Old or 
the young 

Three generations its praises 
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is for Sure and for Safe and 
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Piso’s contains no opiate It 
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Piso’s Throat and Chest Salve for external application is 
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PI SOS 

SAFE AND SANE 

^for Coughs & Colds ~ 


F D=—= “D 

□ □ 

Suppose You Want 

to Break Into the 

Movies 


The question you ask yourself is: 
“Just what are my chances? It doesn't 
help me very much to read about how 
Mary Pick ford and Charlie Chaplin 
got their start — what I want to know 
is, ought I to try to break in? Have 
I the qualifications? And if so, just 
how ought I to go about it to begin?” 

We have prepared a book that an- 
swers those questions definitely , and 
authoritatively. It is made up of arti- 
cles that have appeared from time 
to time in Picture-Play Magazine, 
each one of which was the result of 
painstaking investigation by a writer 
who is a specialist and who knows his 
or her subject. Nowhere else can you 
find set forth as completely, clearly, 
and frankly the real facts about get- 
ting into the movies, particularly in 
regard to your own particular case. 
The book is called 

“Your Chance as a 
Screen Actor” 

It contains ninety-six pages of in- 
formation, by which you will be able 
definitely to decide whether or not the 
screen is to be your profession. 

This book is only 25 cents a copy. 

To procure one, address the book 
department, 


STREET & SMITH CORPORATION 

79 Seventh Avenue, New York City - 

L___J 


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ADVERTISING SECTION 



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STUART'S PIAPAO-PADS 

are diflerent from the truss, 
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No strops, buckloa or spring 
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Soft aa velvet— ooay to apply— Inoxponslve. Awarded 
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Write name oo Coupon and send TODAY. | II LC 

Plapao Co, 633 Stuart Bldg., St. Louis, Mo. 

Name 

Address 

Return mail will bring Free Trial Plapao 






Free Book 

Containing complete 
story of the origin ' 
and history of that 
wonderful instru- 
ment— the 



SAXOPHONE VS 


This book tells you when to use 
Saxophone— singly, in quartettes, 
in sextettes, or in regular band; how 
to transpose cello pails in orchestra 
and many other things you would 
like to know. 

«•" «® Ptavtha scale In one hour’* 

» be playing popular airs. You 


___ — y*s your income, your pleasure, and your 
popularity. Easy to pay by our easy payment plan. 

MAKES AN IDEAL PRESENT 

•sod for free saxophone book and catalog of every- 
thing In True- Too# band and orchestra instruments. 

BUFSTHPP band instrument co. 

DUEOLnLK Buescher Block. Elkhart, lod. 


I WATCH. "OO C c r *d" r 

I Solid 18-k White Gold, engrav- 
; ed: looks like genuine Platinum. 
| Full Jeweled Imported movement. 
I guaranteed. Silk Kit>bon Bracelet. 
• Special at $38. Other Solid Gold 
I W'iMt Watches, $26 up. < i<>ld filled. 
I SIS up. Msn’a batches. $17.50 


USE YOUR CREDIT 

DIAMOND PINO Sol 


lue reduced to 

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Proportionate reduction* on all other ! 

Kings at 878 $125.5180.5200 up. 


THE NATIONAL CREOIT JEWELERS J 

Dept. K -222 A 

« 10* N. State Street, Chicago, III. Tg 

BROS & CO. 1858 Stores in I 



> Street, Chicago, III. U 

n Leading CIM, a^^| 


Does The Socket Chafe Your Stump? 

If so. you are NOT wearing 

Buchstein’s Vulcanized 
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people. Send for Catalog' today. than a silver 

K. Bockstcia Co., 113 6di St. S. Minneapolis, Minn. <Soll8r * 8tron «- 


Although deformed 33 years from Infantile 
Paralysis. F. L. Kelsey, age 35. now “walks 
straight and flat” aftev only 5 months’ treat- 
ment at McLain Sanitarium. See his photos. 

