Joe The Hotel Boy
Horatio Alger

JOE THE HOTEL BOY

OR

WINNING OUT BY PLUCK



BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.





JOE THE HOTEL BOY.

CONTENTS. 

I.      OUT IN A STORM 
II.     A MYSTERIOUS CONVERSATION 
III.    A HOME IN RUINS  
IV.     THE SEARCH FOR THE BLUE BOX  
V.      A NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES  
VI.     AN ACCIDENT ON THE LAKE  
VII.    BLOWS AND KIND DEEDS 
VIII.   THE TIMID MR. GUSSING  
IX.     AN UNFORTUNATE OUTING  
X.      DAVID BALL FROM MONTANA  
XI.     A FRUITLESS CHASE  
XII.    THE PARTICULARS OF A SWINDLE  
XIII.   OFF FOR THE CITY  
XIV.    A SCENE ON THE TRAIN  
XV.     WHAT HAPPENED TO JOSIAH BEAN   
XVI.    A MATTER OF SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS   
XVII.   JOE'S NEW POSITION   
XVIII.  JOE SHOWS HIS MUSCLE  
XIX.    ONE KIND OF A DUEL  
XX.     ATTACKED IN THE DARK   
XXI.    DAYS AT THE HOTEL
XXII.   ABOUT SOME MINING SHARES
XXIII.  THE FIRE AT THE HOTEL
XXIV.   THE BLUE BOX AT LAST
XXV.    JOE VISITS CHICAGO
XXVI.   HOW A SATCHEL DISAPPEARED
XXVII.  JOE MAKES A DISCOVERY
XXVIII. FROM OUT OF A TREE
XXIX.   THE FATE OF TWO EVILDOERS
XXX.    CONCLUSION




PREFACE.

A number of years ago the author of this story set out to depict
life among the boys of a great city, and especially among those
who had to make their own way in the world.  Among those already
described are the ways of newsboys, match boys, peddlers, street
musicians, and many others.

In the present tale are related the adventures of a country lad
who, after living for some time with a strange hermit, goes forth
into the world and finds work, first in a summer hotel and then
in a large hotel in the city.  Joe finds his road no easy one to
travel, and he has to face not a few hardships, but in the end
all turns out well.

It may be added here that many of the happenings told of in this
story, odd as they may seem, are taken from life.  Truth is
indeed stranger than fiction, and life itself is full of romance
from start to finish.

If there is a moral to be drawn from this story, it is a twofold
one, namely, that honesty is always the best policy, and that if
one wishes to succeed in life he must stick at his work steadily
and watch every opportunity for advancement.





JOE THE HOTEL BOY.




CHAPTER I.


OUT IN A STORM.


"What do you think of this storm, Joe?"

"I think it is going to be a heavy one, Ned.  I wish we were back
home," replied Joe Bodley, as he looked at the heavy clouds which
overhung Lake Tandy.

"Do you think we'll catch much rain before we get back?"  And
Ned, who was the son of a rich man and well dressed, looked at
the new suit of clothes that he wore.

"I'm afraid we shall, Ned.  Those black clouds back of Mount Sam
mean something."
"If this new suit gets soaked it will be ruined," grumbled Ned,
and gave a sigh.

"I am sorry for the suit, Ned; but I didn't think it was going to
rain when we started."

"Oh, I am not blaming you, Joe.  It looked clear enough this
morning.  Can't we get to some sort of shelter before the rain
reaches us?"

"We can try."

"Which is the nearest shelter?"

Joe Bodley mused for a moment.

"The nearest that I know of is over at yonder point, Ned.  It's
an old hunting lodge that used to belong to the Cameron family. 
It has been deserted for several years."

"Then let us row for that place, and be quick about it," said Ned
Talmadge.  "I am not going to get wet if I can help it."

As he spoke he took up a pair of oars lying in the big rowboat he
and Joe Bodley occupied. Joe was already rowing and the rich boy
joined in, and the craft was headed for the spot Joe had pointed
out.

The lake was one located in the central part of the State of
Pennsylvania.  It was perhaps a mile wide and more than that
long, and surrounded by mountains and long ranges of hills. At
the lower end of the lake was a small settlement of scant
importance and at the upper end, where there was a stream of no
mean size, was the town of Riverside.  At Riverside were situated
several summer hotels and boarding houses, and also the elegant
mansion in which Ned Talmadge resided, with his parents and his
four sisters.

Joe Bodley was as poor as Ned Talmadge was rich, yet the two lads
were quite friendly. Joe knew a good deal about hunting and
fishing, and also knew all about handling boats. They frequently
went out together, and Ned insisted upon paying the poorer boy
for all extra services.

Joe's home was located on the side of the mountain which was just
now wrapped in such dark and ominous looking clouds.  He lived
with Hiram Bodley, an old man who was a hermit.  The home
consisted of a cabin of two rooms, scantily furnished.  Hiram
Bodley had been a hunter and guide, but of late years rheumatism
had kept him from doing work and Joe was largely the support of
the pair,--taking out pleasure parties for pay whenever he could,
and fishing and hunting in the between times, and using or
selling what was gained thereby.

There was a good deal of a mystery surrounding Joe's parentage. 
It was claimed that he was a nephew of Hiram Bodley, and that,
after the death of his mother and sisters, his father had drifted
out to California and then to Australia.  What the real truth
concerning him was we shall learn later.

Joe was a boy of twelve, but constant life in the open air had
made him tall and strong and he looked to be several years older.

He had dark eyes and hair, and was much tanned by the sun.
The rowboat had been out a good distance on the lake and a minute
before the shore was gained the large drops of rain began to
fall.

"We are going to get wet after all!" cried Ned, chagrined.

"Pull for all you are worth and we'll soon be under the trees,"
answered Joe.

They bent to the oars, and a dozen more strokes sent the rowboat
under a clump of pines growing close to the edge of the lake. 
Just as the boat struck the bank and Ned leaped out there came a
great downpour which made the surface of Lake Tandy fairly
sizzle.

"Run to the lodge, Ned; I'll look after the boat!" shouted Joe.

"But you'll get wet."

"Never mind; run, I tell you!"

Thus admonished, Ned ran for the old hunting lodge, which was
situated about two hundred feet away.  Joe remained behind long
enough to secure the rowboat and the oars and then he followed
his friend.

Just as one porch of the old lodge was reached there came a flash
of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder that made Ned jump.
Then followed more thunder and lightning, and the rain came down
steadily.

"Ugh! I must say I don't like this at all," remarked Ned, as he
crouched in a corner of the shelter.  "I hope the lightning
doesn't strike this place."

"We can be thankful that we were not caught out in the middle of
the lake, Ned."

"I agree on that, Joe,--but it doesn't help matters much.  Oh,
dear me!"  And Ned shrank down, as another blinding flash of
lightning lit up the scene.

It was not a comfortable situation and Joe did not like it any
more than did his friend. But the hermit's boy was accustomed to
being out in the elements, and therefore was not so impressed by
what was taking place.

"The rain will fill the boat," said Ned, presently.

"Never mind, we can easily bail her out or turn her over."

"When do you think this storm will stop?"

"In an hour or two, most likely.  Such storms never last very
long.  What time is it, Ned?"

"Half-past two," answered Ned, after consulting the handsome
watch he carried.

"Then, if it clears in two hours, we'll have plenty of time to
get home before dark."

"I don't care to stay here two hours," grumbled Ned.  "It's not a
very inviting place."

"It's better than being out under the trees," answered Joe,
cheerfully.  The hermit's boy was always ready to look on the
brighter side of things.

"Oh, of course."

"And we have a fine string of fish, don't forget that, Ned.  We
were lucky to get so many before the storm came up."

"Do you want the fish, or are you going to let me take them?"

"I'd like to have one fish.  You may take the others."

"Not unless you let me pay for them, Joe."

"Oh, you needn't mind about paying me."

"But I insist," came from Ned.  "I won't touch them otherwise."

"All right, you can pay me for what I caught."

"No, I want to pay for all of them.  Your time is worth
something, and I know you have to support your--the old hermit
now."

"All right, Ned, have your own way.  Yes, I admit, I need all the
money I get."

"Is the old hermit very sick?"

"Not so sick, but his rheumatism keeps him from going out hunting
or fishing, so all that work falls to me."

"It's a good deal on your shoulders, Joe."

"I make the best of it, for there is nothing else to do."

"By the way, Joe, you once spoke to me about--well, about
yourself," went on Ned, after some hesitation.  "Did you ever
learn anything more?  You need not tell me if you don't care to."

At these words Joe's face clouded for an instant.

"No, I haven't learned a thing more, Ned."

"Then you don't really know if you are the hermit's nephew or
not?"

"Oh, I think I am, but I don't know whatever became of my
father."

"Does the hermit think he is alive?"

"He doesn't know, and he hasn't any means of finding out."

