The Project Gutenberg eBook of Robert Frost's Strange Career, by Horatio Alger.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT;
Or, Frank Hardy's Road to Success.

FROM FARM TO FORTUNE;
Or, Nat Nason's Strange Experience.

LOST AT SEA;
Or, Robert Roscoe's Strange Cruise.

JERRY, THE BACKWOODS BOY;
Or, The Parkhurst Treasure.

NELSON, THE NEWSBOY;
Or, Afloat in New York.

YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK;
Or, The Son of a Soldier.

OUT FOR BUSINESS;
Or, Robert Frost's Strange Career.

FALLING IN WITH FORTUNE;
Or, The Experiences of a Young Secretary.

12mo, finely illustrated and bound. Price per volume, 60 cents.

GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

"Out for Business" is a complete tale in itself, but forms the first of two companion stories, the second being entitled "Falling in with Fortune."

In this tale are related the various haps and mishaps which befall a sturdy country youth, of high moral aim, who, by the harsh actions of his step-father, is compelled to leave what had once been the best of homes, and go forth into the world to make his own way.

Robert Frost finds his path to fortune no easy one to tread. The thorns of adversity line the way, and there is many a pitfall to be avoided. But the lad is possessed of a good stock of hard, common sense, and in the end we find him on the fair road to success—and a success richly deserved.

The two stories, "Out for Business" and "Falling in with Fortune," give to the reader the last tales begun by that prince of juvenile writers, Mr. Horatio Alger, Jr., whose books have sold[Pg iv] to the extent of hundreds of thousands of copies, not only in America, but also in England and elsewhere. The gifted writer was stricken when on the point of finishing the stories, and when he saw that he could not complete them himself, it was to the present writer that he turned, and an outline for a conclusion was drawn up which met with his approval,—and it is this outline which has now been filled out in order to bring the tales to a finish, so that both stories might be as nearly as possible what Mr. Alger intended they should be. It may be that the stories will not be found as interesting as if Mr. Alger had written them entirely, nevertheless the present writer trusts that they will still hold the reader's attention to the end.

Robert Frost, with his books under his arm, turned into the front yard of a handsome residence in the village of Granville. He was a boy of sixteen, strongly built, and with a handsome, expressive face.

"I wish mother were at home," he soliloquized. "It seems very lonesome when she is away."

He opened the front door and let himself into the house. It was a handsome and spacious hall. Two paintings hung on the walls, and both were portraits. One represented a lady, with a pretty, but rather weak face. She looked as if she had very little resolution, and might easily be influenced by one with stronger will. The other picture was that of a man of near forty. It was an attractive face. The strong resemblance which it bore to the boy made it probable that it was his father, and such was the case. Robert looked up[Pg 8] to it regretfully, for he had not yet got over the loss of his father, hardly twelve months dead.

"I wish dad were alive," he thought sadly, "we were such good friends, he and I."

Mr. Frost had not died of disease. He was cut off in the full vigor of life, the victim of a railroad accident. Robert remembered well when he was taken home, mangled and hardly to be recognized.

His death did not entail any privation upon his little family—Robert was the only child—for he left a considerable fortune and was heavily insured besides, so that they were still able to live in handsome style.

"When will supper be ready, Jane?" Robert asked of the servant, as he passed into the dining-room.

He put on his hat, after laying down his books, and was about to go out, when Jane arrested his steps.

Robert echoed the wish, but did not say a word. He took out his penknife and opened the envelope.

"I don't know, I'm sure, Master Robert. Perhaps your mother is going to bring you a present."

Yes, he would know to-morrow, but he could not help letting his mind dwell on the mystery. It occurred to him that it might be a gold watch, which he had long wanted, and which his mother[Pg 10] had promised to get him very soon. But this would scarcely be considered a great surprise.

"Well, there's no use guessing," he decided at length. "I'll only have to wait till to-morrow, and then I shall know."

The next day was Saturday, and school did not keep. Robert looked over the railroad time-table, and concluded that his mother would arrive about twelve o'clock. This would bring her in time for dinner, which was usually on the table at half past twelve. He suggested to Jane to get a better dinner than usual, as his mother would probably be present to partake of it.

This suggestion proved unnecessary, for about ten o'clock Jane herself received a telegram to this effect.

"So that's the surprise!" reflected Jane. "She is going to bring a friend with her. I wonder who it is. Maybe it's the lady she's been visiting. I hope it isn't, for lady visitors are so fussy."

However, Jane went to the market and ordered a pair of chickens, with a variety of vegetables,[Pg 11] and prepared apple dumplings, which she knew Mrs. Frost always enjoyed.

Robert intended to go to the depot to meet his mother, but he went on an expedition with one of his schoolmates, and found that he would scarcely have time to do so. So he returned home.

He posted himself at the front window, and five minutes later he saw the depot carriage approaching the house.

By this time the carriage had reached the entrance to the neat graveled path which led from the gate to the front door.

The door of the carriage was opened, and a man got out—a man of less than medium size.

Robert opened the front door quickly, and hurried out. Meanwhile, the gentleman had helped Mrs. Frost out, and she was advancing up the walk, leaning on the arm of her companion. Mrs. Frost smiled, and turning to the man at her side, said, "This is my son Robert, James."

"Yes, very pleasant," answered his mother, with a meaning glance at her companion. "Robert, did you receive my telegram?"

"I don't understand you, mother," said the boy,[Pg 13] but a sudden suspicion had entered his mind, and he was afraid that he did understand. He waited in painful suspense for his mother to speak.

"Oh, mother!" exclaimed Robert in a grief-stricken tone. "How could you marry again?"

Mrs. Talbot, for this was now her name, blushed and looked uncomfortable. Her husband looked angry.

"Really, young man," he said, "it seems to me that is a very improper way of addressing your mother."

For the first time Robert fixed his eyes upon this man whom he was so suddenly called upon to think of as—not his father, for he could not tolerate the thought—but as his mother's husband. As before mentioned, he was a small-sized man, with black hair and side whiskers, a thin face, aquiline nose, and an expression which, so far from attracting, actually repelled the boy. It was a baleful look, which suggested Mephistopheles, though this well-known character in Faust did not occur to Robert, for he had never heard of him. The boy was not accustomed to regard new acquaintances with repugnance, but this was the feeling with which he regarded Mr. Talbot.

"I hate you!" he blazed out in sudden fury. "Oh, mother, why did you marry him?"

This, it must be admitted, was not a very cordial welcome, and the boy's anger was reflected in the face of his new step-father, who bit his nether lip, and glared at our hero with wrathful eyes.

"You are an impudent cub!" he exclaimed. "I won't forget the way you have received me."

"Oh, James, forgive him!" pleaded the mother. "He doesn't realize what he says. He will get over it to-morrow."

"I shall never get over it, mother!" said Robert. "If you must marry again, why at least didn't you marry a gentleman?"

Mrs. Talbot screamed and sat upon a couch. Robert seized his hat, and without waiting for dinner, dashed out of the house.

"You didn't tell me what a violent temper your son had," said James Talbot, when Robert had left the house.

"I'll take him by surprise!" said Talbot spitefully. "He'll find out that he has a master."

"I will treat him well if he treats me well, not otherwise. He has the temper of a fiend."

"I am so sorry," said the bride, and she indulged in weak tears. "I looked forward with so much pleasure to this day, and now——"

James Talbot was silent a moment, and then constrained his harsh features into a smile, which he tried to make pleasant.

"I will remember that he is your son, Sarah," he said, softening his voice. "It will not be my fault if I do not teach him to like me."

"And now, my love, let me remind you that I am hungry. Won't you order dinner served? Really, I am almost famished."

"Jane, you may put the dinner on the table," said Mrs. Talbot, looking relieved.

"He has gone out for a short time. If he is not back before long, you may save some dinner for him."

"That's queer, his going out just as his mother gets back," thought Jane, but she kept silence.

"Sure, he looks like a gorilla," she mused. "How could the mistress marry him when her first husband was such a fine handsome man? I[Pg 17] mistrusts he and Master Robert won't get along very well together."

James Talbot took the place at the head of the table, and began to carve the fowls. Jane noticed that though he helped his wife first, he reserved the nicest portion of the chicken for himself.

"Sure, he's a selfish beast!" reflected Jane. "If he was a gentleman he wouldn't take all the breast for himself."

She was right. Talbot was selfish and had always been so. Some men can conceal this trait. He did not try to do so. He did not trouble himself about criticism, as long as he got what he wanted.

"I wish Robert were here," said Mrs. Talbot plaintively. "I can't be happy, thinking that he is going without his dinner."

"I always try to be kind and considerate, my love. Your son is very hasty, but he will soon understand me better."

After dinner Talbot said: "Now, my love, I wish you would show me over the house—our house," he added with cat-like softness.

They passed out into the hall, and the new husband's attention was drawn to the portrait of Robert's father. He frowned slightly.

James Talbot glanced curiously at the picture. He was displeased to notice that the portrait represented such a handsome man—a man with whom he was not to be compared.

"Humph! Tastes differ. No doubt he was a good man, but I don't consider him handsome."

Through the open door Jane heard this remark, and took instant offense, for she had liked Mr. Frost, who was always kind to her.

"He didn't look a gorilla, as you do," she said to herself, and would like to have said aloud.

Meanwhile Robert went down to the village. He was the prey of contending emotions. It looked as if all the happiness of their quiet home was gone. This man—this interloper—would spoil it all.

But in spite of his dissatisfaction, he felt hun[Pg 19]gry. There was a restaurant in the village, and he turned in there. He felt that on this day at least he could not dine at home.

He sat down at the table beside Mr. Jameson, a jeweler, and an old friend of the family. The jeweler regarded Robert with surprise.

"How is it that you don't dine at home?" he asked. "I believe, however, that your mother is away."

"I may as well tell you—everybody will know it soon. She has come home with a new husband."

"You amaze me! And you don't like the arrangement?" he asked, with a keen glance at his young companion.

"No; he's not a gentleman," answered Robert bitterly. "I don't see how she could have married him—or anybody, after my father."

They talked further, and Mr. Jameson gradu[Pg 20]ally modified Robert's excited feelings. He made the boy promise that if Mr. Talbot should show a disposition to be friendly, he would at any rate treat him with courtesy.

About three o'clock in the afternoon Robert met his new step-father in the street. He paused, uncertain how to act. But James Talbot approached him with a soft, ingratiating smile.

"Robert," he said, "I am sorry you have taken such a dislike to me. You will excuse my saying that it is quite unreasonable, as you can't know anything about me."

"Perhaps I was hasty," Robert forced himself to say, "but it was a trial to me to think my mother had married again."

"Quite natural, I am sure, so I shall not look upon your manifestations of dislike as personal to myself."

"When you do, I hope you will like me better," said Talbot cheerfully. "Have you had any dinner?"

"I hope you will come home to supper. It makes your mother feel very sad to have you stay away."

"Shall we take a walk together? I don't know anything of your village. You might show me something of it."

Robert hesitated, but he was naturally polite, and, though rather reluctantly, he walked through different parts of the village and pointed out the churches and the public library, the center school-house, and other buildings. Gradually they approached the outskirts of the village till they reached a house occupied by an eccentric old bachelor, who kept a large dog of an uncertain temper. As the two passed, the dog bounded from the yard and ran after them. This gave Robert a chance to judge of his step-father's courage.

"Save me, Robert!" he called out, in tremulous accents. "Will he—will he bite?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Talbot," said Robert manfully, not exhibiting the least alarm. "What do you mean, Tige?" he continued sternly, addressing the dog.

He snatched a stout stick from the side of the road, and made threatening demonstrations.

"I don't think he is dangerous, Mr. Talbot,"[Pg 22] Robert started to say, but he looked in vain for his step-father.

James Talbot had managed, with an agility hardly to be expected of a man of forty-five, to climb into a tree by the roadside.

"I—I thought I should be safer here," he said, Robert wanted to laugh, but he was polite, and refrained.

By this time Tiger had got over his fierce demonstrations, and seemed quite friendly.

"I—I was always afraid of dogs," said Talbot, half ashamed. "If it had been a man I wouldn't have cared." And then he began to tell Robert how he had once frightened a burglar from the house where he was lodging; but Robert didn't believe him. He felt contempt for his step-father as a coward.

Robert resumed his place in the home circle. Between him and his step-father there was no cordiality, but formal politeness, though at times Mrs. Talbot tried to cultivate more friendly relations. He was somewhat ashamed of the cowardice he displayed during their walk through the village. It was partly because Robert had been a witness of his humiliation that he grew to dislike him the more and determined, when occasion offered, to get even with the boy. He was somewhat afraid of the spirited boy, but gradually plucked up courage for an encounter.

When Robert came home from school three days later, he found his step-father in the hall, standing on a chair, engaged in taking down the portrait of Mr. Frost.

"It is not fitting, now that your mother is my wife, that the picture of her first husband should hang here."

Robert paused for a moment. After all, why should he interfere? His mother had transferred her love and allegiance to another husband, and his father's face would be a silent reproach to her.

"Then I have only one request to make, that the portrait be hung up in my chamber. I still revere the memory of my father."

The portrait was taken down, and Robert received it. He at once carried it upstairs. His heart swelled within him, and a look of bitterness came over his young face.

"I can't stand it long," he said to himself.[Pg 26] "The sight of that man fills me with indignation and disgust. I would as soon see a serpent."

"I find that our woodpile needs replenishing. Will you stop at Mr. Webber's on your way to the post-office and ask him to call? I want to speak to him about sawing and splitting a new supply."

"My dear," said her husband, "let me make a suggestion. Why employ Mr. Webber when you have a strong, able-bodied boy in the house?"

"But," expostulated Mrs. Talbot, "there is no occasion to put Robert at such work. I am quite able to employ and pay Mr. Webber."

"And bring up the boy in idleness. That's a very bad plan. He will be getting lazy."

"His time is thrown away. He could get quite as healthful exercise in sawing and splitting wood, and it would save money."

Mrs. Talbot was of a gentle, yielding temper, but she was not disposed to adopt her husband's views. She still ventured to expostulate.

"Robert is not lazy, James," she said. "If I were poor and there were any need of it, he would willingly saw and split the wood."

"Perhaps he would and perhaps he wouldn't. From what I have seen of him, I am decidedly of the opinion that he has been pampered and spoiled. He has a very bad temper——"

"It is true, but it is partly because of his bringing-up. He needs to have his will broken. He has always had his own way, and it is quite time that he learned who is master here."

"You are very hard and cruel, James," said his wife, the tears filling her eyes.

"You think so, but I am only seeking the boy's good. I am quite decided on this point. We will drop the discussion."

"Oh, what will happen?" thought the poor mother. "Robert will never submit, and there will be serious trouble."

The next morning was Saturday, and Robert had a holiday from school. He was out in the yard, after breakfast, and was about to leave the[Pg 28] premises, when his step-father appeared in the doorway.

"I want you to spend the forenoon in sawing and splitting wood. Your mother tells me there is need of a fresh supply."

"I don't understand you, sir," said Robert coldly. "Mr. Webber always saws and splits wood for us."

"That is not the point. You are strong and well able to do the work. There is no need of going to unnecessary expense."

"Yes, I do," blustered Mr. Talbot, thinking by his loud voice to intimidate the boy.

But he didn't understand the boy with whom he had to deal. Robert eyed his step-father contemptuously. James Talbot, though perhaps an inch taller, was less heavily built, and looked thin and puny beside the sturdy boy whom he was trying to coerce. He felt the contempt which Robert's face so plainly expressed, and it enraged him, for he was a man of violent temper.

"I think, Mr. Talbot," said Robert, after a pause, "that you will have hard work in getting your orders obeyed."

If James Talbot had not been beside himself with rage, he would not have dared to act as he[Pg 30] did. He seized a stout stick lying on the ground and sprang towards his disobedient step-son.

Robert instantly seized the ax, which was conveniently near, and brandished it in a threatening manner.

"No, but I don't propose to be bulldozed. Just lay down that stick, if you please."

He turned and walked back to the house, feeling with mortification that he had been worsted in this first encounter with his step-son.

"I'd like to flog that boy within an inch of his life," he muttered spitefully. "I—I wish I dared to grapple with him."

Robert and his step-father didn't meet at dinner or supper, as the latter had to go away on business.

"Mother," said Robert, "do you wish me to take Mr. Webber's place at the woodpile?"

"No, Robert. It was Mr. Talbot's idea. He thought it would be healthful exercise for you."

"It makes no difference. He can't make me do it, though he threatened me with a stick this morning."

It so happened that James Talbot did not reach home till a late hour in the evening, when Robert was already in bed. He went upstairs softly, as[Pg 32]certained from Robert's regular breathing that he was sound asleep, then taking the key from the lock inside, locked the door from the outside, and went downstairs with a smile.

"When the boy wakes up, he will find himself a prisoner," he said. "I shall get even with him, after all."

Robert slept soundly, and didn't wake till near breakfast-time. He jumped out of bed and hastily dressed himself. Then he went to the door of his chamber, and tried to open it. To his surprise, he found himself unable to do so. For the first time he noticed that the key was not in the lock.

He peered through the key-hole and detected the key sticking in from the other side of the door.

Robert was quite cool, and upon the whole, rather amused. It seemed to him a childish trick to play upon him.

"What a contemptible fellow he is!" he said to himself. "It mortifies me to think he is my mother's husband."

Robert's room was a large front apartment on the third floor. It was quite as handsome as any[Pg 34] on the second floor. It was directly over the room occupied by his mother. She, however, must already be downstairs.

Just then the breakfast bell rang, and Robert wondered whether anyone would come up to see why he did not come down.

Presently he heard a step on the stairs, and a minute later he heard the voice of his step-father.

Robert laughed, a little to Mr. Talbot's annoyance. He hoped to find the boy in a state of alarm, ready to submit to his orders.

"That is for me to say. I will unlock the door on condition that you agree to saw and split the wood, as I required yesterday."

Mr. Talbot was rather taken aback. He had forgotten when the evening before he locked the door of Robert's chamber that the next day would be Sunday.

With a malicious chuckle James Talbot drew the key from the lock, put it in his pocket, and went downstairs. His wife was already sitting in her place at the breakfast table.

"Because I would not agree to saw and split the wood in place of Mr. Webber next week."

"And am not likely to have, unless you can pass some through the key-hole. You see what sort of a man you have married, mother."

"He won't give it to you. Let things take their course. I will consider what is best to be done. But first, is there any other key in the house that will fit this door?"

"It is all for Robert's good. He has been too much indulged. I want to make a man of him. What did he say to you?"

Meanwhile Robert was considering how he was to escape. It was rather a puzzling question to consider, and he could not think of any way. But as he was looking out of the window he saw Sam Jones, a school friend, pass by. An idea came to him. Sam's father was a carpenter, and the owner of a tall ladder.

Sam looked up in the direction of the voice, and to his surprise saw Robert at the window.

"Ask your father to bring his tall ladder. I am sure it will reach up to my window. Only be quick about it. I want to get out before Mr. Talbot is through breakfast."

Sam started on a run, and in less than ten minutes came back with his father and the ladder. Mr. Jones was very ready to lend his assistance, for he had taken a dislike to Mr. Talbot, who had beaten him down on the price of some repairs he had made to the barn.

The two together put up the ladder against the window, and Robert stepping through the opening, put his foot on the top rung and quickly descended.

"That's the first time I was ever a prisoner, and I don't like it," he said. "I wish I had old Talbot up there. He wouldn't dare to escape as I did, for he is an awful coward."

He told the story of the dog, and how frightened his step-father had been. Sam and his father enjoyed the story.

"Now, take away the ladder quick. I don't want Mr. Talbot to know how I got out. I mustn't forget to thank you for your kindness."

Meanwhile, Mr. Talbot having got through[Pg 40] breakfast went upstairs to enjoy the uncomfortable position of his step-son.

"I would open the door," thought the man, "but he may be lying in wait for me, and he is very strong for a boy."