Read his letter. Write him. 

After being crippled for thirty -Ui *• - years, by In- ' 
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that time , / am norv walking straight 
and /bit on both feet, after taking^ only 
five month s’ treatment at your Sanitarium. I - 
will be only too glad to recommend it to any one 
who is crippled, for I know you can do the n<ork, 
F. L. KELSEY. 

Box 1307, Tona Pah, Nevada 

For Crippled Children 

The McLain Sanitarium is a thoroughly 
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Infantile Paralysis. Spinal Disease and 
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“Deformities and Paralysis.” also “Book 
of References” sent free. 

I L. C. McLAIN ORTHOPEDIC SANITARIUM 

954 Aubert Ave. St. Louis, Mo. 


Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 




ADVERTISING SECTION 



WARNING ! Say “Bayer” when you buy Aspirin. 


Unless you see the name “Bayer” on tablets, you are 
not getting genuine Aspirin prescribed by physicians 
over 22 years and proved safe by millions for 


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Accept only “Bayer” package which contains proper directions. 

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Aspirin is the trade mark of Bayer Manufacture of Monoaceticacidester of Sallcylicacid 



Jig Band Catalog Sent Free 

Anythin*? you need for the band — 
single instrument or complete 
equipment. Used by Army and 
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illustrated, fully descriptive. Men- 
tion what instrument interests you. 
Free trial. Easy payments. Sold by 
leading music dealers everywhere. 

LYON & MEALY 72 ' cfeJ"® w ’ 



crorr diamond 

m n L. ML RING OFFER 

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quick. Send sue of finger. 

KRAUTH & REED, Oept.412 

MASONIC TEMPLE CHICAGO 


YOUR NEWS DEALER 

maintains his store at considerable expense. He 
must pay for help, rent and lighting. He carries 
many articles that you would never dream of 
ordering direct from manufacturers, and is, there- 
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STREET <& SMITH CORPORATION 
Publishers New York 


PROFESSIONAL TONE 
MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS 


and lessons sent on free trial. Violin. Tenor Banjo, Hawaiian Guitar, 
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Over 100,000 successful players. Do not miss this free trial offer. 
Write far booklet. No obligations. 

SL1NGERLAND SCHOOL OF MUSIC, Inc., 

1815 Orchard Street, Dept. 129, Chicago. Illinois 



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ADVERTISING SECTION 


DIAMONDS 

For a Few Cents a Day 



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absolutely free. It explains the 
dividend offer and bonus plan. 

Writ* today to Dept. 192 2 


cJ M LYON <S CO. 

1 Maiden Lane, New York NY. 


Don’t Wear 
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BROOKS APPLIANCE CO., 212F Sute St.. Marshall. Mich. 



MR. C. E. BROOKS 




$Ydu| E s L pareTIME$ 


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WILSON METHODS, LIMITED, 

Dept. H, 64 East Richmond, Toronto, Canada 


Cuticura Soap 
Will Help You 
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Soap, Ointment, Talcum. 25c. everywhere. Samples 
free of Cotlcars Laboratories, Dept. D, Malden, Maaa. 



Home-Study 

Business Courses 

Do you want an important, high-salaried 
position? You can have one if you can do 
the work. LaSalle experts will show you how. guide 
you step by step to success and help solve your per- 
sonal business problems. Our plan enables you to 
train during spare hours without interference with 
your present duties. Give us your name and address 
and mark with an “X” below the kind of position you 
want to fill. We will mail catalog and full particulars 
regarding our low cost monthly payment plan. Also 
our valuable book for ambitious men, “Ten Years’ 
Promotion In One.” Tear out, mark and mail the cou- 
pon today. No obligation to you. Let us prove to you 
how this step has helped thousands of ambitious men 
to real success. 



Coupon * 

LaSalle Extension 
University 
Dept. 265-R Chicago, 111. 