"Well, if I were you, I'd find out, some way or other."

"I'm going to find out--some day," replied Joe.  "But, to tell
the truth, I don't know how to go at it.  Uncle Hiram doesn't
like to talk about it.  He thinks my father did wrong to go away.

I imagine they had a quarrel over it."

"Has he ever heard from your father since?"

"Not a word."

"Did he write?"

"He didn't know where to write to."

"Humph! It is certainly a mystery, Joe."

"You are right, Ned; and as I said before, I am going to solve it
some time, even if it takes years of work to do it," replied the
hermit's boy.



CHAPTER II.


A MYSTERIOUS CONVERSATION.


The old hunting lodge where the two boys had sought shelter was a
rambling affair, consisting of a square building built of logs,
and half a dozen wings, running to the rear and to one side. 
There were also two piazzas, and a shed, where wood had been kept
for winter use.

"In another year or two this old lodge will fall down," remarked
Ned, as he gazed around him.

"It must have been a nice place in its day," returned Joe.  "What
a pity to let it run down in this fashion."

"The rain is coming around on this side now, Joe; let us shift to
the other."

The hermit's boy was willing, and watching their chance, between
the downpours, they ran around to another portion of the old
lodge.

"It certainly is a little better here," observed Joe, as he
dashed the water from his cap.

A minute later the rumbling of the thunder ceased for the time
being, and they heard a murmur of voices coming from one of the
rooms of the lodge.

"Why, somebody must be here!" ejaculated Ned.  "Who can it be?"

"Two men, by their voices," answered the hermit's boy.  "Wait
till I take a look at them?"

"Why not go in?" questioned the rich youth, carelessly.

"They may not be persons that we would care to meet, Ned.  You
know there are some undesirable characters about the lake."

"That's true."

Not far off was a narrow window, the panes of glass of which had
long since been broken out.  Moving toward this, Joe peered into
the apartment beyond.

Close to an old fireplace, in which a few sticks of half-green
timber were burning, sat two men.  Both were well dressed, and
Joe rightfully surmised that they were from the city.  Each wore
a hunting outfit and had a gun, but neither had any game.

"We came on a wild-goose chase," grumbled one, as he stirred the
fire.  "Got nothing but a soaking for our pains."

"Never mind, Malone," returned the other, who was evidently the
better educated of the two.  "As we had to make ourselves scarce
in the city this was as good a place to come to as any."

"Don't you think they'll look for us here?"

"Why should they?  We were sharp enough not to leave any trail
behind--at least, I was."

"Reckon I was just as sharp, Caven."

"You had to be--otherwise you would have been nabbed."  Gaff
Caven chuckled to himself.  "We outwitted them nicely, I must
say. We deserve credit."

"I've spent more than half of what I got out of the deal," went
on Pat Malone, for such was the full name of one of the speakers.

"I've spent more than that.  But never mind, my boy, fortune will
favor us again in the near future."

A crash of thunder drowned out the conversation following, and
Joe hurried back to where he had left Ned.

"Well, have you found out who they are?" demanded the rich youth,
impatiently.

"No, Ned, but I am sure of one thing."

"What is that?"

"They are two bad men."

"What makes you think that?"

"They said something about having to get out of the city, and one
spoke about being nabbed.  Evidently they went away to avoid
arrest."

At this announcement Ned Talmadge whistled softly to himself.

"Phew! What shall we do about it?" he asked, with a look of
concern on his usually passive face.

Joe shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know what to do."

"Let us listen to what they have to say. Maybe we'll strike some
clew to what they have been doing."

"Would that be fair--to play the eaves-dropper?"

"Certainly--if they are evildoers.  Anybody who has done wrong
ought to be locked up for it," went on Ned boldly.

With caution the two boys made their way to the narrow window,
and Ned looked in as Joe had done.  The backs of the two men were
still towards the opening, so the lads were not discovered.

"What is this new game?" they heard the man called Malone ask,
after a peal of thunder had rolled away among the mountains.

"It's the old game of a sick miner with some valuable stocks to
sell," answered Gaff Caven.

"Have you got the stocks?"

"To be sure--one thousand shares of the Blue Bell Mine, of
Montana, said to be worth exactly fifty thousand dollars."

"Phew! You're flying high, Gaff!" laughed Pat Malone.

"And why not, so long as I sell the stocks?"

"What did they cost you?"

"Well, they didn't cost me fifty thousand dollars," and Gaff
Caven closed one eye suggestively.

"You bet they didn't! More than likely they didn't cost you fifty
dollars."

"What, such elegantly engraved stocks as those?"

"Pooh! I can buy a bushel-basket full of worthless stocks for a
dollar," came from Pat Malone.  "But that isn't here nor there. 
I go into the deal if you give me my fair share of the earnings."

"I'll give you one-third, Pat, and that's a fair share, I think."

"Why not make it half?"

"Because I'll do the most of the work.  It's no easy matter to
find a victim." And Gaff Caven laughed broadly.  He had a good-
appearing face, but his eyes were small and not to be trusted.

"All right, I'll go in for a third then.  But how soon is the
excitement to begin?"

"Oh, in a week or so.  I've got the advertisements in the papers
already."

"Not in New York?"

"No, it's Philadelphia this time.  Perhaps I'll land one of our
Quaker friends."

"Don't be so sure.  The Quakers may be slow but they generally
know what they are doing."

More thunder interrupted the conversation at this point, and when
it was resumed the two men talked in such low tones that only an
occasional word could be caught by the two boys.

"They surely must be rascals," remarked Ned, in a whisper.  "I'm
half of a mind to have them locked up."

"That's easier said than done," answered Joe.  "Besides, we
haven't any positive proofs against them."

The wind was now rising, and it soon blew so furiously that the
two boys were forced to seek the shelter of the woodshed, since
they did not deem it wise to enter the lodge so long as the two
men were inside.  They waited in the shed for fully half an hour,
when, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm let up and the sun
began to peep forth from between the scattering clouds.

"Now we can go home if we wish," said Joe.  "But for my part, I'd
like to stay and see what those men do, and where they go to."

"Yes, let us stay by all means," answered the rich youth.

They waited a few minutes longer and then Ned suggested that they
look into the window of the lodge once more.  The hermit's boy
was willing, and they approached the larger building with
caution.

Much to their astonishment the two strangers had disappeared.

"Hullo! what do you make of that?" cried Ned, in amazement.

"Perhaps they are in one of the other rooms," suggested Joe.

At the risk of being caught, they entered the lodge and looked
into one room after another.  Every apartment was vacant, and
they now saw that the fire in the fireplace had been stamped out.

"They must have left while we were in the woodshed," said Ned.

"Maybe they are out on the lake," answered the hermit's boy, and
he ran down to the water's edge, followed by his companion.  But
though they looked in every direction, not a craft of any kind
was to be seen.

"Joe, they didn't take to the water, consequently they must have
left by one of the mountain paths."

"That is true, and if they did they'll have no nice time in
getting through.  All the bushes are sopping wet, and the mud is
very slippery in places."

They walked to the rear of the lodge and soon found the
footprints of the two strangers. They led through the bushes and
were lost at a small brook that ran into the lake.

"There is no use of our trying to follow this any further," said
Joe.  "You'll get your clothing covered with water and mud."

"I don't intend to follow," answered Ned. "Just the same, I
should like to know more about those fellows."

"I wish I had seen their faces."

"Yes, it's a pity we didn't get a better look at them.  But I'd
know their voices."

By the time they gave up the hunt the sun was shining brightly. 
Both walked to where the boat had been left, and Joe turned the
craft over so that the water might run out. Then he mopped off
the seats as best he could.

Ned wanted to go directly home, and he and Joe rowed the craft in
the direction of Riverside. As they passed along the lake shore
the hermit's boy noted that several trees had been struck by
lightning.

"I'm glad the lightning didn't strike the lodge while we were
there," said he.

"It was certainly a severe storm while it lasted, Joe.  By the
way, shall I say anything about those two men?"

"Perhaps it won't do any harm to tell your father, Ned."

"Very well, I'll do it."

Soon Riverside was reached, and having paid for the fish and the
outing, Ned Talmadge walked in the direction of his residence. 
Joe shoved off from the tiny dock and struck out for his home. 
He did not dream of the calamity that awaited him there.



CHAPTER III.


A HOME IN RUINS.


As Joe rowed toward his home on the mountain side, a good mile
from Riverside, he could not help but think of the two mysterious
men and of what they had said.

"They were certainly rascals," he mused. "And from their talk
they must have come from New York and are now going to try some
game in Philadelphia."

The hermit's boy was tired out by the day's outing, yet he pulled
a fairly quick stroke and it was not long before he reached the
dock at which he and Hiram Bodley were in the habit of leaving
their boat.  He cleaned the craft out, hid the oars in the usual
place, and then, with his fishing lines in one hand and a good
sized fish in the other, started up the trail leading to the
place that he called home.