Finally he summoned up courage to unlock the door. Lo, the bird was flown, and the window was open.

"It is very strange," he muttered. "If he had broken a limb, he would be lying on the lawn."

He went downstairs considerably perturbed. Hearing noise in the dining-room, he looked in, and saw Robert sitting at the table.

"Good morning, Mr. Talbot," said Robert,[Pg 41] with much politeness. "You will excuse my being late to breakfast, but circumstances prevented my being on time."

Nothing more was said about the woodpile. Apparently Mr. Talbot concluded that he was not likely to carry his point, and prudently withdrew from the conflict. But his sense of defeat only made him the more incensed against his rebellious step-son.

"I would give five dollars to see that boy thrashed," he said to himself moodily, as from the window he watched Robert playing ball in the street with his friend Sam Jones.

As Robert seemed to be enjoying himself, he could not resist the temptation to interfere.

So he opened the window and called out, "Robert, I wish you would stop playing ball in the street."

"There is no chance of it, Mr. Talbot. We are sending the ball up and down the street."

"I am the best judge of that. I don't want you to play ball in front of my house."

"I have no wish to quibble. I represent your mother, and I have a right to ask you to stop playing ball in front of the house."

"That is the most impudent cub I ever saw," he muttered. He was worsted again, and he felt angry and provoked.

"Isn't he? But don't call him my step-father. I want to forget that he is connected[Pg 44] with me in any way. He is constantly nagging me. I don't think I can stand it much longer."

"Yes, I have a will of my own. I don't think a boy or man can succeed who hasn't."

"It may lead to my leaving the house, and going out into the world to seek my fortune. Our house is a large one, but it isn't large enough to contain Mr. Talbot and myself."

Probably no persons could be more incompatible, or less likely to get along together, than Robert and Mr. Talbot. The presence of one was a constant irritation to the other. This could have but one issue. One day, perhaps a week after the dispute about ball-playing, Robert entered the gate on his way back from the village. Mr. Talbot was standing on the lawn. He had scarcely entered[Pg 45] the yard when a man reeling under the influence of drink staggered by.

"Yes," answered Talbot with a smile. "Take care that you don't fall into the same habit."

"Why do you caution me," asked Robert curtly. "Do you think there is any need of it?"

This was too much for Robert, who was a boy of spirit, and had been devotedly attached to his father.

"Do you think I would take it back at the order of a whipper-snapper like you?" sneered his step-father.

Robert waited to hear no more. His affection and reverence for his father were so strong that he felt outraged by the insult to his memory. He[Pg 46] made a sudden attack upon his step-father, so impetuous that it dashed Mr. Talbot to the ground.

The man was very much frightened. His encounter with the dog showed that he was a coward, and though he, a grown person, was attacked by a boy, he seemed helpless and over-whelmed.

"It means that I won't allow you or any other man to insult my father's memory," answered Robert fiercely.

He sprang to his feet, and without waiting for Mr. Talbot to rise, entered the house and sought his mother, who had not witnessed the fracas.

The time had been brief, but he had already made up his mind to do what had been in his mind for some time. He would leave home and seek his fortune in the great world. He felt that to stay at home any longer—to live under the same roof as his step-father—would be absolutely impossible. He was not afraid to depend upon his own exertions. He was young, well-educated,[Pg 47] strong, and had confidence in his own ability to earn a living. He would be sorry to leave his mother of course, but his mother didn't seem to belong to him now that she was the wife of a man whom he despised.

Leaving James Talbot to pick himself up at his leisure, he sought his mother, who was in the sitting room, engaged in sewing. She noticed the flush upon Robert's face, and his excited air, and asked at once, "What's the matter, Robert? You look disturbed."

"It is impossible, mother. He is always irritating me. This time he insulted my father's memory."

"I don't know whether he meant it or not. I only know that he said it. And now, mother, you mustn't take too hard what I am going to say to you."

"Yes, it is the best way. I can't live under the same roof as Mr. Talbot. Besides I am now sixteen. It is time I was earning my own living."

"I know it, but I can't live on you all my life. I want to go out into the world, and see what I can do for myself."

"No, I must go this very day. I have had a fight with Mr. Talbot, and I can't stay in the house any longer."

"I am sorry for that, mother, but I don't see how I can help it. Look on the bright side. I think things will turn out well for me."

"If you must go, you must let me give you some money," and Mrs. Talbot, rising, went to her secretary.

"No, mother; I have twenty dollars laid by. That will do for the present. When that is gone I will write you for some more."

"But you don't know anyone there, and I am told there are a great many bad men there who might lead you into temptation."

"I hope I am strong enough to resist them. But I must go upstairs and get ready."

Robert went up to his chamber and drew out from a closet a large grip-sack. Into this he put hurriedly a supply of shirts, socks, handkerchiefs, and underclothing.

"I came near forgetting a comb and brush," he said to himself, unlocking the grip-sack after it was closed. "I am not used to traveling, but I suppose I shall be in time."

Meanwhile, Mr. Talbot after taking time to recover his equanimity, sought his wife.

"He sprang upon me with the ferocity of a tiger, after I had made an inoffensive remark, and taking me unawares, actually threw me down. I can't endure his presence."

"I think, Mr. Talbot, we will drop the subject. I do not feel equal to discussing it when my dear and only child is about to leave home, driven from it by you."

"Well, I'm glad he's going," thought Talbot. "I can the better carry out my plans."

His valise filled with a stock of necessary underwear, Robert walked to the railway station. It was a very sudden start, and he had no time to consider what he was to do, for the train moved off five minutes after his arrival.

He selected a seat by a window, and placed his valise on the seat beside his own.

It was not till the train had fairly started that he began to realize the importance of the step that he was taking. He was leaving a comfortable, nay, a luxurious home, where he was provided with every comfort, and by his own choice was undertaking to earn his own living. It was enough to make any boy feel serious. But Robert was manly and resolute, and he decided that anything would be better than to live under the same roof with his odious step-father.

Five minutes later a tall thin man walked over from the opposite side of the car, and said, "Will you allow me to sit beside you?"

"Thank you. I am tired of sitting alone, and thought I should like a chat with an intelligent young man."

"I am well versed in character reading, being a professional phrenologist and a student of physiognomy. Are you going to the city?"

"I may be able to help you get a place. I am extensively acquainted with business firms. But perhaps you have a place already secured?"

"You may have to wait for a position. Pardon me—it is none of my business—but you ought[Pg 53] to have money enough to carry you on a few weeks in case you have to wait."

"I have a brother-in-law who is a commission merchant. Indeed I may say that Mr. Claflin, the great merchant, is a cousin of mine."

"I was once in Claflin's employ," continued the stranger. "I was head of one of the departments, with a salary of five thousand dollars a year."

"I don't wonder you ask. It was because Claflin interfered with me. I felt that I ought to have full charge of my department, and would tolerate no interference. He interfered with me, and in a fit of anger I threw up my position. I dare say you think me foolish?"

"You are right, but an angry man doesn't stop to consider. Claflin seemed surprised, and no doubt he was sorry, but he is a proud man and he[Pg 54] wouldn't demean himself by asking me to stay. So I put on my coat and left."

"I went over to a rival merchant, but had to take less pay. Still I got on very well, till last spring, when I had an attack of malaria. That broke me down in health and pocket, and now I am what you call hard up."

"I have about recovered my health, and now I shall soon get a good place," went on the stranger.

Here Robert took out his watch—it was an excellent Waltham silver watch—and consulted it.

He drew from his pocket a showy gold watch—at least it was yellow, and had a good appearance.

"Yes, and is of high grade. It is well worth seventy-five dollars, though I have had it for three years."

Robert was not especially interested. His own watch had cost but twenty-five, but it was a gift from his father, and as such he valued it.

"So it is, but, my young friend, I am very short of money. The silver watch would keep as good time, and the money would be of great service to me."

"Of course, that is a consideration," said the stranger, appearing disappointed.

"Egad! I didn't think of it. I believe I will. By the way, will you do me a favor?"

"Will you keep the watch for fifteen minutes? I am going out into the smoking-car, and I may go to sleep. That is the way smoking affects me. I might get robbed, but if you hold the watch I shall feel easy."

This seemed a strange proposal to make, but after all it was plausible. It seemed a trifling favor to grant. Why should he object?

"But how do you know I am honest," asked Robert. "You have only known me a few minutes."

"Didn't I tell you I was skilled in reading character? You have an honest face."

Robert wore a sack coat with pockets on each[Pg 57] side. He put the watch in one of these pockets, and resumed looking out of the window.

His companion left the car and went to the car in the rear, which was the smoking-car.

Half an hour passed, and then a stout, thick-set man of thirty-five entered the car and walked through it, looking at the passengers as he passed along.

"I mean that I have had my watch stolen, and I am sure some passenger has taken it."

"Never mind about any buts," said the other fiercely. "I can tell by your expression that you have got my watch. Let me have it at once."

"I have no right to give you the watch. If it is yours it was stolen by the man who handed it to me to keep for him."

"I give you two minutes to produce the watch. If you will do this, and pay me ten dollars besides, I will overlook your offense."

Robert's face flushed. He felt that he was in a tight place. This man might be a confederate of the other. But how was he to prove it?

The charge had come upon Robert so suddenly that he hardly knew what to say. Gradually, his presence of mind returned to him.

"What made you fix upon me as the one likely to have the watch?" he asked. "Why didn't you select some other passenger?"

The stout man hesitated. He could not say what was the truth, that Robert had been described to him by his confederate.

"Yes, I do," said the other defiantly. "I have had a great deal to do with crooks in my time."

Both Robert and the man who accused him looked round. The voice proceeded from a tall, rough-looking man who sat behind Robert.

"So do I," said the rough-looking man, who had the appearance of a Western miner.

"My friend," said the claimant of the watch severely, "will you do me the favor to mind your own business?"

"That's where your head's level, boy," said the miner. "If this man wants any proof that he asked you to keep it for him, he can call on me. I saw him do it."

"Then don't you dare to insinuate that I am in league with anybody for crooked work."

As he spoke, he rose to his full height, showing a muscular figure, rather more than six feet in length. Robert's antagonist was about six inches shorter.

"Very good; we'll investigate this. My young friend, come with me into the smoking-car."

There about the middle of the car sat the man from whom Robert had received the watch.

"I want you to take back your watch," he said. "This man says it belongs to him."

The tall, thin man looked at his confederate. He saw that their little plan of frightening Robert into giving them ten dollars had failed.

He looked askance at the miner, who he saw was disposed to be a friend of Robert.

"Look here," said the miner sternly, "you are a precious pair of rascals. Your little game hasn't worked. I have seen such men as you before. I was on the vigilance committee in San[Pg 63] Francisco some years ago, and such fellows as you we strung up to the nearest lamp-post. Can you make it convenient to get off at the next station?"

"That is fortunate. It will save you a good deal of trouble. Now, boy, come back into the other car. We have no further business with these gentlemen."

"I am very much obliged to you for getting me out of the scrape," said Robert gratefully.

"Crooks? Yes. They had all the signs. I've rubbed against such fellows before now. These fellows are not smart. They don't understand the rudiments of the business."

"You mean, did I strike it rich? Well, I had middling luck. I didn't go there for nothing. How much do you think I had when I landed at Frisco?"

"I had just three dollars and a half. I had one extra shirt, and that was about all."

"I was raised in Vermont. Worked on a farm for dad till I was twenty-two. Then with fifty dollars, which I had in the savings bank, I started for California. Well, I got there at last, but my funds were almost gone. I got a chance to do some rough work till I had enough to go to the mines. There I made something of a pile, enough to pay off the mortgage on the old farm, and have ten thousand dollars left. I've just come from there."

"Yes. I should not be satisfied now to remain at the East. Where are you going?"

Robert looked at his companion. His plain, honest face impressed him favorably. He felt that he was a man in whom he could confide.

"I will. I should like to ask somebody's advice. I want to know whether I have done right."

"I think he is about as mean a skunk as I ever heard mentioned. What made your mother marry him?"

They had reached the next station. In the next car there was a tumult and a noise as of men scuffling. The miner rose and opened the door of the car.

He and Robert saw the two men who had tried to swindle our hero in the hands of two angry men, who hustled them out of the car with such violence that they fell prostrate beside the track.

"These men tried to relieve me of my watch. They won't try it again in a hurry."

"They're a precious pair of rascals," said the miner. "If we had them at the mines, they would soon dangle from the branch of a tree."

Jones and Barlow, the two men who had been so ignominiously expelled from the train, picked themselves up, and with faces flaming with anger shook their fists at the train in impotent wrath.

"So it is," said Jones, rubbing his knee, which had received an abrasion from falling on a flinty stone.

As he spoke, both turned their glances upon the car in which Robert and the miner were located, and saw both looking out of a car window. The miner's face wore a look of amusement and satisfaction, which was enough to anger the two adventurers.

"Good-by, boys!" he said. "You're leaving us in a hurry, but we won't forget you."

In reply, Jones, who was the more choleric of the two, shook his fist at the miner, but did not indulge himself in any remarks. His feelings were probably too deep for words.

"Then we can take the next train that comes along. That cursed miner won't be on board, and we can be received as gentlemen."

"Say, have you got a clothes-brush, Barlow? My knees—that is the knees of my pants—are all over mud."

"So are mine. Yes, I believe I have, but don't let us repair damages here. They will be looking out of the car-windows and laughing at us."

They started in the direction in which the train was going. Two minutes later they fell in with a young Irish boy, who surveyed their dilapidated appearance with amusement.

Jones undertook to do so, but he was short and fat, and the boy easily eluded him. He climbed over a fence on one side of the railway, and began to make faces at the pair.

"What would you have done to me if you had caught me?" he asked in a mocking and derisive tone.

Angry as the two adventurers were at their humiliating treatment, their feeling of indignation was intensified by the boy's taunts. Jones was[Pg 70] about to make an angry retort, when Barlow stopped him.

They walked briskly till they had probably got a quarter of a mile on their way to the next station. Then they paused and looked back, for on the way they had passed the train.

"So I say. We'd get even with that miner, and the men that hustled us off the train. What do you say to wrecking it?"

"I'm an old switchman. Tended switch for three years on a Western road. All we'll have to do is to reverse that switch," pointing to one a hundred feet farther on, "and there'll be a smash."

"Of course it's safe. Besides, if there's a wreck, there'll be booty for us. I'd like to rifle the pockets of that miner."

The train had been detained at a signal tower by a telegram, and this allowed the two adventurers to arrange their plans for wrecking it. But on trying to move the switch, Jones found a difficulty. He had not the necessary appliances.

He pointed to a square rock, weighing not far from a hundred pounds, by the side of the railroad.

"Yes, that'll do the business. But there's no time to lose. The train may come along at any moment. I don't know why it has been so delayed."

The rumbling of the train could be heard at a considerable distance. The two scoundrels didn't trouble themselves about the possible, or probable consequences of their dastardly plot. They only thought of revenging themselves upon the men who had ejected them from the train, and they felt, besides, an animosity against Robert and his miner friend.

They thought themselves without a witness, but in this they were mistaken. The boy already mentioned, whom they had pursued ineffectually, had followed them at a distance, having a feeling of curiosity about them.

"I wonder what they're up to?" he soliloquized, as he watched them tampering with the switch. He could not quite understand the meaning of their movements. But when they took the[Pg 73] rock, and between them conveyed it to the railroad track, and put it in the way of the coming train, he understood.

He bethought himself of calling out to them, and trying to prevent their plot. But he was sure they would pay no attention to him, and besides there was no time. He could already hear the thundering sound of the approaching train.

Tommy was on a bluff about fifteen feet above the roadbed. To descend the bank and run to meet the train would consume more time than he had at command.

"Oh, dear!" muttered Tommy. "There'll be a smash, and lots of people will be killed."

But there was one thing that neither Tommy nor the two scoundrels had seen. It was a cow that somehow or other had found its way through a gap in the fence from a pasture to the left, and was leisurely walking along the track, full in the path of the approaching train.

The engineer could not see the rock, for it was too small an object, but by great good luck he did see the cow.

With a tremendous effort, he stopped the engine[Pg 74] just in time. When the train halted, it was only ten feet away from the animal, who was looking with startled eyes at the coming train.

The shock of the sudden stop was such that the passengers started to their feet, and the engineer leaped from the engine.

By this time Tommy had descended the bank, and was standing only a few feet away.

"We have had a narrow escape," said the miner, wiping the perspiration from his brow.

"You have had two narrow escapes," said Tommy, pointing to the large rock which lay across one of the rails fifteen feet further on.

Tommy Keegan pointed to Barlow and Jones, who rather imprudently had maintained their position, in the hope that the train would be wrecked.

The engineer and the group of passengers around him eyed the two men with a quick, scrutinizing glance. Their appearance made the charge a probable one.

"Yes, they were put off the train at the last station for trying to swindle some of the passengers."

"No, he isn't. I was one of those who put them off the train," said one of the other passengers.

"I seed them try to turn the switch first," said Tommy. "They couldn't do that, so they got the rock and put dat on the track just before the train come along."

Barlow and Jones saw that things were getting serious for them, and very foolishly started to run. But a dozen men went in pursuit, prominent among them being the miner, whose long legs soon brought him abreast of the rascally pair. He seized Barlow by the collar, and at the same time another passenger grasped Jones.

Had the engineer sanctioned this, it would have been done without further delay, but he was a man of good judgment, and would not countenance such a proceeding.

"Come here, boy," said the miner, beckoning to Tommy. "The passengers owe you something for exposing these infamous rascals. Who will chip in?"

He took off his hat and dropped in a piece of money. Others followed suit, and the happy Tommy went away the richer by over thirty dollars. The two men were secured by a strong cord, and once again boarded the train as passengers, but under very unfavorable circumstances, and with gloomy forebodings as to the fate that was in store for them.

As they neared Chicago the miner turned to Robert and asked: "Are you intending to go to a hotel, my lad?"

"I don't think I can afford it," he said. "I have but little money, and I don't know how long I may have to wait for work."

"Don't let that worry. I am going to the Palmer House, and will take you along with me."

"Yes, but it will cost you nothing. You can stay with me two or three days while you are looking around for work."

"Not now. I feel as well acquainted with you as if I had known you for years. I have been poor myself, and it will go hard if Dick Marden can't take care of a boy who is looking out for a chance to make a living. Well, youngster, what do you say?"

The hackmen were on hand with their offers of transportation, but the miner declined.

"I want to unfold myself," he said, "and I reckon I'll walk. My bag isn't heavy, for I don't[Pg 79] carry round a dress suit. I suppose you're able to walk, Robert?"

So, unheeding the hackmen, they started for the Palmer House, which was less than half a mile distant. When Robert came in sight of the hotel, he was impressed by the large size and handsome appearance of the structure.

"I shouldn't dare to put up at such a hotel if I were alone," he said with a smile.

"I haven't chick nor child, and have no right to have, as I never married, but if I did have a son, you would suit me as well as any boy I know."

It proved to be a very good room, moderately spacious, with two beds, one on each side of the apartment.

"I feel sure of it," replied the boy, looking about him with an air of satisfaction.

"If you wish me to, though I am afraid it is hardly respectful, considering how much older you are than I am."

"Oh, hang respect! That won't bother me any. Take a wash, if you want to, and we'll go down to the dining-room."

Robert was glad to do so, as he felt heated and dusty. Mr. Marden followed his example.

They went down to the dining-room, and both did justice to the excellent meal provided.

They had just commenced on the dessert when a small man with a slight hump entered the dining-room, and took a seat opposite. He glanced across the table.

"Well, well, who would have expected to see you here, Peter Gray?" he returned, arching his eyebrows.

"I am not. I generally eat at a restaurant, but once a week I come in here and get a good dinner. The remembrance of it lasts me a week, and makes my other meals more palatable."

"No, I wish he were. He is a young friend of mine, who is for a short time under my protection. His name is Robert Frost. Don't you want a clerk in your office?"