Please send me catalog and 
full information regarding the 
course and service I have 
marked with an X below. Also 
a copy of your book, “Ten 
Years’ Promotion in One,” 
all without obligation to me. 

□ Business Management: Training for Official, 
Managerial, Sales, and Executive positions. 

□ Higher Accountancy: Training for positions 
us Auditor, Comptroller, Certified Public Ac- 
countant, Cost Accountant, etc. 

□ Traffic Management— Foreign and Domestic: 
Training for positions as Railroad and Industrial 
Traffic Manager, etc. 

□ Railway Accounting and Station Manage- 
ment: Training for Railway Auditors, Comp- 
trollers, Accountants, Clerks, Station Agents, 
Members of Railway and Public Utilities Com- 
missions, etc. 

”1 Law: Training for Bar: LL. B. Degree. 

Commercial Law: Reading, Reference, and 
Consultation Service for Business Men. 
Industrial Management Efficiency: For Ex- 
ecutives. Managers, Office and Shop Employe s 
and those desiring practical training in indus- 
trial management principles and practice. 

□ Modern Business Correspondence and Prac- 
tice: Training for Sales and Collection Corre- 
spondents; Sales Promotion Managers; Credit 
and Office Managers; Correspondence Super- 
visors, Secretaries, etc. 

Banking and Finance: Training for executive 
positions in Banks and Financial Institutions. 
Modern Foremanship and Production Meth- 
ods: Training in the direction and handling of 
industrial forces — for Executives, Managers, 
Superintendents, Contractors, Foremen, Sub- 
foremen, etc. 

□ Personnel and Employment Management: 
Training for Employers. Employment Managers, 
Executives. Industrial Engineers. 

Business English: Training for Business Cor- 
respondents and Copy Writers. 

Expert Bookkeeping: Training for position as 
Head Bookkeeper. 

Commercial Spanish 

Effective Speaking 

C. P. A. Coaching for Advanced Accountants 

Name 

Present Position 

Address 


□ 

□ 


Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 



llllilllllllllM 


ADVERTISING SECTION 



ANOTHER HIT! 

Sea Stories Magazine 


A New Idea at the Right Time 

We are firmly convinced that there are millions of fiction readers 
who demand interest first of all. These folk read for relaxation, for the 
purpose of escaping from life — from the diurnal humdrum round of cares. 

Being convinced of this, it is only natural that we make an attempt 
to supply a demand, which is lying fallow, and which has never really been 
filled until now that Sea Stories Magazine has made its appearance. 

Sea Stories Magazine is full of interesting fiction, the sort 
that lifts a man out of himself, and transports him into realms of adven- 
ture and romance. 

Sea Stories Magazine will contain only clean, wholesome, 
up-to-date stories, of distinctly salty flavor. There will be adventures on 
the great ocean liners, on fishing smacks — tales of treasure-trove, and the 
bravery that seems inherent in those who follow the sea. 

Sea Stories Magazine is now on the stands. Buy a copy, 
and be interested as little else in the way of fiction has ever interested you. 


Published Monthly Price 15 Cents 


STREET & SMITH CORPORATION 
79 Seventh Avenue :: :: New York City 




Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 


lllll!|i||!llllllll|l|l|||IHIIM 





ADVERTISING SECTION 



j^w w w *ig w g 


CPECIAL TERMS-Ten 

months' credit on any article 
selected from the SWEET cat- 
alogue. NO MONEY IN AD- 
VANCE. Shipment made for 
your examination. First pay- 
ment to be made only after you 
have convinced yourself that 
SWEET values cannot be 
equalled. If not what you wish 
return at our expense. 

No Red Tape — No Delay 

Every transaction CONFIDEN- 
TIAL. You don’t do justice to 
yourself and your dollars unless 
you inspect our unusual values in 
Diamonds, Watches, Jewelry, Sil- 
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TODAY for SWEET DeLuxe Cat- 
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t 02-G. 

Capital $1,000,000 


VALUE 


Sweet’s Cluster 

7 l ine Diamonds set 
In Platinum. Ix>oks 
like \H carat solitaire. 