"What a place to come to, alongside of the one Ned lives in," he
said to himself.  "I suppose the Talmadges think this is a
regular hovel. I wish we could afford something better,--or at
least live in town.  It's lonesome here with nobody but old Uncle
Hiram around."

As Joe neared the cabin something seemed to come over him and,
for some reason he could not understand, he felt very much
depressed in spirits.  He quickened his pace, until a turn of the
trail brought the homestead into view.

A cry of alarm broke from his lips and with good reason.  The
little shelter had stood close to a large hemlock tree.  The
lightning had struck the tree, causing it to topple ever.  In
falling, it had landed fairly and squarely upon the cabin,
smashing it completely.  One corner of the cabin was in ashes,
but the heavy rain had probably extinguished the conflagration.

"Uncle Hiram!" cried the boy, as soon as he recovered from his
amazement.  "Uncle Hiram, where are you?"

There was no answer to this call and for the moment Joe's heart
seemed to stop beating.  Was the old hermit under that pile of
ruins? If so it was more than likely he was dead.

Dropping his fish and his lines, the youth sprang to the front of
the cabin.  The door had fallen to the ground and before him was
a mass of wreckage with a small hollow near the bottom.  He
dropped on his knees and peered inside.

"Uncle Hiram!" he called again.

There was no answer, and he listened with bated breath.  Then he
fancied he heard a groan, coming from the rear of what was left
of the cabin.  He ran around to that point and pulled aside some
boards and a broken window sash.

"Uncle Hiram, are you here?"

"Joe!" came in a low voice, full of pain.  The man tried to say
more but could not.

Hauling aside some more boards, Joe now beheld the hermit, lying
flat on his back, with a heavy beam resting on his chest.  He was
also suffering from a cut on the forehead and from a broken
ankle.

"This is too bad, Uncle Hiram!" he said, in a trembling voice. 
"I'll get you out just as soon as I can."

"Be--be careful, Joe--I--I--my ribs must be broken," gasped the
hermit.

"I'll be careful," answered the boy, and began to pull aside one
board after another. Then he tugged away at the beam but could
not budge it.

"Raise it up Joe--it--is--crushing the life ou--out of me," said
the hermit faintly.

"I'll pry it up," answered the boy, and ran off to get a block of
wood.  Then he procured a stout pole and with this raised the
heavy beam several inches.

"Can you crawl out, Uncle Hiram?"

There was no answer, and Joe saw that the man had fainted from
exhaustion.  Fixing the pole so it could not slip, he caught hold
of the hermit and dragged him to a place of safety.

Joe had never had to care for a hurt person before and he
scarcely knew how to proceed. He laid the hermit on the grass and
washed his face with water.  Soon Hiram Bodley opened his eyes
once more.

"My chest!" he groaned.  "All of my ribs must be broken! And my
ankle is broken, too!" And he groaned again.

"I had better get a doctor, Uncle Hiram."

"A doctor can't help me."

"Perhaps he can."

"I haven't any faith in doctors.  A doctor operated on my mother
and killed her."

"But Doctor Gardner is a nice man.  He will do all he can for
you, I am sure," urged Joe.

"Well, Dr. Gardner is a good fellow I admit.  If you--can--can
get him--I'll--I'll --"  The sufferer tried to go on but could
not.

"I think I can get him.  But I hate to leave you alone."  And Joe
stared around helplessly. He wished he had Ned with him.

"Never mind--give me a drink--then go," answered Hiram Bodley. 
He had often taken Doctor Gardner out to hunt with him and liked
the physician not a little.

Inside of five minutes Joe was on the way to the doctor's
residence, which was on the outskirts of Riverside.  He had left
the hermit as comfortable as possible, on a mattress and covered
with a cloth to keep off the night air,-- for it was now growing
late and the sun had set behind the mountains.

Tired though he was the boy pulled with might and main, and so
reached the dock of the physician's home in a short space of
time. Running up the walk of the neatly-kept garden, he mounted
the piazza and rang the bell several times.

"What's the matter?" asked Doctor Gardner, who came himself to
answer the summons.

"Our cabin is in ruins, because of the storm, and Mr. Bodley is
badly hurt," answered Joe, and related some of the particulars.

"This is certainly too bad, my boy," said the physician.  "I'll
come at once and do what I can for him."

He ran for a case of instruments and also for some medicines, and
then followed Joe back to the boat.

"You act as if you were tired," said the doctor, after he had
watched Joe at the oars for several minutes.

"I am tired, sir--I've been rowing a good deal to-day.  But I
guess I can make it."

"Let me row," said the physician, and took the oars.  He was a
fine oarsman, and the trip was made in half the time it would
have taken Joe to cover the distance.

At the dock there was a lantern, used by Joe and the hermit when
they went fishing at night.  This was lit, and the two hurried up
the trail to the wreck of the cabin.

Hiram Bodley was resting where Joe had left him.  He was
breathing with difficulty and did not at first recognize the
doctor.

"Take it off!" he murmured.  "Take it off! It is--is crushing
th--the life out of--of me!"

"Mr. Bodley--Hiram, don't you know me?" asked Doctor Gardner,
kindly.

"Oh! So it's you?  I guess you can't do much, doctor, can you? 
I--I'm done for!" And a spasm of pain crossed the sufferer's
face.

"While there is life there is hope," answered the physician,
noncommittally.  He recognized at once that Hiram Bodley's
condition was critical.

"He'll get over it, won't he?" questioned Joe, quickly.

The doctor did not answer, but turned to do what he could for the
hurt man.  He felt of his chest and listened to his breathing,
and then administered some medicine.

"His ankle is hurt, too," said Joe.

"Never mind the ankle just now, Joe," was the soft answer.

There was something in the tone that alarmed the boy and he
caught the physician by the arm.

"Doctor, tell me the truth!" he cried. "Is he is he going to
die?"

"I am afraid so, my lad.  His ribs are crushed and one of them
has stuck into his right lung."

At these words the tears sprang into the boy's eyes and it was
all he could do to keep from crying outright.  Even though the
old hermit had been rough in his ways, Joe thought a good deal of
the man.

"Cannot you do something, doctor," he pleaded.

"Not here.  We might do something in a hospital, but he would not
survive the journey. He is growing weaker every moment.  Be
brave, my lad.  It is a terrible trial, I know, but you must
remember that all things are for the best."

Joe knelt beside the sufferer and took hold of his hand.  Hiram
Bodley looked at him and then at the doctor.

"I--I can't live--I know it," he said hoarsely.  "Joe, stay by me
till I die, won't you?"

"Yes!" faltered the boy.  "Oh, this is awful!"

"I'm sorry to leave you so soon, Joe--I--I thought I'd be--be
able to do something for you some day."

"You have done something for me, Uncle Hiram."

"All I've got goes to you, Joe.  Doctor, do you hear that?"

"I do."

"It--it ain't much, but it's something. The blue box--I put it in
the blue box--" Here the sufferer began to cough.

"The blue box?" came from Joe questioningly.

"Yes, Joe, all in the blue box--the papers and the money--And the
blue box is--is--" Again the sufferer began to cough.  "I--I want
water!" he gasped.

The water was brought and he took a gulp. Then he tried to speak
again, but the effort was in vain.  The doctor and Joe raised him
up.

"Uncle Hiram! Speak to me!" cried the boy.

But Hiram Bodley was past speaking.  He had passed to the Great
Beyond.



CHAPTER IV.


THE SEARCH FOR THE BLUE BOX.


Three days after his tragic death Hiram Bodley was buried. 
Although he was fairly well known in the lake region only a
handful of people came to his funeral.  Joe was the chief
mourner, and it can honestly be said that he was much downcast
when he followed the hermit to his last resting place.

After the funeral several asked Joe what he intended to do.  He
could not answer the question.

"Have you found that blue box?" questioned Doctor Gardner.

"No, sir, I have not thought of it."

"Probably it contains money and papers of value, Joe."

"I am going to look for it to-day," said the boy.  "I--I couldn't
look for it while-- while--"

"I understand.  Well, I trust you locate the box and that it
contains all you hope for," added the physician.

As luck would have it, Ned Talmadge's family had just gone away
on a trip to the West, so Mr. Talmadge could offer the boy no
assistance. But Ned was on hand and did what he could.

"You don't know what you'll do next, do you, Joe?" asked Ned, as
he and Joe returned to the wreck of the cabin.

"No."

"Well, if you haven't any money I'll do what I can for you."

"Thank you, Ned; you are very kind."

"It must be hard to be thrown out on the world in this fashion,"
went on the rich boy, sympathetically.

"It is hard.  After all, I thought a good deal of Uncle Hiram. 
He was strange in his ways, but he had a good heart."

"Wasn't he shot in the head once by accident in the woods?"

"Yes."

"Maybe that made him queer at times."

"Perhaps so."