Robert's eyes lighted up with pleasant anticipation. He felt that he would indeed be fortunate if he should obtain a place at once. He would not be able to look up to his employer, for the cripple was a little less than five feet in height, but their relations might be pleasant, nevertheless.

"You can go out and take a walk, Robert, while I go with Mr. Gray to his office."

"I can't possibly pay twelve dollars to any clerk, not even if he were experienced—and this boy probably isn't."

"Stop a minute! I propose that you shall pay him twelve dollars a week, but I will undertake to pay seven of it."

"All right. Oh, there is one thing I must mention. I have another clerk—twenty-two years of age—whom I only pay ten dollars a week. He mustn't know that the boy gets twelve."

"Very well; I will caution Robert. Should the young man find out, let him understand that only five dollars come from you."

Marden went to the office of his old acquaintance. It was small, but as large as many in the same line of business.

"Well, Robert," he said, "it's arranged. You will go to work on Thursday morning. Here is the card of your employer. To-morrow I will go round the city with you."

"Oh, he has a little private arrangement with me. There is another clerk, considerably older than you. He is not to know how much you get. Let him understand that it is five dollars."

"Why not? Consider me your uncle, and take care to do credit to my recommendation."

"I may come here now and then, but I expect day after to-morrow to go to the northern part of Michigan, to visit an old friend there, who is in the lumber business."

Within an hour Robert had selected a small room not far from La Salle street, where he was to have full board for five dollars a week. The[Pg 86] room was not equal to the one he had at home, but he would spend very little time there.

During the day following, Robert and his miner friend made an extensive tour of Chicago, and Robert felt impressed with the magnitude of the city and the extent of the business that was carried on in it.

"I'm not much on letter writing, but I reckon I'll be able to scribble a few lines occasionally."

Robert remained with the miner till Thursday morning, and then made his way to Mr. Gray's office.

He found a tall young man with tallowy hair and freckles standing behind the counter.

"I don't think that is true of Mr. Talbot—my step-father—but if he did, I should not dislike him any more. How do you like this business?"

"Then I hope he won't have to. I will take it as a favor if you will help me along. I am quite inexperienced. I never was in any business before."

"Yes, I'll look after you. If Mr. Gray knew what was to his interest, he would take me into partnership."

"Well, no, not exactly, but I've given him a delicate hint, but he never seemed to understand what I meant."

Just then Peter Gray came in. He looked quite insignificant compared with either of his two clerks, but Robert soon found that he was a hustler and a good man of business.

"If you try you'll succeed. Now, let me tell you a little about the business. You understand that this is a cut-rate railroad ticket office?"

"You'll soon get to understand our way of doing business—that is, if you pay attention."

The day passed, and Robert, who was on the alert, began to get an insight into the business. He found that it was not very hard, and could be soon mastered. He was not as much impressed as he expected to be by the business ability of Mr. Livingston Palmer, who had claimed to be the "brains of the business." It seemed to him that[Pg 90] Mr. Palmer was slow, and prone to make mistakes, but those were only his first impressions, which might be modified hereafter.

"With pleasure," said the elder clerk, brightening up—"that is, if you don't mind the expense."

Mr. Palmer selected a variety theater, and Robert purchased two orchestra seats, although he[Pg 91] would have preferred some performance of a higher class.

"Do you know why I wanted to come here?" asked Palmer in a low confidential tone.

"There's a girl that sings here—she's a daisy, and I have reason to think that she's sweet on me. There's her name on the bill—Alameda Churchill. When she comes out, give me your opinion of her."

In about twenty minutes Miss Churchill appeared. She was a stout young lady, weighing at least one hundred and sixty pounds. She had a high color, black hair, and a loud metallic voice.

Robert was tempted to smile. He had a very indefinite idea of what might be considered a feminine daisy, but he recognized his companion's conception of the term.

Miss Churchill sang in a loud voice and with plenty of action one of the popular songs of the day. Livingston Palmer looked the picture of rapture. With his head thrown back and his eyes fastened upon his charmer, he could hardly fail to attract her attention.

"Perhaps so, I don't know much about young ladies. I can't read their thoughts."

"I could not. But she is probably earning considerably more. If we both of us worked, there would be a nice income between us."

"You saw for yourself how sweetly she smiled on me. Oh, Robert, I am very happy!" and the infatuated young man looked in the seventh heaven of bliss.

"Excuse me for ten minutes, Robert," he said. "I am going into the Sherman House to write a note. I will try to get it to her this evening."

Robert smiled. He was a good deal amused by Palmer's romantic infatuation, but he did not feel called upon to remonstrate with him.

"Doubtless you will know from whom this note comes. It is from the young man in the fourth row of the orchestra on whom you smiled so sweetly this evening. I am sure you read my devotion in my face. I have never spoken to you, but I feel that I love you, and I have never loved before. Will you appoint a time when I can meet you? Perhaps I flatter myself too much when I say that you seem to be kindly disposed towards me. I will send this by the usher, and will beg for a reply.

"I think it ought to make a favorable impression on the young lady," said Robert, doubtfully, however.

Palmer opened and read it, his heart beating with feverish excitement. Then he smiled.

"Many thanks for your pretty note. To-morrow evening at eleven be under the window at No. 98 Lemore street.

"What do you think of that?" said Livingston Palmer triumphantly. "Do you notice that she signs herself Alameda?"

Robert, of course, being a boy, could not enter fully into Palmer's feelings. However, he answered in a sympathetic tone which satisfied his fellow clerk.

"I never thought I should be so fortunate," he said. "Oh, Robert, you don't know how I feel towards that girl."

"I suppose I was the same at your age. How fortunate it was that you invited me to accompany you this evening. I feel under the greatest obligations to you," and Palmer, seizing our hero's hand, shook it with impulsive energy.

Robert was beginning to be weary. To his[Pg 98] mind, Palmer seemed to be acting in a very silly manner. However, as he reflected, he was only a boy, and could not comprehend the effect of a grand passion on a man like his fellow clerk.

The next day Palmer was like a man in a dream. He was at his desk in the office, but he found it hard to attend to his duties in an intelligent manner. He made some ludicrous blunders, which finally attracted his employer's notice.

"It seems to me, Mr. Palmer," he said quietly, "that you are not quite yourself. Where did the man you just waited on wish to go?"

"Alameda," blurted out Palmer. "No," he corrected himself in some confusion, "Denver, Colorado."

"I believe there is such a place in California, but we never had any tickets for it."

"Do you think he suspects?" asked Palmer in[Pg 99] a whisper to Robert, when Mr. Gray had gone out for a minute.

"I see it does. Can't you put the matter out of your mind during business hours?"

"I will try to, but oh, Robert, when I think of to-night I feel like dancing a Highland fling right in the office."

"You refer to the figure you would cut when you were dancing the Highland fling?"

Livingston Palmer laughed, and managed with an effort to devote himself for the rest of the day strictly to business.

"You will be with me to-night, Frost," he said, as they closed the office, and started on their way to supper.

"Your appointment is at eleven o'clock. What are you going to do before that time comes? Will you go to the theater?"

"You know we can speak of her. That will be better than having my thoughts taken up by a variety entertainment. But, oh, how long the evening will be!"

"We shall get through it after a while. You might go round and take supper with me. I look upon you as my confidential friend."

As the clocks of the city struck eleven Robert and his friend Palmer turned into Lemore street. It was a small, narrow street, lined with brick houses, and evidently far from fashionable. The house indicated by the singer was no better than its neighbors.

"I wonder which is her room?" murmured Palmer. "There seems to be no light in any of the windows."

But as he spoke, one of the windows was lighted up by a lamp, which was lighted from within.

The curtain was lifted, and the fair face of Alameda peered out. She looked across the street and smiled, as she caught sight of Palmer and his young companion.

Livingston Palmer walked across the street, and taking a harmonica from his pocket, started on a tune. It was the only instrument on which he knew how to play, and that is why he selected it. It might have been hard to distinguish the tune, but that was not of so much importance. He felt that it was the proper thing to do, to serenade his charmer.

Robert maintained his position, and wondered what would come next. He had not long to wait.

The next moment Palmer was drenched by the contents of a pitcher, which Alameda poured out, locating him with careful precision, so that he should receive the full benefit of it.

Palmer started with a cry of dismay, and turned quickly. But too late. His collar, his hat, and coat were thoroughly wet. It was certainly very aggravating, and his mortification was increased by a hard, cold laugh, evidently proceeding from his charmer.

Robert hurried across the street to where Palmer was standing motionless, as if dazed. He did not laugh, as most boys would have done, for he felt indignant at the treatment his unlucky companion had received.

"Yes," answered Livingston Palmer in a hollow voice. "But it is not that that troubles me. She is false, heartless. Oh, Robert, my heart is broken!"

"Brace up, Palmer!" said Robert in a cheery voice. "She is not worthy of you. You are lucky to have found her out so soon."

"Perhaps you are right," said Palmer in a mournful voice. "But how could she be so false, so cruel?"

"I don't know, Robert," said the poor fellow sadly. "I don't think I shall ever get over it."

"Oh, yes, you will. You will meet someone else, who will appreciate your devotion."

They heard the window opening again, and fearing a second deluge, drew quickly away.

It was just in time, for the pitcher was again emptied, but this time the water only wet the sidewalk.

"No. I will go home and write her a reproachful letter. I will make her ashamed of herself."

"But it will make me feel better. I—would you mind going into the Sherman House with me while I write the letter?"

Sympathizing with his friend, Robert made no further opposition, and Palmer stepped into the Sherman House, procured a sheet of paper, and wrote thus:

"What do you think of that, Robert?" asked Palmer, handing the boy the letter to read.

"But if there is any chance of getting in with her again, I don't want to lose it."

"Well, Mr. Palmer, if you are satisfied with the letter, you had better mail it."

"I shall not sleep to-night, Robert," said Palmer mournfully. "My poor heart is too sore;" and he placed his hand on the place where he supposed his heart to be.

Robert doubted whether he should ever be affected like Palmer, but he dropped the subject, and went home to bed.

Palmer appeared at business the next day. His face showed a mild melancholy, but there were no indications of a breaking heart.

Whenever the postman entered the office, he looked up hopefully. But there was no letter for him till three o'clock. And then it was not directed in a feminine hand. But he opened it eagerly. As he read it his face became blanched. Then he laid it down on the counter and beckoned to Robert. Mr. Gray was not in the office.

Robert cast his eye over the letter. It was written in a large masculine hand. It ran thus:

"No! no! I wouldn't fight a duel for anything. What do you think I had better do?"

"Write a letter of apology. Tell him you did[Pg 108] not know she was a married woman, and will withdraw your attentions."

"I will. I—I don't think I love her any more, now that I know she is another man's wife."

"You had better not say anything about that. Mr. Churchill might take offense, and insist on your fighting a duel."

Livingston Palmer wrote a letter of apology, and mailed it just after supper. After that he seemed more cheerful. Robert concluded that his heart was not quite broken.

The next day about eleven o'clock a large dark-complexioned man with black hair and whiskers and a deep, hoarse voice entered the office.

As Palmer looked at the stalwart black-bearded man facing him a terrible fear sent a tremor through his slender frame. Suppose the fellow had come to inflict punishment upon him? Suppose he had a cowhide somewhere concealed about his clothes? He felt ready to sink through the floor.

"I hope," he said tremulously, "you found my letter satisfactory. I—I didn't know Alameda—I mean Mrs. Churchill—was married."

"Well, at any rate she got even with you. She told me of the pitcher of water she threw on you out of the window. How did it feel?"

Somehow Palmer did not enjoy having the scene which had been so harrowing to him recalled. Yet this man must be propitiated.

"So you were, so you were. When Alameda told me about it I nearly laughed myself to death."

Palmer began to recover from his alarm. Evidently the injured husband was not disposed to take things seriously, for he seemed in a good humor.

"My wife is to have a benefit next Thursday evening. Tickets are a dollar each. How many will you take?"

"I'm afraid I haven't got two dollars with me," said Palmer embarrassed. In fact, he lived so closely up to his income that he seldom had that amount about him.

The tickets were paid for and transferred to Palmer's vest-pocket. Then Alameda's husband left the office.

"I'm glad he's gone," said Livingston Palmer feebly. "I—I really thought he'd come in to horsewhip me."

"Isn't he a terrible looking ruffian? To think the divine Alameda should be married to such a man!"

"It's a pity she didn't meet you first. But I say, Mr. Palmer, you'd better give up paying attentions to her. It wouldn't be safe."

Two weeks passed without any event of importance. Robert had no difficulty in "getting the run" of the business in the office, and it is not too much to say that he became in that short time quite as efficient as Livingston Palmer, though the latter had been in the office for several years. Robert was on the whole satisfied with his position, but it must be confessed that he was looking around for something better.

"I am sure Mr. Marden wouldn't want me to remain here if I could improve myself," he thought. "In fact, I think he would like me the better for striking out for myself."

"It's a terribly dull life—this in a stuffy office," said Livingston Palmer one day. Since his upsetting with the variety singer the senior[Pg 114] clerk had hardly known what to do with himself.

"Humph! that wouldn't happen to me," said Palmer loftily. "I am certain I could strike something at once, if I tried."

Robert did not agree with his fellow clerk, since he had seen many a poor fellow on the streets begging for work of any kind. But he saw it would be useless to attempt to argue Palmer out of his high opinion of himself.

On the day following there came a long letter for Robert. It was postmarked Timberville, Michigan, and was from Dick Marden.

Dick Marden's letter interested Robert greatly. The confinement of city life was beginning to tell on the boy, who had heretofore lived more or less in the open at home.

"I'd like to go to Timberville," he said to Palmer, when he showed the communication. "The smell of pine and spruce would do a fellow a world of good."

"It wouldn't suit me," said Palmer, with a decided shake of his head. "Why, you have no amusements in a place like that—no theaters, no concerts, no billiard parlors, nothing."

"Perhaps more elevated than you think, Livingston. I've known some lumbermen who were very well educated."

"I would play all of Shakespeare's plays, but the part of Sparticus the Gladiator would suit me better."

"Twice—at the Twice-a-week Club. We gave Julius Cæsar, and I was Cæsar. The performance was a great success from an artistic standpoint."

"Which proves what I said, that tragedy doesn't pay," said Robert, with a short laugh.

"My support was very poor, and, besides, our performance was not advertised widely enough."

"No, they did nothing of the sort. We had not given them much advertising and so they ignored us. You know they won't do a thing without being paid for it."

"I didn't know it. I thought they gave the news. Why, sometimes they condemn a play even while they advertise it."

"Never mind, they ought to have praised our play, but they didn't." And here Palmer walked away and the subject was dropped.

A week passed and nothing of special interest happened. During that time Robert wrote to his mother, telling her where he was and what he was doing. He hoped to receive a letter in return, and was quite disappointed when no word came back.

"Here is a letter for Mrs. Talbot," said the postmaster, one day to Talbot, when the latter had called at the place for the mail.

"It's from Chicago," said the postmaster, whose name was Joel Blarcomb. "It looks like Robert's handwriting, too."

"Very well. He once did some writing for me in my books, when I had injured my finger on[Pg 119] a nail in a sugar barrel," said the postmaster, who also kept the principal store in Granville.

"Well, give me the letter and I will take it home," said Mr. Talbot, and soon after left the store with the communication in his pocket.

As soon as he was out of sight of the store he began to inspect the letter and wondered what it contained.

"More than likely the young rascal has sent to his mother for money," he thought. "I've a good mind to open the letter and read it."

The communication was not sealed very well, and by breathing repeatedly upon the flap James Talbot soon had the envelope open. Then he drew out the letter and read it.

He was chagrined to learn that his step-son was doing so nicely and needed no assistance.

"He seems to have fallen upon his feet," he murmured. "Well, I'll wager it won't last. Sooner or later he'll be back home and wanting me and his mother to take care of him. When that time comes, I'll dictate pretty stiff terms to him, or my name isn't James Talbot."

"Belongs to you so long as you live," mused James Talbot. "Can it be possible that the estate goes to Robert after his mother's death? I must look into this."

At first he was of a mind to destroy the letter, but thought better of it and placed it again in the envelope.

When he reached the house he found his wife in the garden, sitting under a grape arbor. Mrs. Talbot's face showed that she had been weeping.

"Why, my love, what is the matter?" he asked softly. Of late he had been treating her well, having what is popularly called "an ax to grind."

Mr. Talbot started, and his hand went into the pocket where the letter rested. Then he recovered and shrugged his shoulders.

"I have already told you what I think of the boy," he said. "My love, he is unworthy of your tears."

"I think I know him better than do you. You are blind to the truth because you are his mother."

"You must not think so much of him, my love. You are altogether too melancholy. I have just learned that we are to have a first-class theatrical company in Granville next week. I will get good seats and take you there."

"You are blue, Sarah. Forget the boy and you will feel better," said James Talbot, and receiving no answer to this, he walked away.

"Forget Robert! forget my only child!" thought Mrs. Talbot. "Never! Oh, if I only knew where I could write to him!"

On the day following Mrs. Talbot had occasion to call at Joel Blarcomb's store to order a number of groceries for the house.

"I hope you got good news from Robert," said the postmaster, after she had given her order.

"The one I gave to Mr. Talbot yesterday. I felt certain it was your son's handwriting on the envelope."

"He gave me no letter," answered the lady, and then a sudden fear came into her heart that made her feel faint. Had her husband received a letter from her son and destroyed it?

"Well, the letter was for you, whether you got it or not," said Joel Blarcomb bluntly. He did not like James Talbot any more than did many others in the little town. All who had had dealings with Robert's step-father had found him mean to the last degree.

"Perhaps he has forgotten to give it to me," said Mrs. Talbot, and abruptly left the store. Joel Blarcomb gazed after her pityingly.

"She didn't make no happy match an' I know it," he muttered. "That Talbot aint half the man Frost was."

"Yes—by mistake. It was only an advertisement from a Chicago investment company. The men who run it are little better than swindlers and I don't want you to have anything to do with them."

"I am sorry, my love, but I really believe I tore it up—in fact I am sure I did."

"As your husband, I didn't do so very wrong to open the letter. When I saw what it was I thought best to destroy it—I didn't want you to place any of your money in the hands of such swindlers. If you did that you would never see a dollar of it again."

"Not in money matters, Sarah. Such things a woman should leave entirely to her husband."

"I feel I must differ with you. After Mr. Frost died I became the sole executrix of his will, and I do not know that anything has gone wrong."

"Oh, I do not say that." James Talbot paused for a moment. "Speaking of Mr. Frost," he continued. "May I ask, did he leave his estate entirely to you?"

"No, he left me my choice of one-half of all he possessed, the other half to go to Robert, or the use of everything so long as I lived, all to go to[Pg 125] Robert after my death, providing he was living at that time."

"And which did you choose," asked Talbot, trying vainly to conceal his intense interest in the matter.

"I chose a life interest only, and signed the necessary papers for the surrogate."

"That is where we differ, Mrs. Talbot. Once he gets the fortune he will run through it like wildfire, mark my words."

"But I do not anticipate Robert will die before I do," went on Mrs. Talbot. "He is a strong, healthy lad."

"True, but there is many an accident happens to a boy that is knocking around like him."

"Mr. Talbot, do you wish any harm to befall[Pg 126] my son?" demanded the lady of the house, half angrily.

"Oh, no, of course not. But in knocking around he is taking a big risk, you must admit that."

At these words Mrs. Talbot's face became a study and she left her husband without another word.

"I really believe he wishes Robert out of the way," she thought. "Then the money would be mine, and he would try to get me to leave it to him."

"Here's a nice mess," he muttered. "I thought the whole estate belonged to her. If she died to-morrow I would be turned out without a cent and that boy or his guardian would take sole possession. I half wish I could get him out of my way for good, I really do." And then he began to speculate upon how such a dark deed could be accomplished.

On the following Sunday morning Robert attended one of the principal churches in Chicago and heard what he considered a very fine sermon on charity.