Only $3.80 
a month 


You Want to Earn Big Money! 

And you will not be satisfied unless you earn steady pro- 
motion. But are you prepared for the job ahead of you? 
Do you measure up to the standard that insures success? 
For a more responsible position a fairly good education is 
necessary. To write a sensible business letter, to prepare 
estimates, to figure cost and to compute interest, you 
must have a certain amount of preparation. All this you 
must be able to do before you will earn promotion. 

Many business houses hire no men whose general know- 
ledge is not equal to a high school course. Why? Because 
big business refuses to burden itself with men who are 
barred from promotion by the lack of elementary education. 

Can You Qualify for a Better Position 

We have a plan whereby you can. Wecan give you a com- 
plete but simplified high school course in two years, giving 
you all the essentials that form the foundation of practical 
business. It will prepare you to hold your own where 
competition is keen and exacting. Do not doubt your abili- 
ty, but make up your mind to it and you will soon have 
the requirements that will bring you success and big 
money. YOU CAN DO IT. 

Let us show you how to get on the road to success. It will 
not cost you a single working hour. We are so sure of be- 
ing able to help you that we will cheerfully return to you, 
at the end of ten lessons, every cent you sent us if you are not ab- 
solutely satisfied. Whnt fairer offer can we make you? Write 
today. It coats you nothing but a stamp. 

AMERICAN SCHOOL 
Dept. H-2192. Drexel Ave. and 58th St., Chicago 


320 PAGES. ILLUSTRATED. CLOTH 
By Winfield Scott Hall. M.D., Ph.D. 

SEX FACTS MADE PLAIN 

What every young man and 


I can hear you with the MORI.EY 
PHONE.” It is invisible, weight- 

J lesa. comfortable, inexpensive. 
No metal, wires nor rubber. Can 
be used by anyone, young or old. 
v Tne Morloy Phono for the 


DEAF 


is to the ears whnt glasses are to 

the eyes. Write lor Free Booklet 

m Vi uH containing testimonials of 

m II Iwk users ali over the country. It 

a II I Ml describes causes of deafness: 

I "I tells how and why the MORLEx 

4 % PHONE affords relief. Over 

one hundred thousand sold. 

THE MORLEY CO., Dept. 75S, 26 S. IS St., Phila. 


AMERICAN SCHOOL 


Dept. H-2192, Drexel Ave. and 58th St., Chicago 
Explain now I can qualify for position checked: 
.Architect $5,000 to $16,0001... Tsw^r _ *5.000 to |16, 

.Building Contractor ...Mechanical Engineer 

$5,000 to $10,000 „ , $4,000 to $10, 

.Automobile Engineer . ..Shop Superintendent 

$4,000 to *10.- <00 .. $3,000 to $7. 

.Automobile Repairman ..Employment Manager 

$2,500 to *4.000 $4,000 to $10. 

.Civil Engineer $5,000 to $16,000 . ..Steam Engineer _ 
.Structural Engineer _ . _ $2,000 to $4, 

$4,000 to $10,000 ...Foreman s Course 
.Business Manager _ „ . $2,000 to $4. 

$5,000 to $15,000 ...Sanitary Engineer 
.Certified Public Accountant $2,000 to $5, 

$7,000 to $15,000 ...Telephone Engine, r 
.Accountant and Auditor $2,500 to $5, 


V Become a lawyer. Legally trained 
M men win high positions and big sue- 
W cess in buxine** and public life. 
W Greater opportunities now than evef 
I before. Lawyers earn 

' $3,000 to $10,000 Annually 

We guide you step by atop. Y ou can train 
at home during spare time. Let us send 
cords and letters from laSalle students 
ie bar In various states. Money refunded 
•e Bond if dissatisfied. Degree of LL^B. 
successful students enrolled. I/>w cost, 
i all text material, including fourtee D - 
t our valuable 120-page * ‘Law Guide and 


volume Law Library . 