"I've got six dollars and a half of my spending money saved up. 
You may have that if you wish," continued Ned, generously.

"I'd rather not take it, Ned."

"Why not?"

"If I can, I want to be independent.  Besides, I think there is
money around somewhere," and Joe mentioned the missing blue box.

"You must hunt for that blue box by all means!" cried the rich
boy.  "I'll help you."

After the death of Hiram Bodley, Joe and two of the lake guides
had managed to repair one room of the broken-down cabin, and from
this the funeral had taken place.

The room contained a bed, a table, two benches and a few dishes
and cooking utensils The floor was bare and the window was broken
out.  It was truly a most uninviting home.

"Of course you are not going to stay here, now you are alone?"
said Ned, after a look around.

"I don't know where else to go, Ned."

"Why not move into town!"

"Perhaps I will.  But I want to find that blue box before I
decide on anything."

Without delay the two boys set to work among the ruins, looking
into every hole and corner they could think of and locate.  They
pulled away heavy boards and logs, and Joe even got a spade and
dug up the ground at certain points.

"It doesn't seem to be here," said Ned, after an hour had passed.

"It must be here," cried Joe.

"Perhaps it was buried under a tree."

"That may be true.  Anyway, I am certain it is somewhere around
this cabin."

After that the hunt was continued for another hour, and they
visited several spots in that locality where Joe thought the blue
box might have been placed.  But it was all to no purpose, the
box failed to come to light.

At last the two boys sat down on a bench in front of the cabin. 
Both were tired out, Ned especially so.  Joe was much downcast
and his friend did what he could to cheer him up.

"The box is bound to come to light some day," said Ned.  "That
is, unless some of those men carried it off."

"What men, Ned?"

"The fellows who helped to mend the cabin just before the
funeral."

"Oh, I don't think they would steal the box. Bart Andrews and
Jack Thompson are as honest as the day is long."

"Well, it's mighty queer you can't find some trace of the blue
box."

The boys talked the matter over for some time, and then Ned
announced that he must go home.

"You can go with me if you wish," he said.  "It will be better
than staying here all alone."

But Joe declined the offer.

"I'll stay here, and begin the hunt again the first thing in the
morning," he said.

"Well, if you want anything, come and see me, Joe; won't you?"

"I will, Ned."

Ned had come over in his own boat and now Joe walked down to the
lake with him.  His friend gone, the hermit's boy returned to the
delapidated cabin.

He was hungry but he had no heart to eat. He munched some bread
and cheese which a neighbor had brought over.  He felt utterly
alone in the great worlds and when he thought of this a strange
feeling came over him.

It was a bitter night for the poor boy, but when morning came his
mind was made up. He would make his own way in the world, asking
aid from no one, not even Ned.

"And if I can't find the blue box I'll get along without it," he
told himself.

As soon as it was light he procured breakfast and then started on
another hunt for the missing box.  The entire day was spent in
the search, but without results.  Towards night, Joe went down to
the lake.  Here he caught a couple of small fish, which he fried
for his supper.

All told, Joe had exactly a dollar and a half of his own and nine
dollars which he had found in the hermit's pocketbook.

"Ten dollars and a half," he mused, as he counted the amount
over.  "Not very much to go out into the world with.  If I want
to do anything in town I'll have to buy some clothes."

From this it will be surmised that Joe was thinking of giving up
his roving life around the lake and mountains, and this was true.

Hunting and fishing appealed to him only in an uncertain way, and
he longed to go forth into the busy world and make something of
himself.

He had two suits of clothing, but both were very much worn, and
so were his shoes and his cap.  Hiram Bodley had left some old
clothing, but they were too big for the boy.

"I guess I'll get Jasok the peddler to come up here and make me
an offer for what is here," he told himself.

Jasok was a Hebrew peddler who drove around through the lake
region, selling tinware and doing all sorts of trading.  It was
time for him to visit that neighborhood and Joe went to the
nearest house on the main road and asked about the man.

"He will most likely be along to-morrow, Joe," said the neighbor.

"If he comes, Mr. Smith, will you send him over to my place? 
Tell him I want an offer for the things."

"Going to sell out, Joe?"

"Yes, sir."

"What are you going to do after that?"

"Try for some job in town."

"That's a good idea.  Hunting and fishing isn't what it used to
be.  What do you want for the things?"

"All I can get," and a brief smile hovered on Joe's face.

"I wouldn't sell out too cheap.  Jasok is a great fellow to drive
a bargain."

"If he won't give me a fair price, I'll load the things on the
rowboat and sell them in town."

"That's an idea.  Do you want to sell Hiram's double-barrel shot
gun?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll give you ten dollars for it."

"I was going to ask twelve, Mr. Smith. It's a pretty good gun."

"So it is, although it is a little bit old-fashioned.  Well,
bring it over and I'll allow you twelve dollars," answered the
neighbor, who was willing to assist Joe all he could.

Joe went back for the gun without delay, and received his money. 
Then he returned to the cabin and brought out all the goods he
wished to sell.

By the middle of the next day the Hebrew peddler appeared.  At
first he declared that all of the things Joe had to sell were not
worth two dollars.

"Very well, if you think that, we won't talk about it," said Joe,
briefly.

"Da vos all vorn out," said Jasok.  "De clothes vos rags, and de
furniture an' dishes was kracked."

"If you don't want them, I'll take them to town and sell them.  I
am sure Moskowsky will buy them."

Now it happened that Moskowsky was a rival peddler who also
boasted of the ownership of a second-hand store.  To think that
the goods might go to this man nettled Jasok exceedingly.

"Vell, I likes you, Cho," he said.  "I vos your friend, an' I gif
you dree dollars for dem dings."

"You can have them for ten dollars," answered the boy.

A long talk followed, and in the end the Hebrew peddler agreed to
pay seven dollars and a half, providing Joe would help to carry
the goods to the main road, where the wagon had been left.  The
money was paid over, and by nightfall all of the goods were on
the wagon, and Joe was left at the cabin with nothing but the
suit on his back.  But he had thirty dollars in his pocket, which
he counted over with great satisfaction.

"I ought to be able to get something to do before that is gone,"
he told himself.  "If I don't, it will be my own fault."



CHAPTER V.


A NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES.


On the following day it rained early in the morning, so Joe had
to wait until noon before he left the old cabin.  He took with
him all that remained of his possessions, including the precious
pocketbook with the thirty dollars. When he thought of the blue
box he sighed.

"Perhaps it will never come to light," he told himself.  "Well,
if it does not I'll have to make the best of it."

Two o'clock found him on the streets of Riverside, which was a
town of fair size.  During the summer months many visitors were
in the place and the hotels and boarding houses were crowded.

There was one very fine clothing store in Riverside, but Joe did
not deem it best, with his limited capital, to go there for a
suit.  Instead he sought out a modest establishment on one of the
side streets.

Just ahead of him was an Irish couple who had evidently not been
in this country many years.  The man entered the store awkwardly,
as if he did not feel at home.  Not so his wife, who walked a
little in advance of her husband.

"Have you got any men's coats?" said she to the clerk who came
forward to wait on the pair.  "If I can get one cheap for me
husband here I'll buy one."

"Oh, yes, madam," was the ready reply. "We have the best stock in
town, by all odds. You can't fail to be suited."

So saying, he led the way to a counter piled high with the
articles called for, and hauled them over.

"There," said he, pulling out one of a decidedly ugly pattern. 
"There is one of first quality cloth.  It was made for a
gentleman of this town, but did not exactly fit him, and so we'll
sell it cheap."

"And what is the price?"

"Three dollars."

"Three dollars!" exclaimed the Irish lady, lifting up her hands
in extreme astonishment.

"Three dollars! You'll be afther thinkin' we're made of money,
sure! I'll give you a dollar and a half."

"No, ma'am, we don't trade in that way. We don't very often take
half what we ask for an article."

"Mike," said she, "pull off yer coat an' thry it on.  Three
dollars, and it looks as if it was all cotton."

"Not a thread of cotton in that," was the clerk's reply.

"Not wan, but a good many, I'm thinkin'," retorted the Irish
lady, as she helped her husband draw on the coat.  It fitted
tolerably well and Mike seemed mightily pleased with his
transformation.

"Come," said the wife.  "What will ye take?"

"As it's you, I'll take off twenty-five cents," replied the
clerk.

"And sell it to me for two dollars?" inquired his customer, who
had good cause for her inaccurate arithmetic.

"For two dollars and seventy-five cents."

"Two dollars and seventy-five cents! It's taking the bread out of
the childer's mouths you'd have us, paying such a price as that!
I'll give you two twenty-five, an' I'll be coming again some
time."

"We couldn't take so low as two twenty- five, ma'am.  You may
have it for two dollars and a half."

After another ineffectual attempt to get it for two dollars and a
quarter, the Irish woman finally offered two dollars and
forty-five cents, and this offer was accepted.