"I suppose we ought all to be more charitable," he thought, on coming out. "But I must say I find it very hard to have any charitable feelings for Mr. Talbot. I do hope he is treating mother as he should."

He was walking down State Street when he heard a commotion on the thoroughfare. A fire engine was coming along, followed by a long hook and ladder truck. He watched them and to his surprise saw them draw up almost in front of the tall office building in which Mr. Gray's cut-rate ticket establishment was located.

"Can it be possible that our place is on fire?" he cried, and ran to the office with all speed.

He soon discovered that the building was a mass of flames from top to bottom, the fire having[Pg 128] started in the boiler room in the basement and found a natural outlet through the elevator shafts. He tried to get into the office, but the door was locked and he had no key.

"Back there, young man!" came from a policeman, as he rushed up to force the gathering crowd out of the firemen's way.

"I work in this office," answered Robert. "Hadn't I better try to save something?"

While Robert hesitated another officer came along, and then everybody was ordered back, and a rope was stretched across the street at either end of the block. Meanwhile the fire kept increasing until it was easy to see that the office building was doomed.

"It's too bad," thought Robert, as he watched the progress of the flames. "This will upset Mr. Gray's business completely."

Half an hour later, as the boy was moving around in the dense crowd, he ran across Livingston Palmer.

"It looks like it, Robert," answered the senior clerk. "Still, I can't say that I care so much."

"No. You see, after we closed up Saturday night I met my friend Jack Dixon, of the Combination Comedy Company, and he has offered me a place to travel with the organization."

"I certainly shall now. At first I was on the fence about it, for I wanted to get with a tragedy company. But I suppose this will do for a stepping stone to something better."

Robert had his doubts about this, for Palmer had recited several times for him, and he had thought the recitations very poor. But the senior clerk was thoroughly stage-struck, and Robert felt that it would do no good to argue the matter with him.

"Oh, I guess not. He will have you to fall back on. I doubt if he will be able to resume business immediately."

Livingston Palmer was right in the latter surmise. The next day Robert found his employer in an office on the opposite side of the street.

"I am all upset, Frost," said Mr. Gray. "The[Pg 130] safe has dropped to the bottom of the ruins and it will be a week or two before they can dig it out."

"I hardly think so. The fact is, I have telegraphed to my brother in New York about business there. It may be that I shall open up in that city instead of here."

"I don't blame you in the least, Mr. Gray. I am sorry on your own account, as well as mine, that you have been burnt out. I hope you were fully insured."

"I was, in a way. Yet I have lost valuable records which no amount of money can replace."

When Robert left the office it was with a sober face. He was out of a position. What should he do next?

"It's too bad," he mused. "And just after writing to mother that I was doing so nicely."

All told he had saved up about twenty-five dollars, and he resolved to be very careful of this amount and not spend a cent more than was necessary, until another situation was secured.

Feeling that no time was to be lost, he pro[Pg 131]cured two of the morning papers and carefully read the want columns. There were several advertisements which seemed to promise well, and he made a note of these and then started to visit the addresses given.

The first was at a restaurant where a cashier was wanted. Robert found the resort to be anything but high-styled. It was on a side street and looked far from clean.

"Well, a fellow can't be too particular," he thought, and marched inside without hesitation.

"This way," said the head waiter, thinking he had come in to get something to eat.

"Oh, if that's so, excuse me for troubling you," and the boy turned on his heel to walk out.

"Hold on," said the head waiter. "I don't think the new man suits Mr. Hinks entirely. Perhaps he'll give you a show after all. You'll find Mr. Hinks over at the pie counter yonder," and the waiter jerked his thumb in the direction.

Robert walked to the counter and found a short, stout man in charge. The individual had a pair of crafty eyes that the boy did not at all admire.

"I worked in a cut-rate ticket office—the one that was burned out on Sunday last. I think I could do the work of an ordinary cashier."

"Well, I reckon he wouldn't have you unless you were all right," said Mr. Hinks. "I've got a new man on but he don't suit—he's too fussy and particular. Last night he left his desk and ran all the way to the sidewalk to give a man a dollar bill which he had forgotten."

"I don't want a man to be so honest as all that,—that is, with the customers,—although he must be honest with me. If a customer is foolish enough to leave his change behind, why let him lose it, that's my motto. What do you want a week?"

"Well, you pick up a good deal, you know," replied Mr. Hinks, and closed one eye suggestively.

"Tips? Oh, no, they go to the waiters. But through making change and the like," and Mr. Hinks closed one eye again.

"I didn't say so. But I know almost every cashier picks up lots of extra money in one way and another."

"Not if they are honest, sir. And I would not be dishonest—I would starve first. I am out for business, but not the kind of business you seem to expect of your employees."

"Here, here, I won't have you speak to me in this fashion," he blustered. "If you don't like the offer I've made you, you can get out."

"I don't like the offer, and I think it is an out[Pg 134]rage that you are allowed to conduct business on such principles," replied Robert, and lost no time in quitting the place. The proprietor followed him to the door and shook his fist after him.

The next place was a map-maker's office. Here there was a large force of clerks, and the youth was received very politely.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting," said the clerk who advanced to see what the boy wanted. "But Mr. Ruggles is very busy at present. Will you sit down or call again?"

"I'll wait a little while," said Robert, who was favorably impressed by the surroundings. "That is, if the place that was advertised is still open."

"I can't say as to that. There have been several applicants, but the entire matter is in Mr. Ruggles' hands."

The clerk turned away and Robert dropped on a long bench running up one side of the waiting room. Hardly had he settled himself than two men came in. One looked like an Englishman while the other was evidently French.

"We cannot wait too long," said the English[Pg 135]man. "My friend—Jean Le Fevre, must get back to Michigan as soon as possible."

Left to themselves, the Englishman and the Frenchman began to converse rapidly, the subject of their talk being a certain tract of timber land in the upper section of Michigan. This interested Robert, who could not help but hear all that was said.

"Ze map—zat is what we want," he heard the French Canadian—for such Jean Le Fevre was—say. "Once we have zat, and the land will be ours."

"Right you are," answered the Englishman. "And then old Felix Amberton can whistle for his money. His claim won't be worth the paper it is written upon."

Robert was startled at these words. He remembered that Felix Amberton was the name of Dick Marden's uncle, the Michigan lumberman. Were these the fellows who wished to get the lumberman's lands away from him?

Ordinarily he despised playing the part of an eavesdropper, but in the present instance he felt justified in doing so.

"It ees a great pity zat man came to help Mistair Amberton," went on the Canadian. "Who is he, do you know, Mistair Hammerditch?"

"Perhaps he is smart, Le Fevre. But I don't think he can outwit me," returned Oscar Hammerditch. He was one of the kind of men who hold a very exalted opinion of themselves.

"No, he cannot outwit you—nor Jean Le Fevre. Once we have ze map and all will be well."

"Mr. Ruggles is at liberty now," he said to Robert. "You had best go in at once, before one of the clerks engages him."

"I wish he had left me to listen to those schemers a bit longer," was what he thought.

But there seemed no help for it, and leaving the Englishman and the Canadian talking earnestly to each other he entered the private office of the proprietor of the firm.

"If you have been waiting to see me I am sorry for you," he said, after Robert had stated the object of his visit. "I engaged a clerk less than an hour ago."

"You can leave your name and address. Perhaps the other young man may not be suitable. Have you any recommendations?"

"I worked for Mr. Peter Gray, the cut-rate ticket man. We were burnt out, and Mr. Gray doesn't know what he is going to do next."

"I know Mr. Gray, and if he can recommend[Pg 138] you that will be sufficient. Here is a sheet of paper. Do you know what I pay a clerk at the start?"

"In that case I would be willing to start you at eight dollars per week, and after six months I would raise you to ten dollars."

"Then leave your name and address. Even if that new clerk does suit there may be another opening before long—although I would not advise you to lay back and depend upon it."

"Then I trust you get an opening soon—if I cannot use you," concluded Mr. Ruggles.

Robert wrote out his name in his best style, and added the address of his boarding house. The handwriting pleased the map-publisher, but he put it on file without comment. Then the boy bowed himself out.

He was pleased to think that, although there was no immediate opening for him, there might be one in the near future.

As Robert entered the outer office he looked around for the Englishman and the Canadian. They were nowhere to be seen.

"They are either in one of the other offices or they have gone," he said to himself. "I'd give a good deal to know just what they are up to. When I write to Mr. Marden I must tell him about the pair."

Once on the sidewalk the boy hardly knew how to turn. He had one more place on his list—that of a wholesale butcher, but the idea of working in a packing house did not please him.

"I don't believe it would suit me," he said to himself. "Especially if I had to work down by the stockyards."

Nevertheless, he was resolved not to remain idle if it could be helped, and so started out to find the address.

The locality was some distance from the center of the city and in a neighborhood filled with factories and saloons. At the corner of the block[Pg 140] upon which the packing establishment was located, Robert came to a halt.

"I don't believe mother would like me to work in such a place as this," he mused. "The folks may be honest enough, but they don't know the meaning of the word refinement."

The question came from a very small and very dirty boy who had brushed up against Robert's elbow.

"Does he owe you anything?" went on the street urchin, with a coolness that swallowed up the impertinence of the question.

"No, he doesn't owe me anything. He ad[Pg 141]vertised for a clerk and I had a notion I would strike for the situation," answered Robert, who could not help but like the street lad, he had such an open, friendly face.

"He had a fight with one o' his clerks day before yesterday, an' the clerk got a black eye."

"I heard dad say he was going to have old Rogers arrested, but Rogers gave him some extry money to keep still about it."

"And that is the reason he wants a new clerk, eh?" said Robert, with a short laugh. "Well, I don't think I'll apply."

"Lots of times. Once old Rogers followed my dad with a butcher knife, but dad up and knocked the knife from his hand with a club."

"He was goin' to have old Rogers locked up for salt the battery, or sumt'ing like that, but[Pg 142] Rogers he raised dad's wages a dollar a week, an' so dad didn't do nuthin."

"Evidently Mr. Rogers thinks money will cover everything," said Robert. "Well, it wouldn't cover everything with me."

"I'd like to see old Rogers git one good wallopin'—an' so would all of the boys around here. He won't let none of us around the packing house to see what's going on. He calls us all a set of thieves."

"He certainly must be a hard man to work for," concluded Robert. "I don't want to go near him," and with this remark he walked back the way he had come.

"If you managed to get in with Jack Dixon I might be able to coach you in your part," said Livingston Palmer loftily.

"Yes. We are to play two plays, 'The Homeless Sister,' and 'All for Love.' In 'The Homeless Sister' I am to take the part of a heartless landlord, and in 'All for Love' I am a butler in a Fifth Avenue mansion in New York."

"Well—er—hardly. Dixon says he can't put me in leading parts yet, for it would make the older actors jealous."

"Oh, I certainly shall. I have my lines down fine, and Dixon says my make-up is just what it ought to be."

"No—excepting——" Robert was going to mention the time when the adorable Alameda's husband had called at the ticket office, but cut himself short.

"Well, you were rather put out when the husband of that variety actress called upon you."

"Yes; I took particular pains to let her hear of it, through one of the ladies of our combination."

"The lady says she laughed and said I would ruin Dixon. But I'll show her that she is mistaken," added Livingston Palmer, drawing himself up to his full height and inflating his chest. "Robert, I am a born actor—I feel it in my bones."

"If you get through by the time the supper bell rings. My walk has made me tremendously hungry."

"The part of the landlord is not a long one—in fact it contains but six speeches each about thirty[Pg 146] words in length. At first I come into the parlor where the guests have arrived. I make a low bow and turn to the gentleman and say: 'What, it is my father's friend, Roger Brockbury, as I live! Thrice welcome to the Lion Inn, sir. And what is the matter with the lady, sir?'"

As Palmer began to recite he strutted around in grand style, ending by elevating his eyebrows, clenching his fists and throwing his head so far back that he nearly lost his balance.

"Is that what you have to say?" questioned Robert, who could scarcely keep from laughing outright.

"I knew you would say that. Why, Robert, it won't be a month before I'm the star of the combination."

"No, I'm no actor. I believe I was cut out for some office business and nothing else."

"Do you mean to say you would be content to[Pg 147] sit on a high stool keeping books all your life? That wouldn't suit me."

"No, I don't mean that exactly. I would like to manage some large office business—after I had learned it thoroughly."

At that moment the supper bell rang, and Palmer took his leave, to go to the theater for rehearsal. As Robert went down to the dining room of the boarding house he could not help but utter a short sigh.

"Poor Palmer," he mused. "He means well, but I'm afraid he will make an awful mess of it."

The evening was spent in his room reading a paper, for Robert was in no humor to go anywhere, even if he had felt like spending any money.

"I must try my luck again to-morrow," was his resolve. "And I must get around early, too."

He was up before seven o'clock, and dressing hastily, went out and purchased several newspapers. At the house he sat down in the sitting room to examine the Help Wanted columns, as he had done the day before.

Presently he heard the postman's whistle and[Pg 148] ring. Soon after one of the servant girls came in with a letter for him.

It was from Timberville, as he could see by the postmark, and he tore it open eagerly, feeling it must have been sent by Dick Marden.

Enclosed in the letter were money orders amounting to one hundred and fifty dollars.

"I'm glad I didn't get a job now," thought Robert. "If I had I would only had to have thrown it up. I'll go down to the post-office at once, get those money orders cashed, and then go on a hunt for Herman Wenrich."

Robert had been to the post-office a number of times for Mr. Gray, so he made his way there after breakfast without difficulty.

He found the money-order department somewhat crowded, and had to take his place at the end of a line numbering a dozen persons or more.

While he was moving toward the window his attention was attracted to a loudly-dressed individual, who came in and glanced around as if looking for somebody he knew.

"Are you acquainted here, young man?" he asked, in a low tone, so that those standing around might not hear.

"Then I wish you would do me a favor. My name is Charles Shotmore. I come from Lexington. I received a money order yesterday from my aunt, with whom I reside, and I want to get the order cashed."

"Won't you identify me? Of course, it's a mere matter of form, but it places one in a regular hole if one is not known," went on the man glibly. "You know they are very particular just at present, although they didn't used to be."

"I have just told you my name—Charles Shotmore, of Lexington. My aunt's name is Caroline Shotmore. And your name is——?" The man paused, expecting Robert to fill in the blank.

But the youth had seen enough of city life to make him shy of strangers, and he did not mention his name.

"Then you won't do me the favor?" And the loudly-dressed individual frowned darkly.

"And you are very forward," retorted Robert, and turned his back on the fellow. The man started to say more, but suddenly turned and walked to the corner of the room.

A hundred and fifty dollars was quite a sum, even for Robert to handle, and he placed the amount in the breast pocket of his coat.

The flashily-dressed man saw the youth stow the bank bills away, and his eyes glistened greedily.

He was a sharper by the name of Andy Cross, and it is doubtful if he had ever done an honest day's work in his life.

The money order he carried was one belonging to a man who had been stopping at the same boarding place at which Andy Cross had put up.

The order had come in a letter the day before, and Cross was anxious to get it cashed before Charles Shotmore should become aware of his loss.

"I've a good mind to follow that boy and see if I can't get hold of that money," said Cross to himself.

Not far away was a drug store, where several directories lay on a stand for the use of the public.

Robert stepped into the drug store to look for Herman Wenrich's name in the directory, and Andy Cross took a stand outside where he might watch the boy.

While the sharper was waiting, he felt himself touched on the arm, and wheeling about, found himself confronted by the man to whom the stolen money order belonged.

"Mr. Smith, I wish to speak to you," said Charles Shotmore, somewhat excitedly. He did not know Cross' real name, for he had never heard it.

"What do you want?" demanded Andy Cross,[Pg 154] as coolly as he could, although he was much disconcerted.

"The servant at the boarding house says a letter came yesterday for me, and that she saw you pick it up from the hall rack."

"Sir, do you mean to insult me!" demanded Cross, but his face turned pale with sudden fear.

"The girl comes from the South End, and she says you are known by the name of Cross. She is positive you took my letter, and I want it."

"I don't know. But I was expecting a money order from my aunt, and if it was in the letter I want it."

"I came down to the post-office, yes, for that is where they cash money orders."

"Well, I haven't your money order, and that is all there is to it. Let go of my arm."

At that moment Robert came out of the drug store. On catching sight of Cross in the grasp of another, he paused in wonder.

"I am of the opinion that you have the money order," said Charles Shotmore. "If you are an honest man you will not object to being searched."

"But I do object!" burst out Andy Cross, fiercely, and tried to wrench himself loose. He had almost succeeded when Robert came to Charles Shotmore's assistance.

"I'll not let go." Robert turned to the other man. "Do you know this fellow, sir?"

"Perhaps I had better ask you that question," returned Charles Shotmore, cautiously.

"I was at the post-office a while ago and he wanted me to identify him. He said his name was Charles Shotmore."

"My money order, I'll wager a new hat. You villain. I have caught you just in time," and Charles Shotmore clutched Cross tighter than before.

It must be confessed that the sharper was nonplussed, for he had not expected to have Shotmore follow him up thus rapidly.

"If I—I have the letter, I took it by mistake," went on Andy Cross. "Sometimes I have violent headaches, and during those periods I do the most extraordinary things."

"Indeed!" sneered Charles Shotmore. "Never mind the headaches, just you hand over the money order."

As he spoke he slipped his hand into Cross' breast pocket and drew forth the letter.

"I think you are justified, Mr. Shotmore. It's bad policy to have such dishonest persons running around loose."

"Arrest me?" gasped Andy Cross. "If you have me arrested you will make the greatest mistake of your lives."

As he did so, Andy Cross gave a pull and freed himself from both Shotmore and Robert. Then he dashed into the street, among the cars and trucks going in both directions.

Robert at once took up the chase. Soon Shotmore joined in. But Andy Cross was fleet of foot, and fear lent speed to his feet. By the time the other side of the crowded thoroughfare was gained he was nowhere to be seen.

"That's right." Shotmore indulged in a low laugh. "I'm glad I got my letter and money order away from him before he started."

"No more than that he boarded at the same house with me. I fancy he is an all-round sharper, from what the servant girl said of him."

"I hope we meet again," said the gentleman, and after a few more words they parted, Shotmore going over to have his money order cashed without further delay,—he being already known at the post-office.

From the directory in the drug store Robert had obtained Herman Wenrich's address. The[Pg 159] old lumberman lived on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of the Chicago River, and the youth set off for the place, little dreaming of what trouble his visit was to bring to him.

Andy Cross ran for several blocks after leaving Charles Shotmore and Robert so unceremoniously. Then he turned into a large office building and took the elevator to one of the upper floors.

He stood at a hall window, which overlooked the street, and gazing down saw a friend walking along on the opposite sidewalk.

Feeling that Shotmore and Robert must have given up the pursuit by this time, he descended again and hurried after the man he had recognized.

Jim Huskin started, half fearing that it was a[Pg 161] detective who had accosted him, for he was wanted for several petty crimes—indeed the two rascals were well matched, and had committed many a wrong deed together.

"On the contrary, I've had mighty poor luck. Have you got another cigar, Jim?" He said this for Huskin was smoking.

"No. I got this out of a gent at the Palmer House. I tried to work him for a loan, but it was no go."

Both sharpers laughed at this. With them it was "easy come, easy go," and temporary poverty did not bother them.

"Perhaps I am five cents richer," went on Jim Huskin. "But I owe my hotel three weeks' board."

"I've got a well-filled trunk in my room." And Huskin chuckled and winked one eye.

"No, paving stones—although they are about the same thing. Say, when the hotel keeper opens that he'll have enough to build on another addition."

"I am behind two weeks with my landlady. She's sharp after me—but I don't care. I can't go back, even if I wanted to."

"Yes. One of the boarders got a money order and I tried to get it cashed for him."

"No, it didn't—and what's more, the man and a boy came close to having me arrested. I'll tell you what, Jim, I would like to get that boy in some spot where I could go through his pockets."