“Evidence*’ books h ... 

LaSalle Extension University, Oept, 265-L Chicago, IN* 

Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 


Schooling 


m MONTHS TO Pav 


High School 


‘ Course In 
Two Years 


* ."THE HOUSE OF QUALITX 

LW-sweet INC 

1650-1660 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 




ADVERTISING SECTION 




COSTS NOTHING TO TRY— YOU CAN WIN $3,000 


>er right-hand 


Follow these Simple Easy Rules 

Any man. woman, bojr or girl living in the 
J. S. but residing uuUid* of Batavia, ill., 
who is notan employee of the Household Jour- 
nal, or a member or the employee's family, 
may submit nn answer. It cost nothing to try. 
All answers must be mail by May 30. 1022. 
Answers should be written on one side of 

tfve! 

on eacn page in the uppei 

corner. Do not write subscriber.. 

any thing else on same paper with Uat of words 
separate sheet. 

_. Only words found in the English dictionary 
sHII be counted. Do not use compound, hyph- 
enated or obsolete worde. Use cither tho sin- 

S lsr or plural, but where the plural ta need 
» singular connot be counted, and vice versa. 
6. Woids of the same spelling can bo used 
only once . even though used to designate dif- 
ferent objects. The same objects can be 
named only once; however, any part of the 
object may also be named. 


will be awarded First Prize. etc. Neatness, 
style or handwriting have no bearing upon da- 


Th e Prizes 

Winning answers will receive prizes as follows: 

If S3. 00 If $5.00 
If no worth of worth of 

subscriptions subscriptions subscriptions 


This is. perhaps, the most liberal, th© most stupendous offer of its kind ever appearing in this magazine. It is 

not a dream but a reality, a golden opportunity for you to help yourself to $3000.00. It will b© easy! Think what you 

can do with this young fortune and then help yourself. 

It costs nothing to try. In tills picture you will tlnd a number of objects and parts of objects whose names begin with 

the letter "P." Pick out the 
objects like "Pie" "Plank" 

©to. It's easy isn't it. Of 
course it is. The other objects 
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idea is to see who can get tho 
most This is not a trick. 

You don't havo to turn the 
picture up side down. Put 
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Get the family around 
the table— see which one of 
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Send in jour list of 
words and try for the big 

prizes. This is not a subscription contest — you don't have to do any canvassing. 
You don't have to send in a subscription to win a prize unless you want to. but 
our Bonus Bewards for you make tne prizes bigger where subscriptions are sent 
in. For example, if your puzzle answer is awarded firs' prize by the judge* you 
will win $25.00. but if you would send $3.00 worth of subscription* for our big 
monthly magazine you would win $750.00. or if your answer is awarded first prize 
prize by the judges and you have sent in $5.00 worth of subscriptions you w«mld 
win $3000.00. See list of prizes alx>ve. Nothing more will be asked of you — 
its easy. Isn't it I don't care how many sirailiar offers you have seen and read 
this is the most liberal of them alL 

BIG $200,000.00 COMPANY BACK OF THIS OFFER— This offer is made 
and published by a big $200,000.00 Illinois Corporation of years standing. A 
company widely known for its liberality and hunest dealing* 

The IImi*ehold Journal is one of the best home magazines published. Filled 
with fine stories, faneywurk. fashions. Homo Helps. Gardening. Poultry, etc. 
The subscription price is four years (48 copies) for $1.00 


'andidaU-s may co-operat*. in answering 

J’uzzic. but only one prizi will be awarded 

to anyone household: nor will prizes be awar- 


ded to more than one of any group outside of 
tho fnmily whore two or mors have been 
working together. 