She pulled out a paper of change and counted out two dollars and
forty cents, when she declared that she had not another cent. 
But the clerk understood her game and coolly proceeded to put the
coat back on the pile.  Then the woman very opportunely found
another five-cent piece stored away in the corner of her pocket.

"It's robbin' me, ye are," said she as she paid it over.

"Oh, no, ma'am, you are getting a great bargain," answered the
clerk.

Joe had witnessed the bargaining with a good deal of quiet
amusement.  As soon as the Irish couple had gone the clerk came
toward the boy.

"Well, young man, what can I do for you?" he asked, pleasantly.

"I want a suit of clothing.  Not an expensive suit, but one
guaranteed to be all wool."

"A light or a dark suit?"

"A dark gray."

"I can fit you out in a fine suit of this order," and the clerk
pointed to several lying in a heap nearby.

"I don't want that sort.  I want something on the order of those
in the window marked nine dollars and a half."

"Oh, all right."

Several suits were brought forth, and one was found that fitted
Joe exceedingly well.

"You guarantee this to be all wool?" asked the boy.

"Every thread of it."

"Then I'll take it"

"Very well; the price is twelve dollars."

"Isn't it like that in the window?"

"On that order, but a trifle better."

"It seems to me to be about the same suit. I'll give you nine
dollars and a half."

"I can't take it.  I'll give it to you for eleven and a half. 
That is our best figure."

"Then I'll go elsewhere for a suit," answered Joe, and started to
leave the clothing establishment.

"Hold on, don't be so fast!" cried the clerk, catching him by the
arm.  "I'll make it eleven and a quarter."

"Not a cent more than the advertised price, nine and a half,"
replied Joe, firmly.

"Oh, but this isn't the same suit."

"It's just like it, to my eye.  But you needn't sell it for that
if you don't want it.  Mason & Harris are offering some bargains,
I believe."

"You can get a better bargain here than anywhere in this town, or
in Philadelphia either," answered the clerk, who did not intend
to let his prospective customer get away.  "We'll make it an even
eleven dollars and say no more about it."

Instead of answering Joe started once more for the door.

"Hold on!"

"I haven't got time."

"Make it ten and a half.  At that price we are losing exactly
half a dollar on that suit."

"Not a cent over what I offered."

"We can't sell suits at such a loss.  It would ruin us."

"Then don't do it.  I think Mason & Harris have some good suits
very cheap.  And they are quite up-to-date, too," added Joe.

"Our suits are the best in town, young man.  Take this one for an
even ten dollar bill."

"I will if you'll throw in one of those half dollar caps,"
answered our hero.

"Well, have your own way, but it's a sacrifice," grumbled the
clerk.

He wanted to wrap up the suit, but, afraid he might substitute
something else, Joe insisted upon donning the suit then and there
and likewise the new cap.  Then he had the old articles of
wearing apparel done up into a bundle and paid over the ten
dollars.

"You're pretty smart after a bargain," said the clerk.

"I've got to be--when I strike such fellows as you," was the
reply.

"You got a better bargain than that Irish woman did."

"I did--if the suit is all wool.  But if it's cotton, I'm stuck,"
returned our hero, and with his bundle under his arm he walked
from the store.

He had left his rowboat in charge of an old boatman named Ike
Fairfield, and now he walked down to the boathouse.

"Just in time, Joe," said the old boatman.  "Want to earn a
dollar?"

"To be sure I do," answered our hero.

"A party of ladies want a long row around the lake.  You can have
the job."

"All right, Ike."

"I charged them a dollar and a quarter.  I'll keep the quarter
for my commission."

"That is fair."

"One of the ladies said she wanted somebody that looked pretty
decent.  I think you'll fill the bill with that new suit."

"I didn't expect to wear the suit out on the lake, but in this
case I'll keep it on," answered Joe.

"I find it pays to keep well dressed, when you take out the
summer boarders," answered the old boatman.  "And it pays to keep
the boats in good shape, too."

"Where am I to get the party?"

"Over to the dock of Mallison's Hotel.  One of the ladies is
Mallison's niece."

"Why don't they take a hotel boat?"

"All engaged, two days ago.  It's a busy season.  But I've got to
be going.  You had better go over to the dock at once.  They want
to go out at three o'clock sharp."

"Very well, I'll be on hand," answered our hero.



CHAPTER VI.


AN ACCIDENT ON THE LAKE.


Joe certainly presented a neat appearance when he rowed over to
the hotel dock.  Before going he purchased a new collar and a
dark blue tie, and these, with his new suit and new cap, set him
off very well.

The boat had been cleaned in the morning, and when the ladies
appeared they inspected the craft with satisfaction.

"What a nice clean boat," said Mabel Mallison, the niece of the
proprietor of the hotel.

"And a nice clean boatman, too," whispered one of her friends. 
"I couldn't bear that man we had day before yesterday, with his
dirty hands and the tobacco juice around his mouth."

The ladies to go out were four in number, and two sat in the bow
and two in the stern.  It made quite a heavy load, but as they
were not out for speed our hero did not mind it.

"We wish to go up to Fern Rock," said Mabel Mallison.  "They tell
me there are some beautiful ferns to be gathered there."

"There are," answered Joe.  "I saw them last week."

"And I wish to get some nice birch bark if I can," said another
of the ladies.

"I can get you plenty of it."

Joe rowed along in his best style, and while doing so the ladies
of the party asked him numerous questions concerning the lake and
vicinity.  When Fern Rock was reached, all went ashore, and our
hero pointed out the ferns he had seen, and dug up such as the
others wished to take along.  An hour was spent over the ferns,
and in getting some birch bark, and then they started on the
return for the hotel.

"I'd like to row," cried one of the ladies, a rather plump
personage.

"Oh, Jennie, I don't think you can!" cried another.

"Of course I can," answered Jennie, and sprang up from her seat
to take the oars.

"Be careful!" came in a warning from Joe, as the boat began to
rock.

"Oh, I'm not afraid!" said the plump young lady, and leaned
forward to catch hold of one oar.  Just then her foot slipped and
she fell on the gunwale, causing the boat to tip more than ever. 
As she did this, Mabel Mallison, who was leaning over the side,
gazing down into the clear waters of the lake, gave a shriek.

"Oh, save me!" came from her, and then she went over, with a loud
splash.

Joe was startled, and the ladies left in the boat set up a wail
of terror.

"She will be drowned!"

"Oh, save her!  Save her, somebody!"

"It is my fault!" shrieked the plump young lady.  "I tipped the
boat over!"

Joe said nothing, but looked over the side of the boat.  He saw
the body of Mabel Mallison not far away.  But it was at the lake
bottom and did not offer to rise.

"It's queer she doesn't come up," he thought.

Then he gave a second look and saw that the dress of the
unfortunate one was caught in some sharp rocks.  Without
hesitation he dived overboard, straight for the bottom.

It was no easy matter to unfasten the garment, which was caught
in a crack between two heavy stones.  But at the second tug it
came free, and a moment later both our hero and Mabel Mallison
came to the surface.

"Oh!" cried two of the ladies in the row-boat.  "Is she drowned?"

"I trust not," answered Joe.  "Sit still, please, or the boat
will surely go over."

As best he could Joe hoisted Mabel into the craft and then
clambered in himself.  As he did so the unfortunate girl gave a
gasp and opened her eyes.

"Oh!" she murmured.

"You are safe now, Mabel!" said one of her companions.

"And to think it was my fault!" murmured the plump young lady. 
"I shall never forgive myself as long as I live!"

Mabel Mallison had swallowed some water, but otherwise she was
unhurt.  But her pretty blue dress was about ruined, and Joe's
new suit did not look near as well as it had when he had donned
it.

"Let us row for the hotel," said one of the young ladies.  "Are
you all right?" she asked of Joe.

"Yes, ma'am, barring the wetting."

"It was brave of you to go down after Mabel."

"Indeed it was!" cried that young lady.  "If it hadn't been for
you I might have been drowned." And she gave a deep shudder.

"I saw she was caught and that's why I went over after her,"
answered our hero simply.  "It wasn't so much to do."

All dripping as he was, Joe caught up the oars of the boat and
sent the craft in the direction of the hotel at a good speed. 
That she might not take cold, a shawl was thrown over Mabel's wet
shoulders.

The arrival of the party at the hotel caused a mild sensation. 
Mabel hurried to her room to put on dry clothing, and Joe was
directed to go around to the kitchen.  But when the proprietor of
the place had heard what Joe had done for his niece he sent the
lad to a private apartment and provided him with dry clothing
belonging to another who was of our hero's size.

"That was a fine thing to do, young man," said the hotel
proprietor, when Joe appeared, dressed in the dry garments, and
his own clothing had been sent to the laundry to be dried and
pressed.

"I'm glad I was there to do it, Mr. Mallison."

"Let me see, aren't you Hiram Bodley's boy?"