"He's got a good silver watch, and I saw him cash money orders at the post office amounting to one hundred and fifty dollars."

Andy Cross was willing to do this, providing Jim Huskin would "whack up" with anything which was netted from the proceedings, and the pair sauntered the way Cross had come.

He pointed across the street to where Robert was walking, bound for the place where Herman Wenrich lived.

"I've never met the boy or man I couldn't work—if I had half a show," returned Jim Huskin confidently. "What will you do, follow me?"

"Yes. If you can corner him and want assist[Pg 164]ance, whistle, and I'll do all I can," added Andy Cross.

So it was arranged, and a moment later Jim Huskin crossed the street and placed himself at Robert's heels.

By this time the boy was close to the river, and crossing the bridge at the foot of the street, he hurried on in the direction where the old lumberman resided.

"I wonder if he lives over here?" thought Huskin. "If he does I must tackle him before he reaches home."

"Excuse me, but you dropped your handkerchief," he said, holding out the article.

"Is that so? Why, I was sure you dropped it." And Jim Huskin appeared much surprised. "It's a pretty good article," he continued. "I guess I'll keep it."

"I once had a funny thing happen with a handkerchief," went on Jim Huskin, as he ranged up alongside of Robert when the boy started off again. "A lady dropped hers in a street car. I picked it up, and as I did so, out rolled, what do you think?"

"A set of false teeth. The lady had been wiping her mouth and the teeth had dropped into the handkerchief. Maybe both of us weren't embarrassed. The lady got as red as a beet, and left the car at the very next corner." And Jim Huskin laughed loudly. "A good joke, wasn't it?"

"Perhaps for the others in the car; not for the lady," answered Robert, yet he could not help smiling.

"Grandon Street. I can take you there easily enough. I own property on that street."

"Do you? Then perhaps you can take me to number 238—that is, if you are going there now."

"Yes, I was bound there—to see one of my[Pg 166] tenants who talks of moving. Number 238 is less than a block from my houses. I think the Nelsons live at 238,—or is it the Romers."

"Oh, yes, to be sure. I know him fairly well. Doesn't he live in the house with the Nelsons,—or maybe it's next door?"

"I don't know who he lives with, or if he lives alone. He is a stranger to me. I want to see him on a little business."

Jim Huskin turned his head to conceal a smile. "I reckon I can lead him where I please now," he thought. Then he looked back, to see Andy Cross following them at a distance of less than a block.

Several squares were covered, and Huskin took Robert around a corner into a street which was little better than an alleyway.

"This is a short cut," he said. "The street is all torn up a bit further on, and unless we go this way we will have to walk several blocks out of our way."

"Any way will suit me," answered Robert.[Pg 167] "Only I may have some difficulty in finding my way back."

As they entered the alleyway Jim Huskin began to whistle a lively air. It was the signal for Andy Cross to draw closer.

"I always whistle when I get here," explained the sharper, glibly, as he stopped for a second. "I was born and brought up in this neighborhood, and the scene takes me back to my boyhood days."

Robert was not favorably impressed by the surroundings. On one side of the alleyway were a number of deserted tenement houses, and on the other the high brick wall surrounding a factory yard. "He must have been pretty poor to have lived in one of those shanties," thought the boy.

"In those days these houses were well kept, and where the factory stands was a pretty open lot," said Huskin, as if reading his thoughts. "Everything is changed now. Will you mind my stopping at one of the houses for a minute? An old negro lives here, and I want to see if he is sick."

"Say, just look here a minute!" he cried, coming to the front door. "What do you think is the matter with this poor fellow?"

"I don't see anybody—" he began, when, without warning, Jim Huskin leaped upon him and caught him by the arm and collar.

"Give me that money and your watch!" he cried, harshly. "Give it to me instantly, or it will be the worse for you."

For the moment Robert was dumfounded, for he had not dreamed that this pleasant stranger was about to attack him.

"I won't give you a cent," cried Robert, and began to struggle with all the strength at his command.

Although but a boy, he was strong, and soon it looked as if he might break away in spite of all the sharper could do to hold him. Seeing this, Huskin whistled loudly three times,—a signal that Andy Cross must join him at once.

The signal had scarcely come to an end when Andy Cross pushed his way into the hallway.

"I've got him," answered Andy Cross, and caught Robert from behind, and soon his bony fingers were pressing themselves directly into the poor youth's windpipe, so that it looked as if Robert would be choked to death.

Robert could not see Cross, but he recognized the sharper's voice, and at once came to the conclusion that the two men had laid a plot to rob him.

Nearly strangled, he let go his hold of Huskin, and tried to break Andy Cross' grip.

The moment Jim Huskin felt himself free he wrenched Robert's watch and chain from their fastening and placed them in his own pocket.

He could go no farther, for now his wind was cut off entirely. All grew black before his eyes, and it was only in a hazy fashion that he felt Huskin snatch the money from where he had placed it with care.

"Ram his head against the wall first. We don't want him to give the alarm too soon."

Andy Cross understood what Huskin meant, and between them the sharpers raised the boy's body up and threw him with great violence against the hard wall close at hand.

The shock landed mainly upon Robert's head, as was intended, and with a groan, the youth sank down in a heap unconscious.

"He is for a while, anyway," responded Huskin. "Come, the sooner we get out of this neighborhood the better off we will be."

"Hullo! I thought this place was deserted," ejaculated Jim Huskin, in astonishment.

"We must not be caught," added Cross. "Here is a back door and another alleyway."

The door was unlocked, and they slipped outside. Soon the rascals had placed several blocks between themselves and the scene of the nefarious encounter.

He lived in the place, paying no rent. He was very old, and could hardly walk, and his eyesight was poor.

He had been to the corner grocery to buy himself a few of the necessities of life.

Entering the semi-dark hallway he shambled along until his foot struck Robert's body.

He was greatly amazed to find a boy there, suffering from a slight cut over one eye, from which the blood was flowing.

He was half of a mind to summon the police, but was afraid he could not find an officer short of six or seven blocks off.

Setting down his basket, he raised up Robert's head. As he did this, our hero gave a groan and a shiver.

Not without considerable trouble did the old man bring some cold water and bathe Robert's face, and bind up the wound with an old towel. He carried the boy to the kitchen and set him down on a worn-out lounge.

"Yes." Robert gave a groan. "They got my watch and over a hundred and fifty dollars."

At this announcement the eyes of Lemuel Branley almost started from their sockets.

"I was expecting to use the most of it to buy something with. So you didn't see the men?"

"Then they didn't go out by the front door, for I was at the top of the alleyway quite a spell."

"Yes; and come to think of it, the back door was wide open when I first came in for the water."

"I knew one of them in a way. The other introduced himself to me while I was on my way over here."

And Robert related how he had fallen in with Jim Huskin, and how the sharper had gotten him to enter the tenement hallway.

"You're lucky to escape with your life," said[Pg 175] Lemuel Branley. "You don't know how bad some of the criminals in Chicago are."

"I must try to get on their track. I can't afford to lose my money, nor the watch, either." And Robert's face grew serious. The watch was the one his father had given him, and without the money how was he to purchase the map Dick Marden was so anxious to possess?

"You'll have to hustle to find them rogues, to my way of thinking," said Lemuel Branley. "Like as not they'll quit Chicago just as soon as possible."

Lemuel Branley made off, and while he was gone the boy brushed off his clothing and washed himself. Luckily he had a bit of court-plaster in his pocket, and this he plastered over the cut on forehead, thus doing away with the ragged towel.

By the time he had finished he felt a little stronger. Soon the old man came back, followed by a tall, heavy-set officer of the law.

"I saw you and one of the men a while ago," said the policeman, after our hero had told his story. "The man didn't impress me very favor[Pg 176]ably. I rather think I've seen his picture in the rogues' gallery."

Robert was willing, and they left the tenement by the back way, our hero first thanking Lemuel Branley for what he had done.

But nothing was to be seen of Andy Cross and Jim Huskin, and in an hour the policeman and the youth gave up the hunt. The officer directed Robert to the nearest station house, and here the particulars of the robbery were taken down. A large book of photographs was placed before Robert, and he soon found Jim Huskin's portrait.

Andy Cross' photograph could not be found, since he had not yet sat for the rogues' gallery, even though he richly deserved it.

The officer in charge took down Robert's address, and told our hero if anything was learned he would let the youth know.

With this small consolation Robert had to be[Pg 177] content. He left the station house much crestfallen.

"Everything seems to be going wrong," he mused. "I do hope those rascals are caught, and that very soon."

"Even if I find him, what good will it do, if I can't offer him the money for the map?" was his mental comment.

Nevertheless, there seemed to be nothing else to do, and so, after a lunch, he started again for No. 238 Grandon Street.

He was careful where he went this time, and found the thoroughfare without further difficulty. It was fully eight blocks from the tenement where he had been robbed.

The number he was searching for was a block away, and as he walked toward it two men passed him whom he instantly recognized. The men were Jean Le Fevre and Oscar Hammerditch.

"Well, I declare!" muttered the boy. "Can it be possible that they have been calling upon Herman Wenrich?"

It certainly would seem so, yet Robert had no[Pg 179] way of proving it. Both the Canadian and the Englishman were walking rapidly, and soon they passed out of sight around the corner.

Robert found No. 238 Grandon Street a modest dwelling set in the rear of a tiny garden of flowers. As he entered the garden a girl came out on the front porch and gazed up and down the street anxiously. She was probably fifteen years of age, and was pale and thin, as if just getting over a long sickness, which was the case.

"Does Mr. Herman Wenrich live here?" asked Robert politely, as he tipped his hat.

"He doesn't look like one of these traveling agents," she thought. She had been bothered with agents a great deal lately.

"I am sorry to hear Mr. Wenrich is not well," said Robert. "I wished to see him on a little business."

"My name is Robert Frost. But he doesn't know me. You might tell him that I came here at[Pg 180] the request of Richard Marden, who is a nephew of Felix Amberton, of Timberville, Michigan. I wish to see him about a lumber tract up there."

"Why, yes, they——" The girl stopped short. "I do not know as I have any right to talk of these things, Mr. Frost. My father might not like it."

Robert bowed. "I certainly would not wish to make any trouble for you," he said, with a smile. "But I would like to see your father."

Nettie Wenrich hesitated for a moment. "He looks like a nice boy," she thought. "I like him better than I did those men."

Robert found the parlor small but cozy. There were several covered chairs, some pictures and books, and in one corner stood a small organ. The youth sat down near a window and waited.

The girl was gone fully five minutes. When she returned her face bore a puzzled look.

"Father does not know what to make of this," she said. "You say you came because Mr. Amberton sent you?"

"Mr. Marden sent me. He is Mr. Amberton's nephew and has taken full charge, now that Mr. Amberton is sick."

"Father says Mr. Hammerditch, one of the men who just called, said Mr. Amberton sent him for the map."

"Because those men are enemies of Mr. Amberton. They wish to get some of his lumber lands away from him."

"Perhaps I can explain some things, Miss Wenrich. But I would like to talk with your father first."

"Very well. But my father is quite sick, and I would not like to have you excite him."

"No, he is holding that. They made a proposition to him and he said he would think it over."

Nettie Wenrich led the way to the second story of the cottage, and to the front bedchamber. Here, on a snowy couch lay Herman Wenrich, feeble with age and a malady that had attacked his digestive organs.

"I do not wish to disturb you, Mr. Wenrich," said Robert, after introducing himself and shaking hands. "But I think it very strange that I should come here right after those two men I met outside."

"It is strange, lad," responded Herman Wenrich feebly. "I cannot understand it."

"I think I can safely say that Mr. Amberton never sent them and that he knows nothing of their coming," continued our hero.

"They wish to get a certain map from you—a map of some lumber lands in upper Michigan."

"Yes, yes, there is but one map," cried Herman Wenrich. "I have kept it safely for years."

"Papa, please do not excite yourself," pleaded Nettie Wenrich, coming to the bedside.

"I do not know a great deal about the matter," continued Robert. "But I do know that those two men, Le Fevre and Hammerditch, are Mr. Amberton's enemies and not his friends."

For the instant the youth was nonplussed. Then he thought of Dick Marden's letter.

"Ah, yes, I remember this Marden now," he said slowly. "He was the son of Amberton's youngest sister. Where does he come from?"

"He belongs in California and is a rich miner. But he was brought up down east—in Vermont, if I remember rightly."

"Exactly—he is Grace Amberton's boy. A good fellow, too—if he takes after his mother. So Amberton is sick and has put Dick Marden in charge. Then what those two men told me is a—a string of falsehoods."

"You can see what I am authorized to offer you for the map," said Robert. "I started for here with the money in my pocket——"

"Stop, Mr. Frost. You do not understand old Herman Wenrich. I am not thinking to sell the map."

"Yes, yes—full justice—for he deserves it. He could have had the map before, but it affected some land of mine—which I have since sold."

"Then you will let him have the map!" exclaimed Robert, much delighted. "I will pay——"

"I must be dead sure, as they say, of what I am doing. You look honest enough, but so did those men."

"Those men didn't look very honest to me," came from Nettie Wenrich, who had taken a strong liking to Robert, and it must be admitted that the feeling was reciprocated. "I could not bear that Englishman."

"I cannot blame you for being suspicious," said Robert gravely. "I wish I had been so this morning. I might have saved my watch and some of my money." He did not feel called upon to state that he had lost the amount which was[Pg 185] to be paid over to Herman Wenrich for the map.

Of course he had to tell his story—or, at least, a part of it. Nettie Wenrich was quite affected.

"It was too bad!" she cried. "I hope you get your watch and money back and succeed in sending those bad men to prison."

"I will tell you what I will do," said Herman Wenrich, after several minutes of silent thinking. "Let Felix Amberton send me a written order to deliver the map to you and I will do so."

"That is fair," said Robert. "No honest person could ask more at your hands. But what of those two men? They are to call again, I believe."

"I will put them off, for, say three days. You ought to be able to get your order by that time."

"Perhaps I can get it sooner, but I wish you would make it four days. There may be some delay, especially if Mr. Amberton is very ill."

"Very well, we will make it four days then," said Herman Wenrich, and thanking him for his kindness Robert withdrew and followed Nettie Wenrich downstairs.

"I hope he gets well soon," said the youth gravely, and his voice was full of a sympathy which went straight to the girl's heart.

"I am afraid he will never get well," answered Nettie, and the tears sprang into her eyes.

He took her hand and shook it warmly. "You must hope for the best," he said. And then, as she looked straight into his clear, honest eyes, he added, "If I can ever be of service to you don't hesitate to call upon me."

As Robert was approaching his boarding house he ran into Livingston Palmer, valise in hand, bound for the theater.

"I have and I haven't. I've got a letter from Mr. Marden requesting me to come to Timberville in Michigan."

"I don't know that I will stay there any great length of time. I am to go up on a little private business."

"Hullo! Do you mean to say you've had to[Pg 188] pawn it already. I thought you were one of the saving kind, to look out for a rainy day."

"I would loan you some money if I had it. But the truth is, I'm broke excepting for a couple of dollars that Jack Dixon advanced me on my salary."

And with a hearty grasp of Robert's hand the would-be actor hurried down the street. Robert gazed after him meditatingly.

"I hope his engagement proves all he wishes," he thought. "But I am afraid he is running up against a tremendous disappointment."

Retiring to his room, Robert wrote a long letter to Dick Marden, telling of the receipt of the money orders and of his interview with Herman Wenrich. He also mentioned Le Fevre and Hammerditch and asked for the order from Felix[Pg 189] Amberton for the map. At first he thought to put in about the stolen money and the watch, but then reconsidered the matter.

"I'll wait, since the map is not to be paid for," he said to himself. "Perhaps the police will catch the sharpers. If the worst comes to the worst I guess I can scrape up enough money to take me to Timberville without applying to Mr. Marden for more."

The letter finished, Robert went down to the post-office to post it. There now seemed nothing to do but to wait, and he returned to his boarding house worn out with the exertions of the day.

A good sleep made the youth feel much better, and while he was eating his breakfast he began to deliberate upon what to do during the time in which he would have to wait for an answer from his miner friend.

The front door bell rang, and presently he heard somebody ask to see the landlady of the house.

Mrs. Gibbs, the landlady, went into the parlor at once, thinking the newcomer might be somebody for board.

"I am looking for a nice, quiet boarding place," went on the newcomer. "Have you any vacant rooms?"

"It is in the rear and looks out on a small private garden. I think you will find it quiet enough."

"I cannot stand a noise. I used to board on the other side of the city, but there was a factory in the neighborhood and the rumble set me wild."

"With one person in the room my charges are ten dollars per week. If two gentlemen take the room together the rate is eight dollars each."

"I will show you the room," said Mrs. Gibbs, moving toward the door. "I am sure you will find it as nice as any for the price."

"I think so myself—for the house shows it," replied the man, with a glance around at the well-kept parlor.

Mrs. Gibbs led the way into the hall. As she did so Robert came out of the dining room.

The man glanced carelessly at our hero and then fell back as if he had received a shock.

"I will not," answered Robert firmly. "I know you, and I am going to hand you over to the police."

"It means that this man is a thief," declared Robert. "I met him in the post-office yesterday, where he saw me cash several money orders. After that he and a confederate robbed me of both money and my watch."

The sharper had not dared to go back to his former boarding house. He had calculated to find some new victim and to keep "shady" by pretending to be too ill to leave his room for sev[Pg 192]eral days. Now his little game was knocked completely in the head.

"He is a thief?" ejaculated the landlady. "Oh, my! and to think I was going to take him in to board!"

"There is some strange mistake here," said Andy Cross. "Young man, how dare you call me a thief!"

"I have a strong inclination to knock you down, but I will try to curb my temper, as all Christian people should. I am Ralph Goodwill, the son of the Reverend Amos Goodwill, of Denver. I have come to Chicago to complete my studies for the ministry."

"You'll have to turn over a new leaf before you become a minister," answered Robert.

"Why should I? You are a thief, and you cannot humbug me into believing otherwise."

"There is no mistake, Mrs. Gibbs. Did you[Pg 193] ever see a seminary student sporting such a suit of clothing."

"The suit is one I picked up in the slums," said Andy Cross glibly. "I have been doing some work there, assisted by some Salvation Army people. You can work better among the poor, lost ones if you are dressed like them," he added softly.

"Yes, yes, I presume that is so," said Mrs. Gibbs, who was somewhat interested in slum work herself.

"He is an out and out fraud," said Robert, as firmly as ever. "Mrs. Gibbs, will you send Mary to call a policeman? I will be responsible for the arrest."

"Haven't I said that I will be responsible? I am not going to let him escape if I can help it."

At that moment the front door opened, to admit one of the lady boarders. Robert stepped back to let her pass, and as he did so Andy Cross wrenched himself free and leaped for the door.

"Go to blazes!" snarled the sharper, and pulling the door back, he leaped out on the piazza.

Our hero's blood was up and he was determined that Cross should not escape him again.

He, too, leaped for the doorway, and as the sharper gained the piazza Robert put out his foot to trip him up.

Down went Andy Cross on his knees, and before he could recover he went down the steps, bump! bump! bump! to the sidewalk.

The wind was knocked completely out of him, and he was sadly bruised about the head, while the blood spurted from his nose in a stream.

"If you were, you wouldn't be able to groan over it," answered Robert. "Stay where you are, if you know when you are well off."

"Don't have me arrested," pleaded the sharper. The unexpected fall had taken all his self-possession from him.

At that moment a policeman showed himself at the corner, and Robert called to him to come up.

"Yes, I have the report of the robbery," said the policeman. "You were lucky to fall in with him."

In vain the sharper protested that he was innocent. The policeman marched him off to the nearest station house.

Here he was examined and searched, and fifty dollars of Robert's money was found in the envelope which our hero had obtained at the post-office.

Seeing there was no help for it, Andy Cross made a confession. He stated that Jim Huskin had kept both the timepiece and the rest of the money, and left Chicago the night before.