8. All answers will receive the same consi- 
deration regardless of whether or not sub- 
scriptions for the Household Journal are sent 
in, 


connection with the Household Journal, will 
be selected to act as judges and decide the 
winners, nnd participants agree to accept the 
decision of the judges as final and conclusive. 
10. The judges will meet directly following 
close of the contest and annoucement of win- 
ners and correct list of words will he published 
In the Household Journal iust as quickly there- 


Lorger Puzzle Pictures Free on Request. 


are sent 

1st Prize $25.00 

2nd Prize 20.00 

3rd Prize 15.00 

4th Prize 10.00 

5th Prize 5.00 

6th Prize 5.00 

7th Prize 3.00 

8th Prize— 

9th Prize 

10th Prize 


3.00 

2.00 
2.00 


are sent 
$750.00 

250.00 

125.00 

75.00 

50.00 

25.00 

15.00 

10.00 
10.00 
10.00 


are sent 
$3000.00 
1000.00 

500.00 

250.00 

125.00 

50.00 

30.00 

20.00 

15.00 

10.00 


In the event of ties the lull amout‘1 of tho prizes 
tried tor will be given to each of thoae ao tyinp. 


Puzzle Editor - THE HOUSEHOLD JOURNAL 

Department 1104 BATAVIA, ILLINOIS 


Please mention this magazine when answering advertisements 




P& Brings 

r HARTMANS* 

Richly Upholstered 

7-PieceSuite 


Quarter-Sawed and Solid Oak /J| \ 

Send only $1 for this complete suite Wh A 

of library, parlor, or living room fur- k vg I a v\ 

niture. Use it 30 days on Free Trial. 

S| If you don’t say that it is even more than you expected, 

I ship it back and we return your $1 and pay transportation 
■■ charges both ways. 


^Upholstered^ 

’t5acks»ndSeatsl 

, Comfortable J 

LSpringSeatsJ 


rprr Bargain Catalog 

368 pastes of the world’s great- 
• est price smashing bargains. 


kfm 


Everything you need in Furniture, rugs, linoleum, etoves, 
watches, silverware, dishes, washing machines, sewing 
machines, aluminum ware, phonographs, gas 
engines, cream separators, etc.— all sold 
on our easy monthly payment plan and 


on 30 days' FREE Trial. 

Post card, or letter brings this 
big bargain book Free. 

“Let Hartman Feather YOUR Nest” 


HARTMAN Furniture & Carpet Co. 

Dapt. 4147 Chicago, Illinois 

Enclosed find $1.00. Send the 7-piece Living 
Room Suite No. 112DMA7 as described. I am 
to have 30 days' free trial. If not satisfied, 
will ship it back and you will refund my $1.00 
and pay transportation charges both ways. 
If I keep it. 1 will pay $3.00 per month until 
the full price, $37.%, is paid. Title remains 
with you until Anal payment is made. 

Name 

Street Address 

|R. F. D Box No.. 

Town State 

State Your 

[Occupation Color. 


Furniture & Carpet Co. 

. D« pt.4147 Chicago, III. 

Copyright, 1922, by Hartmao’a. 



e Refill Shaving Stick 





I 


You don’t throw 
your pen away 
when it needs refilling 


N OR is it necessary to buy a new “Handy 
Grip** when your Shaving Stick is all used. 
Just buy a Colgate “Refill,” for the price of the 
soap alone, screw it into your “Handy Grip,” 
and you are “all set” for another long season 
of shaving comfort. 

The soap itself is threaded. There is no 
waste. 

For that luxurious, moist lather that means 
an easy shave — there's nothing like Colgate’s 
Shaving Stick — and in the “Handy Grip” 
there's nothing like it for Convenience and 
Economy. 

COLGATE & CO. 

Drpf. C 

199 Fulton Street, New York 


This metal * * Handy Grip, * ’ containing a trial size stick of 
Colgate *s Shaving Soap, sent for / Oc. When the trial stick is 
used up you can buy the Colgate “Refills, "threaded to fit this 
Grip. Thus you save l Oc on each “Refill" you buy. There 
ore 350 shaves in a Colgate Shaving Stick — double the number 
you can get from a tube of cream at the same price.