"I lived with Mr. Bodley, yes."

"That is what I mean.  It was a terrible accident that killed
him.  Are you still living at the tumbled-down cabin?"

"No, sir.  I've just sold off the things, and I am going to
settle in town."

"Where?"

"I haven't decided that yet.  I was going to hunt up a place when
Ike Fairfield gave me the job of rowing out the young ladies."

"I see.  You own the boat, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"You ought to be able to make a fair living, taking out summer
boarders."

"I suppose so, but that won't give me anything to do this
winter."

"Well, perhaps something else will turn up by that time."  Andrew
Mallison drew out a fat wallet.  "I want to reward you for saving
Mabel."

He drew out two ten-dollar bills and held them towards our hero. 
But Joe shook his head and drew back.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Mallison, but I don't want any reward."

"But you have earned it fairly, my lad."

"I won't touch it.  If you want to help me you can throw some odd
rowing jobs from the hotel in my way."

"Then you won't really touch the money?"

"No, sir."

"How would you like to work for the hotel regularly?"

"I'd like it first-rate if it paid."

"I can guarantee you regular work so long as the summer season
lasts."

"And what would it pay?"

"At least a dollar a day, and your board."

"Then I'll accept and with thanks for your kindness."

"When can you come?"

"I'm here already."

"That means that you can stay from now on?"

"Yes, sir."

"I don't suppose you want the job of hauling somebody from the
lake every day," said Andrew Mallison, with a smile.

"Not unless I was dressed for it, Mr. Mallison.  Still, it has
been the means of getting me a good position."

"I shall feel safe in sending out parties with you for I know you
will do your best to keep them from harm."

"I'll certainly do that, I can promise you."

"To-morrow you can take out two old ladies who wish to be rowed
around the whole lake and shown every point of interest.  Of
course you know all the points."

"Yes, sir, I know every foot of ground around the lake, and I
know the mountains, too."

"Then there will be no difficulty in keeping you busy.  I am glad
to take you on.  I am short one man--or will be by to-night.  I
am going to let Sam Cullum go, for he drinks too much."

"Well, you won't have any trouble with me on that score."

"Don't you drink?"

"Not a drop, sir."

"I am glad to hear it, and it is to your credit," concluded the
hotel proprietor.



CHAPTER VII.


BLOWS AND KIND DEEDS.


Several days passed and Joe went out half a dozen times on the
lake with parties from the hotel.  All whom he served were
pleased with him and treated him so nicely that, for the time
being, his past troubles were forgotten.

At the beginning of the week Ned Talmadge came to see him.

"I am going away to join the folks out West," said Ned.

"I hope you will have a good time," answered our hero.

"Oh, I'm sure to have that, Joe.  By the way, you are nicely
settled here, it would seem."

"Yes, and I am thankful for it."

"Mr. Mallison is a fine man to work for, so I have been told. 
You had better stick to him."

"I shall--as long as the work holds out."

"Maybe he will give you something else to do, after the boating
season is over."

A few more words passed, and then Ned took his departure.  It was
to be a long time before the two friends would meet again.

So far Joe had had no trouble with anybody around the hotel, but
that evening, when he was cleaning out his boat, a man approached
him and caught him rudely by the shoulder.

"So you're the feller that's took my job from me, eh?" snarled
the newcomer.

Our hero looked up and recognized Sam Cullum, the boatman who had
been discharged for drinking.  Even now the boatman was more than
half under the influence of intoxicants.

"I haven't taken anybody's job from him," answered Joe.

"I say yer did!" growled Cullum.  "It ain't fair, nuther!"

To this our hero did not reply, but went on cleaning out his
boat.

"Fer two pins I'd lick yer!" went on the tipsy boatman, lurching
forward.

"See here, Sam Cullum, I want you to keep your distance," said
Joe, sharply.  "Mr. Mallison discharged you for drinking.  I had
nothing to do with it."

"I don't drink; leastwise, I don't drink no more'n I need."

"Yes, you do.  It would be the best thing in the world for you if
you'd leave liquor alone entirely."

"Humph! don't you preach to me, you little imp!"

"Then leave me alone."

"You stole the job from me an' I'm going to lick you for it."

"If you touch me you'll get hurt," said Joe, his eyes flashing. 
"Leave me alone and I'll leave you alone."

"Bah!" snarled the other, and struck out awkwardly.  He wanted to
hit Joe on the nose, but the boy dodged with ease, and Sam Cullum
fell sprawling over the rowboat.

"Hi! what did ye trip me up for?" spluttered the half-intoxicated
man, as he rose slowly.  "Don't you do that ag'in, do yer hear?"

"Then don't try to strike me again."

There was a moment of silence and then Sam Cullum gathered
himself for another blow.  By this time a small crowd of boys and
hotel helpers began to collect.

"Sam Cullum's going to fight Joe Bodley!"

"Sam'll most kill Joe!"

With all his strength the man rushed at Joe. But the boy dodged
again and put out his foot and the man went headlong.

"Now will you let me alone?" asked our hero, coolly.

"No, I won't!" roared Sam Cullum.  "Somebody give me a club! I'll
show him!"

Arising once more, he caught up an oar and launched a heavy blow
at Joe's head.  For a third time our hero dodged, but the oar
struck him on the arm, and the blow hurt not a little.

Joe was now angry and believed it was time to defend himself.  He
edged towards the end of the dock and Sam Cullum followed.  Then,
of a sudden the boy ducked under the man's arm, turned, and gave
him a quick shove that sent him with a splash into the lake.

"Hurrah! score one for Joe!"

"That will cool Sam Cullum's temper."

"Yes, and perhaps it will sober him a little," came from a man
standing by, who had witnessed the quarrel from the beginning. 
"He brought this on himself; the boy had nothing to do with it."

Sam Cullum floundered around in the water like a whale cast up in
the shallows.  The lake at that point was not over four feet
deep, but he did not know enough to stand upright.

"Save me!" he bellowed.  "Save me! I don't want to drown!"

"Swallow a little water, it will do you good!" said a bystander,
with a laugh.

"Walk out and you'll be all right," added another.

At last Sam Cullum found his feet and walked around the side of
the dock to the shore.  A crowd followed him and kept him from
going at Joe again.

"I'll fix him another time," growled the intoxicated one, and
shuffled off, with some small boys jeering him.

"You treated him as he deserved," said one of the other boatmen
to Joe.

"I suppose he'll try to square up another time," answered our
hero.

"Well, I wouldn't take water for him, Joe."

"I don't intend to.  If he attacks me I'll do the best I can to
defend myself."

"He has made a nuisance of himself for a long time.  It's a
wonder to me that Mr. Mallison put up with it so long."

"He was short of help, that's why.  It isn't so easy to get new
help in the height of the summer season."

"That is true."

Joe expected to have more trouble with Sam Cullum the next day
but it did not come.  Then it leaked out that Cullum had gotten
into a row with his wife and some of her relatives that night and
was under arrest.  When the boatman was brought up for trial the
Judge sentenced him to six months' imprisonment.

"And it serves him right," said the man who brought the news to
Joe.

"It must be hard on his wife."

"Well, it is, Joe."

"Have they any children?"

"Four--a boy of seven and three little girls."

"Are they well off?"

"What, with such a father?  No, they are very poor.  She used to
go out washing, but now she has to stay at home to take care of
the baby.  Sam was a brute to strike her.  I don't wonder the
relatives took a hand."

"Perhaps the relatives can help her."

"They can't do much, for they are all as poor as she is, and one
of them is just getting over an operation at the hospital."

"Where do the Cullums live?"

"Down on Railroad Alley, not far from the water tower.  It's a
mite of a cottage."

Joe said no more, but what he had been told him set him to
thinking, and that evening, after his work was over, he took a
walk through the town and in the direction of Railroad Alley.

Not far from the water station he found the Cullum homestead, a
mite of a cottage, as the man had said, with a tumbled-down
chimney and several broken-out windows.  He looked in at one of
the windows and by the light of a smoking kerosene lamp beheld a
woman in a rocking-chair, rocking a baby to sleep.  Three other
youngsters were standing around, knowing not what to do.  On a
table were some dishes, all bare of food.

"Mamma, I want more bread," one of the little ones was saying.

"You can have more in the morning, Johnny," answered the mother.

"No, I want it now," whimpered the youngster.  "I'm hungry."

"I'm hungry, too," put in another little one.

"I can't give you any more to-night, for I haven't it," said the
mother, with a deep sigh. "Now, be still, or you'll wake the
baby."

"Why don't dad come home?" asked the boy of seven.

"He can't come home, Bobby--he--had to go away," faltered the
mother.  "Now all be still, and you shall have more bread in the
morning."

The children began to cry, and unable to stand the sight any
longer Joe withdrew.  Up the Alley was a grocery store and he
almost ran to this.