"Muskegon!" cried our hero. And then he said no more. But he was filled with interest, for he had thought to journey to Timberville by way of a steamer to the town named and then by railroad for the balance of the journey.

"We will look this matter up and telegraph to the authorities at Muskegon," said the officer who[Pg 196] was examining Cross. "If we learn anything we will let you know."

This ended the matter for the time being, and Andy Cross was locked up. Robert returned to his boarding house, feeling lighter in both heart and mind than he had a couple of hours before.

It had made James Talbot feel very bitter to think that should his wife die the Frost fortune would go entirely to his step-son.

"He doesn't deserve a cent of it—with his impudence to me and his running away from home," he said to himself. "The money ought to come to me."

The more he thought over the matter the more bitter did he become. He tried to think of some way by which he could alter the conditions of Mr. Frost's will, but nothing came to his mind that was satisfactory.

Of course he did not dare show his wife his real feelings. She was still angry over the lost letter, and he was afraid of causing an open rupture.

He concluded to do everything he could to win her good graces, and then question her again about the will and the property. Perhaps he might be able, he thought, to get control of the[Pg 198] money lying in the bank, which amounted to about thirty thousand dollars.

"Once I get control of that," he told himself, "Robert can whistle for his share. I'll run away to Europe before I'll give it up."

The first thing he did was to buy Mrs. Talbot a new bonnet, since he had heard that a woman will be pleased over a new bonnet, if over nothing else. The lady, however, received the gift rather coldly.

"Never mind, my love, I want my wife to look as good as or better than any lady in Granville."

"The money is for Robert, not for me." And Mrs. Talbot sighed as she thought of her son, and wondered how he was faring.

"There is going to be a play at the opera house to-night," he said sweetly. "I would like you to go. You can wear the new bonnet, if you will."

"'All for Love,' a romance of high life in New York. The newspaper says it is a good play."

"The newspapers cannot always be depended upon. Do you know anything of the company?"

"I am afraid, my love, that you do not keep very good track of theatrical affairs."

"This company has some very good advertising. One of the bills says they carry ten star actors and actresses. I am sure you will like the play."

"I will go if you wish me to," answered Mrs. Talbot, although she was doubtful if she would enjoy the performance. During the time Mr. Frost had been living, husband and wife had gone to both the theater and to the concert, but only to the very best. But Mr. Talbot had no taste for such things, and an ordinary performance pleased him about as well as one which was far superior.

There had been no show in Granville for over[Pg 200] two weeks. Consequently when the doors of the opera house were opened that night, the fair-sized hall became crowded in short order.

The Dixon Combination Comedy Company was entirely unknown, and for good reason—it had never existed until two weeks previous to the opening at Granville.

Jack Dixon, the manager, had been a "hanger-on" among theatrical people for several years, and having received several hundred dollars through the death of a rich aunt, had at once set to work to put a company of his own on the road.

The man meant well, but he knew very little about the business, as was proved by his hiring Livingston Palmer and several others who were no better actors.

Rehearsals had been backward and unsatisfactory from the start, and the combination would have done much better had it held back for another week for practice before appearing in public.

"We will carry the town by storm," said the leading man, a fellow by the name of Caster. He had been on the boards for several years, but[Pg 201] had never before risen to a position higher than that of being a member of a stock company attached to a dime museum.

"Yes, we will show them what real acting is," answered Livingston Palmer. "To-morrow the newspapers will be full of complimentary notices."

At quarter to eight the orchestra, consisting of a piano player, a violinist, a flutist, and a cornetist, struck up on the overture, and at eight o'clock sharp the curtain went up on the first act of "All for Love."

The scene represented Fifth avenue, in New York—at least, so the programme said,—although it is doubtful if anybody living on that fashionable thoroughfare would have recognized the locality. People were coming and going, and doing this as if their lives depended upon it, the same person appearing and disappearing every half minute or so.

In the crowd was a girl who was supposed to be a companion to a rich old lady. As she stood waiting for something, the villain of the play, a fashionably-dressed man, came up and tried to tempt her into stealing the rich lady's jewels. While this was going on the butler of the lady's mansion appeared and overheard the plot.

The acting was crude from the start, but at the opening of a play few people pay much attention, and it was not until Livingston Palmer appeared as the spying butler that the audience began to grow attentive.

"Ha, what is this I hear!" cried Palmer, as he peered forth from behind a dry goods box set up against a building marked Hotel. "She is plotting to rob my mistress. Base woman that she is, I will—will—will——"

Palmer should have said, "I will expose her to Mrs. Ulmer and have her arrested," but the words would not come, for he had caught sight of the hundreds of faces in the audience and become stage-frightened in consequence.

"I will expose her," whispered the prompter, who stood in the prompter's box with the book of the play in his hand.

"I will—will expose her!" burst out Livingston Palmer. "I will expose her, base—I mean—I will expose her to be arrested—to—by—I mean—Mrs. Ulmer shall arrest her!" and[Pg 203] then he fell back out of sight, and all but overcome.

"Have I?" asked Palmer, in awe-stricken tones. "Oh, I—I—something slipped my mind. But—but I'll be all right in the next scene."

In the meantime the scene went on, the actors reciting their lines without a break, but with so little dramatic action that scarcely anyone in the audience was interested.

"Do you like it, my love?" asked James Talbot, who sat beside his wife in one of the orchestra rows.

The second act of the play represented the drawing room of Mrs. Ulmer's mansion. There[Pg 204] was at first a love scene which promised very well. But the lover in the play was as nervous as he might have been in real life, and when he started to kiss his lady-love good-by, he smacked her so warmly that his false mustache fell off into her lap.

The lover snatched the mustache up in a trice and hurried off as if he was leaving an enemy, instead of her whose heart he was supposed to have won.

The rich old lady came in, supported on the arm of her nephew, a captain of the regular army. The captain was wearing his sword, but he was not used to the weapon, and it got tangled up between his legs more than once, and came near to upsetting him.

"Take it off!" cried a voice from the gallery. Of course a laugh followed the bit of advice.

The captain was about to conclude an important interview with his rich aunt, when the butler walked in with a tray, on which were a bottle supposed to contain wine, and two glasses.

"Be careful there, Willie, or you'll drop the tray!" cried the voice from the gallery.

"Ah, so this is honest John!" exclaimed the captain, turning to the butler. "John, what have you to say to the captain who used to go horseback riding on your foot?"

"I'm glad to see you, sir," said Livingston Palmer. "Very glad, sir." Then he took a deep breath, and started again, so that his next lines might not escape him. "Mrs. Ulmer, Ihavea secret to tell." He meant, "I have a secret to tell," but some of his words ran one into another.

A shout went up at this, a shout that speedily became a roar. Of course Palmer meant to say, "One you have fondly loved intends to rob you," but he was hopelessly bewildered, and hardly knew what he was doing. For once his self-confidence had entirely left him.

"Yes, madam, Iwillgo, but—but——" Living[Pg 206]ston Palmer stared around wildly. He wanted to add, "I can prove what I have to say," but the words became mixed as before. "Icansay—whatIcanprove—I mean, I provetosay what I can—I can say what Icansay——"

"Then go and say it!" yelled somebody from the gallery. "Say it, and give somebody else a chance to talk."

"Worst I ever saw!" came from a third party. And then followed a storm of hisses. In the midst of this Palmer hurried from the stage. At once Dixon collared him.

"Palmer, what do you mean by this?" demanded the manager. "Have you lost your wits?"

"No, but—but—it's awful to have so many folks staring at you, and cat-calling, too."

"Then you'll never make an actor if you live to be a hundred years," responded Jack Dixon, and with this cold cut he walked off, leaving Palmer the picture of misery and despair.

But the scene was not yet ended, and scarcely had Dixon turned away when there came another[Pg 207] roar and a hiss. The unfortunate captain had fallen down with his sword between his feet. In trying to pick himself up he had upset a small table, scattering the books thereon in every direction. His wig came off, and when he managed to gain his feet once more it was found that his coat was split up the back for a foot and over.

The last suggestion was greeted with a wild assent, and soon half a dozen different articles landed on the stage, including the core of an apple and a half-decayed orange. In the midst of the uproar a number of the audience started to leave and the drop curtain came down with a bang.

"I have had quite enough of this," said the lady to James Talbot. "The company and the play are both very poor."

"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "I must say I looked for something much better myself. That poor butler couldn't act at all."

"He was dumstruck," said Mrs. Talbot, and felt compelled to laugh. "Poor fellow, he ought to go at some other line of work."

They were soon on the way home. Mr. Talbot had ordered a carriage to come for them when the performance was over, but this was not at hand, so they were forced to walk.

"I didn't make much by taking her out to-night," said the schemer to himself. "Next time I'll have to make sure that I am taking her to something that is really first-class."

When the pair reached home James Talbot[Pg 209] wished his wife to come into the sitting-room, to talk over their business affairs. The fact of the matter was, he was running short of money, and he desired his wife to make him an advance.

"I have something of a headache, James," she said. "I think I had better retire early."

Soon they were in the sitting-room and the lady dropped into an easy chair. He could not sit down, but began to walk up and down nervously.

"I hate very much to mention the matter to you, Sarah," he began, "but the fact is, a remittance from a man in Chicago who owes me quite some money has been delayed, and this has cut me short."

"If you can spare it, I would like to have a hundred dollars or so until the remittance comes."

James Talbot had told her before they were married that he was fairly well-to-do, but since they had become man and wife she had not seen a dollar of his money.

It was true, he had a little money, or had had it, but the amount was less than a thousand dol[Pg 210]lars, and it was now tied up in a speculation that promised little or no return. James Talbot had no head for business, and even his wife was beginning to find that out. He could be miserly, but miserliness is not true economy. He pretended to deal in real estate, but he was too shiftless and lazy to apply himself to steady work.

"I will be all right as soon as the money comes," went on Talbot cheerfully. "After this I trust I shall never have to trouble you again."

"I am half of a mind to try my luck in Chicago. That is where they make fortunes in real estate every year."

"Exactly, my love. But with a large capital it is a dead sure thing, for it cannot burn up, cannot be stolen from you, and constantly increases in value. What do you think of my plan to start in Chicago?"

"You could keep this home if you wished—at least, at first, and I could come out every Saturday afternoon and remain until Monday. The trouble is, the venture would require quite some capital."

"Not in ready money. My cash is tied up in investments. But you could loan me the amount, couldn't you, my love?"

Mrs. Talbot's face flushed, and her eyes sought the floor. She had been afraid that this was what was coming.

His face fell. "The boy always!" he thought. "Oh, I wish he would never be heard from again!"

"But if I make a barrel of money out of my investments, that must go to you," he said aloud.

"No, you shall keep the money," she replied. "I have as much as I will ever need."

In a few minutes more Mrs. Talbot retired. James Talbot walked the sitting-room floor with considerable satisfaction.

"Ten thousand dollars will be a nice sum," he mused, rubbing his horny hands together. "Robert, eh? Well, he'll never see the cash, I'll give James Talbot's word on that! It will be several years before he becomes of age, and who knows how much more of the fortune will come my way before that time?"

The morning paper contained a long and semi-humorous account of the performance of "All for Love." It said the actors and actresses were probably well-meaning amateurs who had yet much to learn before they would become successful in their profession. They advised the butler in the play to perfect himself in the part of a stuttering comedian! By the account it was evident that the play had come to a conclusion in a perfect uproar, and that many in the audience had demanded their money back.

James Talbot had gone off to his real estate office, to perfect his plans for opening up in Chicago, when the door-bell rang and Jane announced a visitor to see Mrs. Talbot.

"Livingston Palmer?" mused the lady of the house. "Why, where have I heard that before? Oh, I remember now. It was on that theatrical programme," and she looked it up to make sure. "He was that butler who started all the trouble. What can he want of me?"

She descended to the parlor to greet her visitor. Livingston Palmer was seated on the edge of a chair, his face far more careworn than ever before, and his clothing much soiled and torn.

"Good-morning," he said humbly. "This is Mrs. Talbot, who used to be Mrs. Frost, I believe."

"I am a stranger to you, madam, but I come from Chicago, and I am well acquainted with your son Robert."

"Indeed!" cried Mrs. Talbot, and her whole manner changed. "Is Robert in Chicago?"

"He and I were clerks in a cut-rate ticket office. But a fire threw us both out of employment."

"I thought you were new at acting," said the lady candidly. "It was, as you say, unfortunate."

"The people used us meanly," exclaimed Palmer. "I was struck in half a dozen places, and my coat was nearly torn from my back, and in the struggle to get away I lost my money and could not find it again."

"It was after the play was over. A regular mob congregated around the stage door, and we could scarcely escape with our lives. I never shall go on the stage again, never!" And Palmer shook his head bitterly. He meant what he said, and let it be recorded here that he kept his word.

Mrs. Talbot saw plainly that Livingston Palmer was suffering, both from humiliation and from the manner in which he had been treated physically, and her heart was touched.

"I am very sorry for you, Mr. Palmer," she said. "If there is anything I can do for you I will do it willingly. But I would first like to hear something of my son."

"I will tell you all I know," answered the young man quickly. "I was in hope that Robert's mother might aid me. We have been good friends. He's a splendid lad."

"Perfectly well, and was, as I said before, doing finely, until the fire threw us both out."

"I do not call that very good," cried Mrs. Tal[Pg 216]bot. "He cannot live very well on that in such a city as Chicago."

"An allowance?" Mrs. Talbot looked puzzled. "I can't understand that. I made him no allowance, for he would not permit it. He said he was going to make his own way in the world."

"I never got the letter." And then Mrs. Talbot's face flushed, as she remembered about the letter her husband had destroyed. Had she been deceived in the matter, after all?

A long talk followed, and the young man told Mrs. Talbot all he knew about Robert, and also mentioned Dick Marden, but not in such a way that the lady suspected the allowance Robert received came from the miner.

"If I were in Chicago, this would not matter[Pg 217] so much," he added. "But in Granville I know nobody but you and the members of our company, or rather the company to which I belonged. I was discharged, and Dixon refuses to even give me my carfare back to the city."

"I shall be pleased to give you what you need," replied Mrs. Talbot. "I am overjoyed to learn that Robert is well. I am going to pay Chicago a visit soon, and then if he will not come to me I will go to him."

"He will come to you fast enough, madam. It is only his step-father whom he dreads."

"Yes, yes, I know." Mrs. Talbot thought best to change the subject. "Will you not have breakfast with me, Mr. Palmer?"

"With pleasure," answered the young man. "But I—er—I would like to brush and wash up first."

"To be sure." Mrs. Talbot surveyed him critically. "I really believe some of Robert's clothing would fit you. At least his coat would."

Mrs. Talbot was as good as her word, and half an hour later Livingston Palmer came down from the room Robert had occupied, thoroughly[Pg 218] brushed and washed and wearing a coat and vest which had belonged to the boy. They were rather tight, it is true, but they were almost new, and a vast improvement over the ragged garments Palmer had worn upon presenting himself.

A substantial breakfast followed, of fish, omelet, hot rolls, and coffee, and it is perhaps needless to say that Palmer did full justice to all that was set before him. And small wonder, for he had eaten nothing since the afternoon of the day before.

It was nearly noon before the young man prepared to take his departure, with twenty dollars in his pocket, which he had insisted should be a loan only, to be paid back as soon as the opportunity afforded.

"I am very grateful to you, Mrs. Talbot," he said, on parting. "You have treated me like a king. Why Robert should leave such a home and such a mother I can't understand."

"It was entirely on his step-father's account, Mr. Palmer. Robert is high spirited and would not bend as Mr. Talbot wished."

To this Mrs. Talbot made no reply. But she[Pg 219] begged Palmer to keep an eye on her son, and if anything went wrong to let her know by sending her a letter in care of the postmaster, and marked for personal delivery only. Then Palmer hurried away, to catch the first train he could for the great city by the lakes.

When her visitor was gone Mrs. Talbot sat down to review the situation in her mind. Her thoughts were not pleasant ones. Her second marriage was proving to be anything but agreeable. She realized that her husband was not the man she had imagined him to be.

Dinner was on the table at twelve, for Mr. Talbot insisted on having his main meal at mid-day. Yet the man did not come in until nearly half an hour later, and then he appeared to be much put out about something.

"I understand you had a visitor this morning," he began, as he and his wife sat down to the table, and Jane brought on the food.

"Some friend of that reckless son of yours," went on Mr. Talbot. "What did Robert send him for, money?"

"I got it from Sproggens at the depot. He was talking with the fellow while he was waiting for a train. I hope you didn't encourage him, Sarah. If the boy sees fit to run away and stay away, let him make his own way."

"Humph!" James Talbot was on the point of saying that he did not believe the statement, but cut himself short. If he angered his wife now he might have trouble in getting the five or ten thousand dollars she had said she would loan him.

"The young man belonged to that theatrical company we went to see," continued Mrs. Talbot. "He knew Robert and so he thought he would call here and see me."

"He said Robert had been doing very well, but a fire burnt out the office in which he was employed."

"Mr. Palmer said Robert might go up to Michigan in a few days. He had to do something for a man interested in some timber lands in the upper part of that State."

"Humph! I shouldn't wonder if the boy came home soon. He'll get tired of roughing it."

"Robert has a stout heart, Mr. Talbot, and I doubt if he ever comes home so long as you are here."

And with these words Mrs. Talbot arose and swept from the dining room, hardly having touched a mouthful of the food Jane had taken so much pains to prepare.

James Talbot finished his meal in silence, and ate as heartily as ever, for seldom did anything interfere with his appetite. From the kitchen Jane eyed him in a manner which was anything but agreeable.

"The old gorilla," she said to herself, as she rattled the pans angrily. "He ought to be thrown out of the house. If it wasn't for the poor mistress, sure and I wouldn't stay another minute. I wish the victuals would choke him." And then she vowed that the next time she fixed the dessert she would make Mr. Talbot's portion so bad that he could not eat it.

Robert waited for two days for a letter from Dick Marden. In the meantime he went down to the police station twice to learn if anything had been found out about Jim Huskin.

"We telegraphed to Muskegon and several other points," said the officer in charge. "But so far no one has seen the rascal."

In the evening mail of the second day came two letters for the boy, both of which he perused with great interest.

The first was from his mother, telling of the meeting with Livingston Palmer, and of what the would-be actor had told her.

"I'll wager old Talbot stole that letter," he told himself. "And I guess mother thinks as much. Oh, what a mistake she made in marrying that man! I'll write her another letter this very night." And he did so, and posted it before retiring. In the communication he told her to beware of his step-father and not trust him in money matters, as she might be very sorry for it.

The second letter was from Dick Marden, enclosing the order from Felix Amberton for the map. In this the old miner urged Robert to obtain the document at the earliest possible moment.

"I'll go and get the document the first thing in the morning," Robert told himself. "And if all goes well I'll be on my way to Timberville by noon."

With the money recovered from Andy Cross, and with what his mother had sent to him, he now had ample funds for the trip. After writing the letter to his parent, he packed his valise, that nothing might delay his start.

A surprise awaited him the next morning just after he had left the dining room, and while he was telling Mrs. Gibbs that he intended to go away, to be gone an indefinite time.

"A gentleman to see Mr. Frost," announced the girl, and entering the parlor Robert found himself confronted by his step-father.

"Good-morning, Robert," said James Talbot, smiling affably and extending his hand.

"Good-morning, Mr. Talbot," replied our hero coldly. He pretended not to see the outstretched hand.

"You ought to know. You got my letter, even if my mother didn't," answered Robert bitterly.

"I got no letter, my lad, upon my honor I did not. I came out of pure friendliness to you."

"Never mind who told me." James Talbot cleared his throat. "As you are out of work I thought perhaps that you would like to come to work for me."

"Exactly. I don't mean for you to go back to Granville. I am going to open a real-estate office in Chicago, and I shall want a clerk. I understand that you take to that sort of thing."