"Give me some bread," he said, "and some cake, and a pound of
cheese, and some smoked beef, and a pound of good tea, and some
sugar. Be quick, please."

The goods were weighed out and wrapped up, and with his arms full
he ran back to the cottage and kicked on the door.

"Who is there?" asked Mrs. Cullum, in alarm.

"Here are some groceries for you!" cried Joe.  "All paid for!"

"Oh, look!" screamed the boy of seven. "Bread, and cheese!"

"And sugar!" came from one of the little girls.

"And tea! Mamma, just what you like!" said another.

"Where did this come from?" asked Mrs. Cullum.

"A friend," answered Joe.  "It's all paid for."

"I am very thankful."

"Now we can have some bread, can't we?" queried the boy.

"Yes, and a bit of smoked beef and cheese, too," said the mother,
and placing the sleeping baby on a bed, she proceeded to deal out
the good things to her children.



CHAPTER VIII.


THE TIMID MR. GUSSING.


It was not until the children had been satisfied and put to bed
that Joe had a chance to talk to Mrs. Cullum.  She was greatly
astonished when she learned who he was.

"I didn't expect this kindness," said she. "I understand that my
husband treated you shamefully."

"It was the liquor made him do it ma'am," answered our hero.  "I
think he'd be all right if he'd leave drink alone."

"Yes, I am sure of it!" She gave a long sigh.  "He was very kind
and true when we were first married.  But then he got to using
liquor and--and--this is the result."

"Perhaps he will turn over a new leaf when he comes out of jail."

"I hope he does.  If he doesn't, I don't know what I am going to
do."

"Have you anything to do?"

"I used to wash for two families in town but they have regular
hired help now."

"Perhaps you can get more work, if you advertise.  If you'll
allow me, I'll put an advertisement in the Riverside News for
you."

"Thank you.  I don't see what makes you so kind."

"Well, I have been down in the world myself, Mrs. Cullum, so I
know how to feel for others."

"Did you say you used to live with Bodley, the hermit?"

"Yes."

"My folks used to know him.  He was rather a strange man after he
got shot by accident."

"Yes, but he was kind."

"Are you his son?"

"No.  He said I was his nephew.  But I never found out much about
that."

"Oh, yes, I remember something about that.  He had a brother who
lost his wife and several children.  Are you that man's son?"

"I believe I am."

"And you have never heard from your father?"

"Not a word."

"That is hard on you."

"I am going to look for my father some day."

"If so, I hope you will find him."

"So do I." Joe arose.  "I must be going." He paused.  "Mrs.
Cullum, will you let me help you?" he added, earnestly.

"Why, you have helped me a good deal already.  Not one in a
thousand would do what you have done--after the way my husband
treated you."

"I thought that you might be short of money."

"I must confess I am."

"I am not rich but, if you can use it, I can let you have five
dollars."

"I'll accept it as a loan.  I don't want you to give me the
money," answered the poor woman.  She thought of the things she
absolutely needed, now that her husband was gone.

The money was handed over, and a few minutes later Joe took his
departure.  Somehow his heart felt very light because of his
generosity.  He had certainly played the part of a friend in
need.

But he did not stop there.  Early in the morning he sought out
Andrew Mallison and told the hotel proprietor of Mrs. Cullum's
condition.

"I was thinking that you might be able to give her work in the
hotel laundry," he continued.

The hotel man called up the housekeeper and from her learned that
another woman could be used to iron.

"You can let her come and we'll give her a trial," said he.

It did not take Joe long to communicate with the poor woman, and
she was overjoyed to see work in sight, without waiting for an
advertisement in the newspaper.

"I'll go at once," said she.  "I'll get a neighbor's girl to mind
the children."  And she was as good as her word.  As it happened,
she proved to be a good laundress, and Mr. Mallison gave her
steady employment until her husband came from jail.  Then, much
to his wife's satisfaction, Sam Cullum turned over a new leaf and
became quite sober and industrious.

Joe was now becoming well acquainted around the hotel and took an
interest in many of the boarders.

Among the number was a young man named Felix Gussing.  He was a
nice individual in his way, but had certain peculiarities.  One
was that he was exceedingly afraid of horses and at every
possible opportunity he gave them as wide a berth as possible.

"Don't like them at all, don't you know," he said, to Joe, during
a boat ride.  "Can't understand them at all."

"Oh, I think a good horse is very nice," answered our hero.

"But they are so--so balkish--so full of kicking," insisted Felix
Gussing.

"Well, I admit some of them are," answered Joe.

There were two young ladies stopping at the hotel and the young
man had become quite well acquainted with both of them.  One he
thought was very beautiful and was half tempted to propose to
her.

On the day after the boat ride with Joe, Felix Gussing took the
ladies to have some ice cream, and during the conversation all
spoke of a certain landmark of interest located about three miles
from Riverside.

"I have seen it and it is--aw--very interesting," drawled Felix.

"Then we must see it, Belle," said one of the young ladies, to
her companion.

"Oh, I'm not going to walk that far," answered Belle, with a
bewitching look at the young man.

"You might drive over," suggested Felix, without stopping to
think twice.

"Oh, yes, I love driving!" cried one of the girls.

"And so do I!" answered the other.

"I will find out what can be done about a conveyance," answered
Felix.

Being a good deal of a dude, and dressing very fastidiously, he
did not much relish visiting the livery stable attached to the
hotel.  But, early on the following morning, he walked down to
the place, and ordered a horse and carriage, to be ready at ten
o'clock.

Now it must be known that Felix did not intend to drive the
carriage.  He thought the young ladies would drive for
themselves, since both had said that they loved driving. 
Unfortunate man! he knew not the snare he had laid for himself!

Punctual to the minute the carriage drove up to the door.

Felix was on hand, standing on the steps, with politeness in his
air, though with trembling in his heart because so near the
horses. He assisted the ladies in.  Then he handed the reins to
Miss Belle.

"Do you wish me to hold the horses while you get in?" she asked
sweetly.

"Till I get in!" ejaculated Felix, taken aback.

"Certainly! You don't think we are going to drive ourselves, do
you?  Of course you are going with us."

Poor Felix! He was "in for it" now, decidedly.  It required a
good deal of moral courage, a quality in which he was deficient,
to resist a lady's demand.  His knees trembled with fear as he
scrambled in.  Joe, who was standing not far away, looked on with
a quiet smile on his face.  He realized what was passing in the
dude's mind.

"He'd give ten dollars to get out of it," our hero told himself.

The boy who had brought the turnout around looked at Felix
Gussing earnestly.

"Take care of that horse, mister," said he, warningly.  "He's
young and a little bit wild."

"Wild?" gasped the dude.  "I--I don't want to drive a wild
horse."

"Oh, he'll be all right if you keep an eye on him," went on the
stable boy.

"Young and a little bit wild!" thought Felix to himself.  "Oh,
dear, what in the world shall I do?  I never drove a horse
before. If I get back with less than a broken neck I'll be lucky!
I'd give a thousand to be out of this pickle."

"Hadn't we better start, Mr. Gussing?" asked one of the young
ladies, after a pause.

"Oh, yes--certainly!" he stammered.  "But --er--you can drive if
you wish."

"Thank you, but I would prefer that you drive."

"Won't you drive?" he asked of the other young lady.

"Oh, no, not to-day.  But I'll use the whip if you say so," she
answered.

"Not for the world!" cried the unhappy Felix.  "He is a bit wild
already and there is no telling what he'd do if he felt the
whip."

At last the carriage drove off.  Joe gazed after it thoughtfully.

"Unless I miss my guess, there is going to be trouble before that
drive is over," he thought. And there was trouble, as we shall
soon learn.



CHAPTER IX.


AN UNFORTUNATE OUTING.


Fortunately for the unhappy Felix the horse walked away from the
hotel in an orderly fashion, and soon they gained the highway
leading to the resort the party wished to visit.

Had the dude left the horse alone all might have gone well.  But
he deemed it necessary to pull on first one line and then the
other, which kept the carriage in a meandering course.

"I don't think, Mr. Gussing, that you can be much used to
driving," said one of the young ladies, presently.

"That's a fact," answered the dude.

"Why don't you keep to the right of the road?"

"Well,--er--the fact is, this horse is a very difficult one to
drive.  I don't believe I ever drove one which was more so."

As this was the first horse Mr. Gussing had ever driven, this
assertion was true in every particular.

"Oh, I can't travel so slow!" cried one of the young ladies, and
seized the whip, and before Felix could stop her, used it on the
steed.

The effect was magical.  The horse started up like a racer, and
tore through the street as if trying to win a race for a thousand
dollars.

The dude clung to the reins in the wildest terror.  To his
frenzied imagination it seemed that his final hour was
approaching.

"Whoa!" he screamed, jerking on the lines. "Stop, you crazy
beast!  Stop, before we all get killed!"