"Ahem! That is rather harsh of you, Robert. I mean to do well by you. Why not take a fresh[Pg 226] start? I am sure we shall get along very well together."

"Not just yet. But I may in the future—after the office here is in full blast. I expect to make a big thing of the business here."

"A big business here means the investment of a lot of money," said the boy shrewdly. "Where is that to come from?"

"If she did, it would be no more than right that she should depend upon her husband in her investments."

"I wouldn't advise her to depend upon you. With your own money you can do as you please, but I don't think you ought to touch any of her funds."

"Because one must speak plainly to such a man as you, Mr. Talbot. I don't know why my mother married you, but I think I know why you married my mother."

James Talbot leaped from the chair upon which he had been sitting. He was enraged, but quickly calmed himself.

"You are entirely mistaken, boy, entirely mistaken. Why, I have all the money I want."

"Merely a bit of accommodation because I didn't have the cash handy. Why I can draw my check for twenty or thirty thousand dollars if I wish to."

Robert did not believe the statement. Yet as he had no way to disprove it, he remained silent on the point.

"Then you are going to use your own money entirely in this real estate venture in Chicago?"

"Well—er—most likely. Of course I may become pushed for ready cash at times and will then look to your mother to help me out a little. Every man, no matter how well off, gets pushed at times, when he cannot turn his securities into ready cash, you know."

"You will!" James Talbot became more en[Pg 228]raged than ever. "Don't you dare to interfere between my wife and myself."

"No, I want her to keep it and enjoy it as long as she lives. I don't believe you are any kind of a business manager, and if she put the money in your care she might be a beggar in a year or two."

"You are not my father, Mr. Talbot, and you need not call yourself such. My father was a far better man than you are, I can tell you that. He made his own way in the world, just as I am trying to do, and ask no favors from anybody."

"You are impertinent—a thorough good-for-nothing!" howled James Talbot, hardly knowing what to say. "I want to do you a kindness, and this is the way you receive me. I will not speak to you longer. But don't you dare to set my wife against me, or there will be trouble, mind that—there will be trouble!"

And thus talking he left the parlor, clapped his silk hat on his head, and dashed from the boarding house.

Such was the mental question Robert asked when he found himself once more alone.

James Talbot had tried a little plan of his own, and it had failed and left him in a worse position than before.

He had hoped by offering Robert a good salary—to be paid out of Mrs. Talbot's money—to get the youth under his thumb. But our hero had refused to have anything to do with him and had threatened to do all he could to induce Mrs. Talbot to keep her fortune in her own control.

"He's a regular imp," muttered James Talbot, as he hurried down the street, so enraged that he scarcely knew where he was walking. "If he writes home to his mother it will be harder than ever to do anything with her. I wish he was at the bottom of the sea!"

His soliloquy was brought to a sudden and un[Pg 230]expected termination when he passed around a corner and ran full tilt into another individual. Both went sprawling, and both were for the instant deprived of their wind.

"You fool, you!" panted the other individual. "What do you mean by driving into me in this fashion?"

"I'm not blind. I—I—was in a tremendous hurry." James Talbot looked at the other man curiously. "I—er—I—think I've met you before."

"I saw you in Granville—at the theater, and later on at the railroad station."

"Perhaps you belonged to that mob that assaulted our troupe," he sneered. "Your actions here are in the same line."

"No, I had no fault to find with the theatrical company," returned James Talbot slowly. The[Pg 231] meeting had surprised him greatly, and he began to wonder how he might turn it to account. "I wonder if you know who I am?" he added, after a pause.

"Well, if you must know, I will tell you—so that Mrs. Talbot may not get into trouble over it. Your townpeople treated me so shabbily that I called upon your wife for a small loan, so that I might get back to Chicago."

"A likely story," sneered James Talbot. "I believe that boy sent you to my wife with a message."

"You can think as you please," cried Palmer hotly. "I have told you the plain truth. But I guess Robert will have to send a private messenger, since his letters don't reach his mother."

The shot told, and James Talbot grew pale for the moment. Then he recovered himself.

"I won't stand any of your slurs, young man. I reckon you are no better than Robert."

"I am his step-father, and in the eyes of the law I am as a real father to him. Yet instead of minding me he openly defies me."

"I want to do what is right by him—make something of him—but he won't let me do it."

"He told me all about how you had treated him. I don't blame him for leaving home, al[Pg 233]though it may be possible that he would have done better by sticking to his mother."

"I don't wonder if she does, Mr. Talbot. As I understand the matter she is rich."

"It would be a great temptation for some husbands to try to get that money in their own hands."

"You can take it as you please. I didn't stop you. You ran into me and knocked me down."

"If you do, let me warn you not to talk about me and my wife. Did she send the boy a message?"

"If she did I shan't deliver it to you," answered Livingston Palmer, and proceeded on his way. James Talbot gazed after him in anger and disappointment.

"Another who is against me," he muttered.[Pg 234] "I must hurry my schemes, or it will be too late to put them through."

Livingston Palmer had just reached Mrs. Gibbs' boarding house when he met Robert coming out, on his way to see Herman Wenrich about the map.

"Why, Livingston, I thought you were on the road," returned Robert, as he shook hands.

"Exactly. We opened in Granville and we busted in Granville," said Palmer, and in such a dubious fashion that our hero could scarcely keep from laughing outright.

"It has—at least so far as I am concerned. Dixon isn't going to show again until the performers have rehearsed for another couple of weeks."

Palmer did not wish to go into the details of his bitter experience, so without delay he began[Pg 235] to tell of his visit to Mrs. Talbot and of what she had done and said, and then before Robert could interrupt him he told of the meeting with James Talbot.

"Yes, my step-father was here," said Robert. "I am satisfied that he is not to be trusted. I shall write my mother a long letter about him as soon as I can get the chance. But now I must be off, as I have some important business to attend to for Mr. Marden. What are you going to do?"

"I am going to call upon Mr. Gray and see if he intends to open up again," answered Livingston Palmer. "After this office life will be good enough for me."

Less than an hour later found Robert at Herman Wenrich's modest home. A ring at the door bell brought Nettie Wenrich, who smiled pleasantly upon seeing our hero.

"My father is much better, thank you," said the girl, in reply to Robert's question concerning her parent's health. "I was afraid he would not get well before, but now I am sure he will."

"Those men were here again," went on Nettie. "They are very anxious to get the map, and they offered my father fifty dollars for it."

"They offered two hundred dollars," came from the bedchamber, for Robert and Nettie were ascending the stairs, and old Herman Wenrich had overheard the talk. "The fifty dollar offer was only their first."

"And didn't I say I didn't want a cent from Felix Amberton?" cried the old man. "All I want is that order, to make certain that I am not going astray—not but what you look honest enough."

Herman Wenrich had his daughter bring spectacles and he perused the paper with great care.

"That's all right—I know Amberton's signature well—saw it on many a check he gave me. You shall have the map. Nettie, bring me my tin box."

"What did those men have to say when you told them that I had said they were not working for Felix Amberton's interest?" asked Robert while she was gone.

"I didn't tell them anything about it. I merely told them to hold off for a day or two, and I would consider their offer."

"I shall show them this order for the map. They probably know Amberton's signature as well as I do."

"You will find it a wild section of the country—a good bit different from around here."

"It's a good place for a fellow who is strong and healthy. There are fortunes in the lumber business."

"I went into the district a poor man, and worked at cutting lumber at a dollar and a half a day. Inside of fifteen years I came out something like twelve thousand dollars ahead. Of course that isn't a fortune, but you must remember that I lost about ten thousand dollars by two spring freshets which carried off nearly all I at those times possessed. If I had remained there I would have been better off. But I came to Chicago and speculated, and now my fortune amounts to very little, I can tell you that."

By this time Nettie came back with a long tin box painted black. It was locked, and the key was in a pocketbook under the sick man's pillow. Soon the box was opened and Herman Wenrich took out a paper yellow with age.

"This is the map," he said. "If I were you I would be very careful of how I handled it, or it may go to pieces. Nettie, haven't you a big envelope in which to place it?"

During her absence Robert looked over the document, and found that it contained not only a map but also a long written description of several lumber tracts, including that which Felix Amberton had once purchased from a man named Gregory Hammerditch.

"It was an uncle. The trouble started through this Gregory Hammerditch and the Canadian, Jean Le Fevre. They claimed the land was never paid for, I believe."

"Do you wish to meet them?" questioned Herman Wenrich. "If so, I have no objection."

The idea struck Robert as a good one, and while Nettie went below to let the visitors in our hero entered the rear apartment, leaving the door open several inches.

"Good-morning," said both, as they came in and sat down close to Herman Wenrich's bedside.

"Indeed." The faces of both men fell. "The map is of no use to you, Mr. Wenrich," went on Hammerditch.

"Perhaps it's one you had made down to Cresson & Page," said Robert, mentioning the firm of mapmakers, to whom he had applied for a situation.

"I have spied upon nobody. I was at Cresson & Page's place when you came there, and I couldn't help overhear what you said about the map."

"Bah, he is a spy, sure enough," ejaculated Hammerditch, in disgust. "Jean, we have played into the hands of our enemies."

"Zat is so, but it shall do zem no good," answered the Canadian. "We haf better git back to Timberville as soon as possible," he added, in a whisper.

"I reckon you are about right," said Hammerditch. He bowed himself toward the door.

"Yes, we are going. You have played us for a pair of fools," replied the Englishman.

He ran down the stairs, with Le Fevre at his heels. Soon both were outside and stalking up the street rapidly. Robert began to laugh.

"They are a pair of rascals," he remarked. "I am awfully glad I outwitted them."

"And I am glad, too," said Nettie, with a[Pg 244] bright smile. "But if I were you I wouldn't lose any time in getting to Timberville with the map."

Robert found that the afternoon boat for Muskegon left at half past three, so there was still time left in which to get back to Mrs. Gibbs' house for a late dinner.

"That's nice," thought Robert. "But I'll have to see Dick Marden before I decide upon what's best to do next."

While waiting for dinner he penned a hasty reply to the note, and also a letter to his mother. In the latter he mentioned that he had seen Palmer, and that his step-father had called upon him,[Pg 246] and urged her to keep her financial affairs entirely under her own control. He was careful to send the letter in care of Mr. Blarcomb, for personal delivery only.

At the proper time our hero went down to the dock and boarded the Arrow, as the steamer was named. He found about two hundred passengers besides himself bound for Muskegon and other points along the Michigan shore. Besides passengers the Arrow carried a large quantity of baggage and freight.

The distance from Chicago to Muskegon is about one hundred and twenty-five miles. The Arrow was rather a slow boat and did not reach the latter point until some time in the early morning, so that Robert must spend a night on board. This being so, he lost no time in obtaining a berth.

He had just turned away from the clerk's office when he saw two men approaching. They were Hammerditch and Le Fevre.

"Hullo, they are going too," he thought, and was about to step out of sight, when the Englishman espied him.

"Don't you know that you may get into a good deal of trouble through following us, young man?"

"As I said before, I am not following you. I have my own business to attend to and I am attending to it."

"Bah, do you think we will believe zat," burst in Jean Le Fevre. "You are von spy. Perhaps you are von—vot you call heem?—von detective."

At this Robert laughed. "No, I am no detective. Only a young fellow out for business."

At this the French Canadian began to dance around and shook his fist in Robert's face.

"I know you!" he shouted. "But ve vill see who comes out best! Ha! ve vill see zat!"

"Hush!" interrupted Hammerditch. "Don't raise a disturbance on the boat," and he led his companion away to the upper deck.

"I shall have to keep my eye on them," thought Robert. "That Frenchmen wouldn't like anything better than to get into a fight. I might fight one of them, but I don't think I could get the best of both."

Once on the upper deck and away from observation, Hammerditch began to talk earnestly to his companion.

"I would give a good lot to get hold of the map," continued the Englishman. "Our false map may help us some, but that real map ought to be out of the way."

"He will haf ze room all to himself," chuckled Jean Le Fevre. "Now if I can find a way to open ze door——"

In the meantime Robert had gone to the bow of the boat and was enjoying the sea breeze.

"These gentlemen are brothers and desire a stateroom together," explained the clerk. "If[Pg 250] you do not mind I would like to put you in stateroom No. 50, along with a very nice gentleman named Porter, and give these gentlemen No. 45. Otherwise I will have to put one of them with you and one with Mr. Porter. They prefer to be together."

"All right, I would just as lief go in with the gentleman you mentioned," answered Robert.

"All right then, that's settled," said the clerk. "Mr. Frost, I will have your baggage transferred, if you will give me your key."

"I will transfer the baggage myself and take a look at the other stateroom," rejoined Robert.

Our hero and the clerk went below, and Robert took his bag to stateroom No. 50, which was better than the other. Mr. Porter sat outside of the door reading a newspaper, and the clerk introduced the pair. The stranger proved to be a Chicago hardware merchant on his way into Michigan on a business trip.

"I am glad to know you," he said, smiling pleasantly. "I hate to travel alone when there is the chance of an agreeable companion."

The boy retired at ten o'clock, and Mr. Porter with him. Soon Robert was sound asleep.

The Germans had gone to bed early, and both were in the land of dreams and snoring lustily when Jean Le Fevre and Hammerditch stole up to the door of stateroom 45.

"This is the one," whispered the French Canadian. "I was lucky to get the pincers, hey?"

While Hammerditch stood on guard Le Fevre inserted a small pincers in the key-hole of the door and managed to turn the key, which was stuck in from the other side.

"Ha! he is snoring loudly—he is fast asleep," he thought, not noticing that two persons were in the stateroom instead of one, for the German in the upper berth happened just then to be silent.

In the dim light the French Canadian made out a valise standing on the floor and grabbed it hastily. Then he came away, shutting the door behind him.

"I haf eet!" he whispered. "Come!" And he[Pg 252] almost ran for the stateroom assigned to him and Hammerditch. Once inside, the pair secured the door and then turned up the light.

"It's a mighty rusty-looking bag," was the Englishman's comment. "Have you got the key?"

Soon the valise was opened, and out tumbled a few articles of dirty underwear and a pair of embroidered slippers.

"'Tis ze wrong bag!" groaned the French Canadian. "See, ze clothing is too big for a boy, and so are ze slippers."

"You've made a mess of it," answered his companion. "Better take that bag back or there'll be a jolly row all for nothing."

Much crestfallen, Le Fevre took the bag back. On his second visit he saw both Germans, and he retreated even more speedily than he had on his first trip to the stateroom.

"The cake is dough," announced Hammerditch. "But though we are foiled this time, we must get that map away from the boy, no matter at what cost."

Robert enjoyed his sleep, and did not awaken until after the Arrow had tied up at the dock in Muskegon. He was just finishing his toilet when Mr. Porter opened his eyes.

"Ah, so you are ahead of me!" cried the hardware dealer, springing up. "Have we arrived?"

"I know the place and the route well. You cannot get a train for Timberville until eleven o'clock. Here is a time-table." And selecting one of several from his pocket, Mr. Porter passed it over.

"It will give you time for breakfast and a chance to look around. Supposing we dine together?"

In less than half an hour they had left the boat, and were walking up the main street of Muskegon. The gentleman knew the place well, and led the way to a substantial restaurant where a good meal could be had at a reasonable figure.

Hammerditch and Le Fevre had followed the youth, and now came to a halt outside of the eating resort.

"He seems to have picked up a friend," said the Englishman. "That will make our task so much harder."

Satisfied that Robert and his companion would not come out immediately, the pair went to another restaurant and procured a hasty breakfast.

Mr. Porter expected to do considerable business in Muskegon, and breakfast over, he shook Robert by the hand cordially.

"We must part now," he said. "I am glad to have met you, and trust we shall meet again."

"The same to you, Mr. Porter," replied our[Pg 255] hero. "I wish you were going to Timberville with me."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't do much there. There is only one small store and two or three sawmills. Of course, they use some hardware, but not a great deal."

By consulting a clock Robert found he had still two hours to wait before the departure of the train. Looking at the clock reminded him of his lost watch, and he had remembered how Andy Cross had said that Jim Huskin had left Chicago for Muskegon.

"I would just like to land on that fellow," he said to himself. "He deserves to be in prison quite as much as Cross does."

Walking around to the depot, Robert purchased a ticket for Timberville, made sure that he was right about the train, and had his valise checked straight through.

Although he was not aware of it, his movements were shadowed by Hammerditch and Le Fevre.

"He has checked the bag," said the Englishman. "I wonder if we can get at it through the baggage master?"

"It ees not likely," said the French Canadian.[Pg 256] "Za are verra particular here about baggage. If ve can get ze check ve be all right."

All unconscious of the nearness of his enemies, our hero sauntered from street to street.

His eyes were wide open for some glimpse of Jim Huskin, and it must be confessed that he never gave a thought to being attacked from behind.

Having traveled the main thoroughfares of Muskegon, the youth commenced a tour of the streets of lesser importance.

One street, near the docks, was lined with saloons, and here the worst element of the town appeared to be congregated.

"Make him treat, Mike," put in another man,[Pg 257] whose nose showed that strong drink and he were no strangers.

"Come on an' have jess one glass," went on the man who had first addressed Robert.

"Don't you dare to touch me," he said sharply. "If you do you will be laying up a good bit of trouble for yourself."

As quick as a flash our hero ducked, and hit out in return. The blow caught the tippler on the chin, and made him stagger up against the saloon window.

"Now I guess you'll leave me alone," remarked the boy. And then he walked on, but kept glancing behind him, to be prepared for another attack.

"Dat's wot he is," grumbled Mike, rubbing[Pg 258] his chin, where the blow had landed. "He must be wot da call a scientific boxer, hey?"

But Pat hesitated about going ahead. Robert looked strong, and he felt that the youth could not be easily intimidated.

They had seen the short encounter and saw how angry were the men who wanted to be treated.

"Why didn't you pitch into him?" went on the Englishman. "I would have done so."

"Yes, I know him, and I would like to see him get a sound thrashing," answered Hammerditch.

"Gif him what he deserves and ve vill pay you vell for eet," added the French Canadian.

"He stole a baggage check from me," said Hammerditch, promptly. "Of course, he claims the check, but it is mine."

To these roughs, who had not done a full day's work for a long time, five dollars appeared quite a sum of money.

"All right; I'll follow you up for the check,"[Pg 260] said Hammerditch. "And here is the five dollars." And he showed the bill, so that they might know that he meant what he said.

In a few minutes more the two roughs had laid their plans and were stealing after Robert.

All unconscious of the plot being hatched out against him, Robert walked on along the docks.

At one point he saw a large lake steamer at anchor, and thought to walk out to the craft to inspect her.

The way took him past a large quantity of merchandise piled high on the rear end of the dock.

He was just passing around the merchandise when he found himself suddenly seized from behind.

He tried to cry out, but before he could do so a dirty hand was clapped over his mouth.

He struggled to free himself, but soon found that two men were holding him. At last he managed to turn partly around and saw that the men were the two roughs who had wanted him to treat.

"Hold him, Mike," cried Pat, and slipped his hand into Robert's trousers' pocket.

Robert struggled, but before he could break away Pat had secured not only the baggage check, but also some loose change amounting to about a dollar.

"Now his udder pockets, Pat," panted Mike heavily. "Hurry up, I can't hold him much longer."

"You scoundrels!" exclaimed our hero, and breaking away at last, he dealt Mike a staggering blow in the chest.

But as the rough tumbled he caught the boy by the arm, and both fell, Robert on top.

Pat started to jump in, but then thought better of it. As Robert leaped up with fire in his clear eyes, the man began to run.

"Stop, you thief!" yelled the boy, and made after him. Left to himself, Mike also got up and limped away, his nose bleeding, and suffering from a bruised rib, where Robert had stepped upon him.

Pat ran as he had never ran before, and coming[Pg 263] to an alleyway, darted to the lower end and hid behind some empty barrels.

"Only a dollar," he said to himself, as he sized up his dishonest haul. "Well, wid that five I'm ter git fer de check it will be six. Dat aint bad."

Pat was no particular friend to Mike, and speedily resolved to keep the haul for himself.

"I'll tell Mike I didn't git no check and dat dere was only twenty cents in de pocket," he reasoned. He was willing to allow Mike ten cents for his share in the work, and no more.

The roughs had agreed to meet Hammerditch on a certain corner, and to this spot Pat made his way with all possible speed.

"Come in out of sight!" said the rough, and motioned the way to a nearby saloon. He was afraid Mike would come up before the transfer of the check could be made.

They went inside and ordered some drinks, and then Pat turned the baggage check over to the Englishman, and received the five dollars reward.

"Not at all," answered Hammerditch. "The[Pg 264] check is of little value really. But I was bound to have it."

Afraid that Robert would hurry to the railroad station as soon as the loss of the check was discovered, the Englishman did not remain in the drinking place long. At a hotel several squares away he met Le Fevre.

"Ve vill haf von drink first," was the reply, and they went to the barroom. Here they met several lumbermen they knew, and in consequence it was some time before they could get away from the hotel.

One of the lumbermen knew about the Amberton land claim, and thought that it would be a hard matter to dispossess the present incumbent.

"Ve vill do eet," grinned Le Fevre. "Ve hold ze vinning cards—not so, Hammerditch?"

The lumbermen wanted to know the particulars, but the others were not willing to disclose all of their secrets.

Mike he did not care so much about, since it had been Pat who had made off with his belongings.

"He didn't get much money," he mused. "But he got that baggage check, and I don't want to lose that."

He was making for a policeman when he saw Pat coming out of the saloon. The rough had had half a dozen glasses of liquor, and he was in consequence quite hazy in his mind.

"You rascal!" cried our hero, catching him by the shoulder. "Give me back what you stole from me."

"I say you did—a baggage check and about a dollar in change. Give them up or I'll have you arrested."

At this the tough grew alarmed, and at last he broke down and confessed that he had got the check for another party who had given him five dollars for it. He had part of the five dollars left,[Pg 266] and out of this he gave Robert a sum equal to that which had been stolen.

"Not if I can prevent it," answered Robert. "He wants to steal my valise. You come with me."

"I aint goin' ter!" roared Pat, and breaking away, he started on a clumsy run. Robert could readily have caught him, but concluded not to waste the time.

"Hammerditch will be hot-footed after my bag," he thought. "He expects to get that map."

He looked around, and espying a hack standing near, leaped in, and ordered the driver to get him to the depot with all possible speed.

Pat ran for fully six blocks, and then sank down on a pile of lumber, panting for breath.

But the boy was nowhere to be seen, and at once his courage arose, and he concluded that Robert had given up the chase. He counted his[Pg 267] money and found that he had exactly a dollar and ten cents left. The balance of the cash had been paid over to the saloon keeper and to Robert.

"I guess I'll git anudder drink," he murmured, and rolled over to the nearest dive. Here in less than half an hour every cent that had been left was spent, and then Pat started for home. He could not walk straight, and frequently bumped up against those he passed. He had passed less than three blocks when he espied Mike coming toward him.

"Bedad, I can't let him see me!" he reasoned, and tried to steer out of sight. But Mike was too quick for him, and the pair confronted each other at the entrance to a lumber yard.

"Yer got a whole handful of money," retorted Mike. "I want half, do yer mind dat?"

A wordy quarrel followed, and then the two roughs came to blows. They were encouraged to fight by the by-standers, who loved nothing better than to witness a "scrap," and it was not until a policeman came up that the encounter came to an end. Each contestant had a bloody nose,[Pg 268] and their eyes were so swollen they could scarcely see out of them.

"You're both good for sixty days in jail," said the officer of the law, and marched them to headquarters. Instead of sixty, each got ninety days, and I think my readers will agree with me that they richly deserved their sentences.

"There aint no train now, boss," said the hack driver, after receiving his directions from Robert.

"I don't want to catch a train; I want to catch a couple of thieves who want to make off with my valise," answered our hero.

Away went the hack at a rate of speed which was far from agreeable so far as riding was concerned.

But, disagreeable as it was, it pleased Robert, and soon the railroad station came in sight.

"There are the fellows who are after my bag!" cried our hero, as the hack came to a halt. He had espied Hammerditch and Le Fevre making their way to the baggage room.

"You are certain they are after the valise? Perhaps you may be mistaken," went on the driver, who was a rather elderly man and cautious.

Taking his station behind the baggage room door, our hero saw the Englishman and the French Canadian approach the baggage master.

"I am after my valise," said the Englishman, producing Robert's check. "My son left it here a few hours ago. I have concluded to remain in Muskegon over night."

"All right, sir," answered the baggage master, taking the check. He glanced at the piles of baggage which littered the room. "What kind of a looking bag was it?"

For the minute Hammerditch was nonplussed, as he did not remember Robert's bag very well.

"It was—er—a tan-colored bag, not very large," he stammered. "I just bought it, so I don't remember it—er—very well."

"I reckon this is it," said the baggage master, after a short hunt. "Check 432,—that's right."

"No, you don't, you thief!" he exclaimed. "Your little game is nipped in the bud."

"He got a tough to steal my check, and he would have had the bag if I hadn't got here just in time."

"I wouldn't have him for a relative," cried Robert. "Mr. Hammerditch, you are a thorough-paced scoundrel," he went on, facing the Englishman.

"Yes, that to you. You are a would-be thief, and I reckon your companion is little better."

"And I will have the law on you," retorted Robert. "You wanted to steal that map. You need not deny it."

"The bag is mine," said Hammerditch boldly. "This is a plot to get me into trouble."

"I reckon I can prove my property," said Robert. "Have you the key that will unlock the bag?"

"I have the key," went on our hero. He produced it and opened the bag. "I wish you to bear witness that this bag contains my wearing apparel," he said to the baggage master.

"Here are my initials, R.F. My name is Robert Frost, while his name is Oscar Hammerditch. There isn't a single thing here that belongs to him, or that would fit him."

"I have a map that he wants to steal, in order to lay claim to certain lumber lands located near Timberville."

If ever Hammerditch had looked sheepish it was now. He realized that even if he had obtained the valise he would have been outwitted. Plainly this American lad was too smart for him.

"Wait a minute, I want to give you a bit of advice," said Robert, catching him by the arm. "If I wanted to I could have you arrested on the spot. But I am not going to take that trouble. But this baggage man is a witness to the fact that you tried to steal my valise, and if you or that Frenchman ever bother me again, I'll have you locked up on the charge, and I'll see that you go to prison for it. Now you can clear out."

For the moment Hammerditch was speechless. He wanted to flare up, but the words would not come. He grated his teeth, turned on his heel and almost ran from the baggage room. With him went Jean Le Fevre; and it may be added right here that that was the last Robert ever saw of the dishonest pair.

After the pair were gone Robert gave the baggage man the particulars of what had occurred, so that he might remember, in case the affair came up later.

"I thought it was queer he couldn't remember how his bag looked," said the baggage master. "I reckon, however, they won't bother you again in a hurry."

It was now nearly train time, and Robert re[Pg 274]mained in the depot. Presently the train came in and he got on board, and the journey to Timberville was continued.

The remainder of the journey passed without special incident. Hammerditch and Le Fevre had expected to take this same train, but could not screw up the necessary courage to do so.

Timberville was reached about three o'clock, and our hero alighted at the depot, which was little better than a shed. As Mr. Porter had said the village was small and looked almost deserted.

"I wish to get to Mr. Felix Amberton's place," he said to the station master. "How can I best reach it?"

"It's several miles from here," was the reply. "Guess Joe Bandy will take you along in his rig."

Joe Bandy proved to be the mail carrier, who drove a two horse wagon through the lumber region of the vicinity. He agreed to take Robert along for the usual fare, thirty-five cents. Soon they were on the way.

"Say, you can't be the lawyer Mr. Marden is[Pg 275] expectin'," went on the mail carrier, with a look at the valise.

"No, I'm no lawyer," laughed Robert. "But I am a friend to Mr. Marden. How is Mr. Amberton?"

"Doin' poorly. Those land sharks are worrying him to death. They want to take his timber from him," answered Bandy.

They passed over several hills and through a heavy forest, and then made a sharp turn to the left. Presently a well-built cabin came into sight.

"Hullo, Robert!" came a voice from behind some trees, and Dick Marden rushed forth. His face wore a broad smile and he almost broke the bones of Robert's fingers, so hearty was his hand shake. "How are you, lad—well? And did you get that map?"

"Yes, I'm well, and the map is safe in my pocket," answered Robert, and then they walked to the cabin, while the mail carrier proceeded on his way.

Once inside of the place Robert was introduced to Dick Marden's uncle, who sat in an old-fashioned easy chair by one of the little windows[Pg 276] of which the cabin boasted. Mr. Amberton seemed weak and careworn.

"Dick has been telling me about you," he said, in a low voice. "He felt sure you would manage to get the map."

There was of course nothing for Robert to do but to tell his story from beginning to end, and this he did without delay, Dick Marden in the meantime ordering the negro servant to cook a good dinner for the youth.

"Well, you outwitted Hammerditch and Le Fevre nicely," cried the miner. "I would like to have seen them at the railroad station. They must have felt cheap and no mistake."

"They are rascals, and I always knew it," said Felix Amberton. "But now we have a hold upon them, for through Robert we can show up their true characters, if it becomes necessary."

The map was examined with care, and Dick Marden announced that it was just what was wanted.

"They can't go behind this," he said. "Robert, I think you have saved the estate for my uncle."

"I think so myself," came from Felix Amberton. "But I am afraid I am in for a long lawsuit, nevertheless."

Inside of an hour a hot dinner awaited our hero, to which he, as was usual with him, did full justice.

The balance of the day passed quietly, and on the day following Dick Marden took the boy over the timber lands.

"Honestly spoken," cried Marden. "Now with me it is just the opposite. I can remain in the city a couple of weeks, or possibly a month, and then I feel that I must get somewhere where there is lots of elbow room."

Two days later a lawyer arrived—the one sent for by Marden and Felix Amberton.

"The claim is all right," said the legal gentleman. "This map is good proof, too. If they want to fight let them. You will surely come out on top."

"Thank you," replied the boy, "but I am glad to have been of service to you and Mr. Marden,[Pg 278] my best friend. He helped me, you know, when I actually did not know how to turn myself."

On Monday of the week following Dick Marden announced his intention of going to Chicago on business, and as there was nothing to keep Robert in the lumber camp, he decided to accompany his friend back to the great city by the lakes.

"You have had lots of adventures since last we met in Chicago," remarked Dick Marden, while he and Robert were making the trip from Timberville to Muskegon.

"That is true, and some adventures that I didn't care much about," returned our hero.

"It's the way of the world, lad—you can't get through without some pretty hard knocks and dangerous brushes. But tell me frankly, what would you like to do next?"

"I would like to obtain some good office situation. I like to keep books, write business letters, and handle money—especially if the business done is on a large scale."

"I understand." Dick Marden mused for a moment. "I was thinking of offering you a place at Timberville, or in my mine in California; but I reckon you had best remain in Chicago. But I shan't forget to keep my eye on you, and[Pg 280] you can be sure that my uncle won't forget you if he comes out on top, as that lawyer says."

The run to Muskegon was without special incident, and once in the town bordering the lake they found they had several hours to wait until a steamer would leave for Chicago.

"The wait will just suit me," said the miner. "I want to call on a man who deals in lumber and make an arrangement with him to handle some of my uncle's output."

The office building in which the wholesale lumber dealer did business was situated several blocks from the depot and thither the pair made their way.

As they entered the wide hallway Robert suddenly clutched Dick Marden by the arm.

And our hero pointed to where Huskin stood, in conversation with an old gentleman in black.

The miner was right. Jim Huskin had the old man in black in an out of the way corner and was conversing with him in great earnestness.

"You cannot lose on the venture, Mr. Price," he said, as our hero and Marden drew closer. "The shares will always be worth the money you put into them. Better let me have the check now, and I will buy them inside of the next hour."

"Yes, yes, but are you quite sure it is safe?" asked the old man, in a trembling voice. "You see, I cannot afford to lose four hundred dollars."

"You will not lose—I will guarantee the shares myself," answered the confidence man earnestly.

"Very well, if you will guarantee them," said the old man, and drew out his pocketbook, which held several bankbills, and a filled in check for the amount Huskin desired.

"You know very well who I am," answered[Pg 282] our hero. "I am the boy you robbed in Chicago."

"You are mistaken——" began Jim Huskin, but his manner showed how uncomfortable he felt.

"A rascal and a thief!" murmured the old man, and looked as if he would faint. It did not take him long to place his pocketbook in his pocket again.

Jim Huskin was a man who made up his mind quickly. He saw that Robert had the best of him, and that his only chance for safety lay in flight. Turning swiftly, he started to run from the building.

But he had reckoned without Dick Marden, and he had scarcely taken two steps when the miner put out his foot and sent him sprawling in the hallway. At once a crowd began to collect.

"What! do you mean to have me arrested?"[Pg 283] demanded Jim Huskin, as he got up, to find himself in the grasp of both Robert and his friend.

Jim Huskin began to expostulate, but all to no purpose. Soon an officer came in, followed by another crowd.

"He and another man named Andy Cross robbed me in Chicago. Cross was caught, but this fellow came to Muskegon."

"Oh, yes, I remember the case now. So this is Huskin, eh? You were lucky to land on him."

"This is all wrong," persisted Huskin. He turned to the old man in black. "Mr. Price, won't you testify that my name is Williams?"

"I don't know as I will," was the slow answer. "You said it was, but I have no further proof of it."

"Yes, he wanted to sell me some unlisted mining shares. Said they were a good investment."

"What were the shares?" asked Dick Marden. "I am an old miner and I know the mines pretty well."

"The Golden Bucket! Why, that mine gave out six years ago. It never paid back the money put into it. Why, it's dead, and so are the stocks. You had a lucky escape."

Inside of quarter of an hour Jim Huskin was transferred to the local jail and his capture was telegraphed to Chicago. He was searched, and on him were found about forty dollars belonging to Robert and a pawn-ticket for the watch, showing that it had been pawned in Muskegon for six dollars. Before he left the town Robert got the watch back.

Later on Jim Huskin was taken back to Chicago, and he and Andy Cross were tried together, and each received a sentence of two years in State's prison for his misdeeds.

On getting back to Mrs. Gibbs' boarding house[Pg 285] Robert found a telegram from his mother awaiting him. It read:

Without delay our hero started for Granville, arriving there late in the evening. His mother met him at the front door, and it was plain to see that she had been weeping.

"Oh, Robert!" she cried, and embraced him. It was several minutes before she could say more.

"Yes, very sick, and the doctor is afraid he will never get well," answered Mrs. Talbot.

James Talbot was suffering from a sudden stroke of paralysis, which had affected his stomach and his left side. He was almost unconscious, and remained in that state for several days. During that time Mrs. Talbot was at his bedside constantly, and Robert did all he could for both.

At the end of two weeks the physician pronounced James Talbot out of danger. The paralysis was gradually leaving him, and he could now take a little nourishment.

His sickness seemed to have changed him won[Pg 286]derfully, and his harshness appeared to be a thing of the past.

"I have had my eyes opened," he said to his wife and Robert. "I have done wrong in the past, but from now on you will find me a different man."

These words pleased Mrs. Talbot greatly and removed a heavy load from her heart. Robert, however, said but little on the subject.

"I hope he does turn over a new leaf," he thought. "But I want to test him for a while before I trust him."

"I sincerely trust so," he answered gravely. "For your sake even more than for my own."

Here we will bring to a close the story of Robert Frost's adventures while "Out for Business." He had succeeded in taking several forward steps in life, and had brought to grief the enemies who had tried to drag him down and overcome him.

As soon as Mr. Talbot was on the mend our hero returned to Chicago and called upon Mr. Gray. The cut-rate ticket broker had already opened both his Chicago and his New York[Pg 287] offices, and he at once agreed to give the boy his position back, with two dollars per week added to his salary. The next day found Robert again working beside Livingston Palmer.

"Right glad to see you!" cried Palmer. And he shook hands cordially. "I reckon we have both had adventures enough for the present."

"I know I have," answered Robert. "I hope in the future I am left alone to buckle down to business."

For the time being all went well. But there were still many adventures in store for Robert, which will be related in a companion volume to this, entitled: "Falling in with Fortune; or, The Experiences of a Young Secretary." In this book we will meet all of our old friends and some new ones, and also learn something more about James Talbot and his schemes for getting possession of the Frost fortune.

Each volume is hailed with delight by boys and girls everywhere. 12mo. Cloth. Handsomely printed and illustrated.

THE ROVER BOYS DOWN EAST

Or, The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune
Old enemies try again to injure our friends.

THE ROVER BOYS AT COLLEGE

Or, The Right Road and the Wrong
Brimming over with good nature and excitement.

THE ROVER BOYS ON TREASURE ISLE

Or, The Strange Cruise of the Steam Yacht
A search for treasure; a particularly fascinating volume.

THE ROVER BOYS ON THE FARM

Or, The Last Days at Putnam Hall
The boys find a mysterious cave used by freight thieves.

THE ROVER BOYS IN SOUTHERN WATERS

Or, The Deserted Steam Yacht
A trip to the coast of Florida.

THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS

Or, The Mystery of Red Rock Ranch
Relates adventures on the mighty Mississippi River.

THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER

Or, The Search for the Missing Houseboat
The Ohio River is the theme of this spirited story.

THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP

Or, The Rivals of Pine Island
At the annual school encampment.

THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA

Or, The Crusoes of Seven Islands
Full of strange and surprising adventures.

THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS

Or, A Hunt for Fame and Fortune
The boys in the Adirondacks at a Winter camp.

THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES

Or, The Secret of the Island Cave
A story of a remarkable Summer outing; full of fun.

THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST

Or, The Search for a Lost Mine
A graphic description of the mines of the great Rockies.

THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE

Or, Stirring Adventures in Africa
The boys journey to the Dark Continent in search of their father.

THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN

Or, A Chase for a Fortune
From school to the Atlantic Ocean.

THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL

Or, The Cadets of Putnam Hall
The doings of Dick, Tom, and Sam Rover.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT FOR BUSINESS; OR, ROBERT FROST'S STRANGE CAREER ***

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CHAPTER		PAGE
I.	A Great Surprise,	7
II.	Mr. Talbot and the Dog,	15
III.	The Little Plot against Robert,	24
IV.	Mr. Talbot is Mystified,	33
V.	A Crisis,	42
VI.	On the Train,	51
VII.	Baffled,	59
VIII.	Peril,	67
IX.	At the Palmer House,	75
X.	Robert Gets a Place,	83
XI.	Mr. Palmer's Infatuation,	92
XII.	An Unlooked-for Scene,	101
XIII.	Robert Receives a Letter,	110
XIV.	James Talbot Learns Something of Importance,	118
XV.	The Result of a Fire,	127
XVI.	Two Disappointments,	136
XVII.	Robert is Given a Mission,	143
XVIII.	The Post-office Money Order,	150
XIX.	An Unexpected Attack,	160
XX.	The Escape of Cross and Huskin,	169
XXI.	Robert and the Old Lumberman,	178
[Pg vi]XXII.	A Clever Capture,	187
XXIII.	Palmer's Unfortunate Début,	197
XXIV.	Palmer Calls upon Robert's Mother,	209
XXV.	Another Talk about Robert,	215
XXVI.	Robert Speaks his Mind,	222
XXVII.	Mr. Talbot Receives another Set-back,	229
XXVIII.	The Conspirators are Disgusted,	236
XXIX.	A Lucky Change of Staterooms,	245
XXX.	Another Plot against Robert,	253
XXXI.	The Missing Baggage Check,	261
XXXII.	Robert Delivers the Precious Map,	269
XXXIII.	Robert Visits Home—Conclusion,	279

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