But the horse only went the faster.  And now, to increase his
alarm, he saw a buggy approaching from the opposite direction. 
It contained one of the town lawyers, Silas Simms by name.

"We shall run into that buggy!" screamed the fair Belle.  "Oh,
Mr. Gussing, be careful!"

A moment later the two turnouts came together with a crash, and
one wheel was torn from the buggy and the town lawyer pitched out
headlong to the ground.  Then on went the carriage with the dude
and the two young ladies, at a faster pace than ever.

"Let me jump out!" screamed one of the ladies.

"No, not yet! You'll be killed, Grace," answered Belle.

"Then stop the carriage!"

Alas, the poor Felix was already doing his best to stop the
horse.  But his jerkings on the reins only added to the horse's
wildness.

Not far along the road was a good sized brook, spanned by a neat
wooden bridge.  As the carriage neared the bridge, Felix pulled
on the wrong rein once again.  The horse turned from the road
proper, and descended full speed into the stream itself.

"Oh, now we'll be drowned!" shrieked Grace.

But she was mistaken.  The stream was easily fordable, so there
was no danger on that score.  But the rate at which they were
impelled through the water naturally created no inconsiderable
splashing, so that on emerging on the other side the dude, as
well as the young ladies, were well drenched.

To the great joy of Felix the contact with the water cooled the
ardor of the steed, so that he resumed the journey at a far more
moderate rate of speed.

"Wasn't it just glorious!" cried Belle, who, after the danger
seemed past, grew enthusiastic. "What a noble animal!"

"Glorious?" echoed the dude.  "I don't care much about such
glory.  As for the noble animal--I--er--I wish he was hung!
That's the best he deserves."

The dude spoke bitterly, for the spell of terror was still on
him.  Had he consulted his own wishes he would have leaped from
the carriage and left the ladies to their fate.

But the thought of the bewitching Belle made him keep his seat,
and he resolved that if he must die he would do it like a martyr.

The horse went on, and at last they neared the end of the short
journey.  But here a new obstacle presented itself.  There was a
big fence and a gate, and the gate was tight shut.

As they could not enter the grounds without opening the gate, the
dude got down out of the carriage.  He did not hand the reins to
either of the ladies but laid them over the dashboard.

The instant the gate was swung open the steed darted forward, and
brought up with a jerk against a post that happened to be in the
way.  Here he reared and plunged, causing the young ladies to
scream "murder" at the top of their voices.

"Oh, my! Oh, dear me!" bawled Felix, and took refuge behind a
neighboring hedge.  "The horse has gone crazy! He'll bite
somebody next!"

The cries reached some men who were not far off, and they came
running to the assistance of the party.  One caught the steed by
the bridle and soon had him quieted down.

"I'll never drive that horse again!" said the dude.  "Not for a
million dollars!"

"How are we to get home?" queried Belle.

"I'll drive you," said one of the men.  "I know this horse.  He
used to belong to Bill Perkins.  I know how to handle him."

"Then do so," answered Felix, "and I'll pay you two dollars."

The man was as good as his word, and to Felix's astonishment he
made the horse go back to the hotel without the slightest mishap.
Then the horse was put in the stable, the dude paid the bill, and
the party separated.

"I shall never drive again, never!" declared the dude to himself,
and it may be added that he kept his word.

"I hope you had a nice drive," said Joe, when he met Felix that
evening.

"It was beastly, don't you know," was the answer.  "That horse
was a terribly vicious creature."

"He looked to be gentle enough when he started off."

"I think he is a crazy horse."

"By the way, Mr. Gussing, Mr. Silas Simms was looking for you."

"You mean that lawyer who drives the spotted white horse?"

"Yes."

Felix gave a groan.

"He says he wants damages."

"It wasn't my fault that the horse ran into him."

"Well, he is very angry about it, anyway," said our hero.

Early the next morning Felix Gussing received a communication
from the lawyer.  It was in the following terms:--

"MR. GUSSING.  Sir:--In consequence of your reckless driving
yesterday, I was thrown from my carriage, receiving a contusion
on my shoulder and other injuries.  My carriage was also nearly
ruined.  If you choose to make a race-course of the public
highways you must abide the consequences.  The damage I have
sustained I cannot estimate at less than one hundred and fifty
dollars.  Indemnify me for that and I will go no further. 
Otherwise, I shall be compelled to resort to legal action.       

            "SILAS SIMMS, Atty.

Felix read the letter several times and his knees shook visibly. 
He did not want to pay over such an amount, yet it struck him
with terror when he thought he might possibly be arrested for
fast driving.  He went to see Mr. Silas Simms.

"I am very sorry," he began.

"Have you come to pay?" demanded the attorney, curtly.

"Well--er--the fact is--don't you think you are asking rather a
stiff price, Mr. Simms?"

"Not at all! Not at all, sir! I ought to have placed the damages
at three hundred!"

"I'll give you fifty dollars and call it square."

"No, sir, a hundred and fifty! Not a penny less, not one penny!
Look at my nose, sir-- all scratched! And my ear! Not a penny
less than one hundred and fifty dollars!" And the lawyer pounded
on his desk with his fist.

"All right then, I'll pay you, but you must give me a receipt in
full," answered the dude.

He had to wait until the bank opened, that he might cash a check,
and then he paid over the amount demanded.  The lawyer drew up a
legal paper discharging him from all further obligations.  Felix
read it with care and stowed it in his pocket.

"And now let me give you some advice, Mr. Gussing," said the
lawyer, after the transaction was concluded.  "Don't drive such a
wild horse again."

"Depend upon it, I never shall," answered the dude.  "It costs
too much!" he added, with a faint smile.

"Are you well acquainted with horses?"

"No."

"Then you had better leave them alone altogether."

"I have already made up my mind to do so."



CHAPTER X.


DAVID BALL FROM MONTANA.


Finding that Joe could be depended upon, Mr. Mallison put him in
charge of all of the boats at the hotel, so that our hero had
almost as much work ashore as on the lake.

During the week following, the events just narrated, many
visitors left the hotel and others came in.  Among those to go
were Felix Gussing and the two young ladies.  The dude bid our
hero a cordial good-bye, for he now knew Joe quite well.

"Good-bye, Mr. Gussing," said Joe.  "I hope we meet again."

"Perhaps we shall, although I generally go to a different place
each summer."

"Well, I don't expect to stay in Riverside all my life."

"I see.  If you make a move, I hope you do well," returned Felix.

On the day after the dude left, a man came to the hotel who,
somehow, looked familiar to our hero.  He came dressed in a light
overcoat and a slouch hat, and carried a valise and a suit case.

"I've seen him before, but where?" Joe asked himself not once but
several times.

The man registered as David Ball, and put down his address as
Butte, Montana.  He said he was a mining expert, but added that
he was sick and the doctors had ordered him to come East for a
rest.

"'ve heard of Riverside being a nice place," said he, "so I came
on right after striking Pittsburg."

"We shall do all we can to make your stay a pleasant one," said
the hotel proprietor, politely.

"All I want is a nice sunny room, where I can get fresh air and
take it easy," said the man.

He was willing to pay a good price, and so obtained one of the
best rooms in the house, one overlooking the river and the lake. 
He ate one meal in the dining room, but after that he had his
meals sent to his apartment.

"Is he sick?" asked Joe, after watching the man one day.

"He certainly doesn't seem to be well," answered Andrew Mallison.

"It runs in my mind that I have seen him before, but I can't
place him," went on our hero.

"You must be mistaken, Joe.  I questioned him and he says this is
his first trip to the East, although he has frequently visited
St. Louis and Chicago."

On the following day the man called for a physician and Doctor
Gardner was sent for.

"I've got pains here," said the man from the West, and pointed to
his chest.  "Do you think I am getting consumption?"

The Riverside physician made a careful examination and then said
the man had probably strained himself.

"Reckon I did," was the ready answer.  "I was in the mine and a
big rock came down on me.  I had to hold it up for ten minutes
before anybody came to my aid.  I thought I was a dead one sure."

"I will give you some medicine and a liniment," said the doctor. 
"Perhaps you'll feel better after a good rest."  And then he
left.

That afternoon Joe had to go up into the hotel for something and
passed the room of the new boarder.  He saw the man standing by
the window, gazing out on the water.

"I'm dead certain I've seen him before," mused our hero.  "It is
queer I can't think where."

Doctor Gardner wanted to be taken across the lake and Joe himself
did the job.  As he was rowing he asked about the man who had
signed the hotel register as David Ball from Montana."

"Is he very sick, doctor?"

"No, I can't say that he is," was the physician's answer.  "He
looks to be as healthy as you or I."

"It's queer he keeps to his room."

"Perhaps something happened out at his mine to unsettle his
nerves.  He told me of some sort of an accident."

"Is he a miner?"

"He is a mine owner, so Mr. Mallison told me, but he never heard
of the man before."

The stranger received several letters the next day and then a
telegram.  Shortly after that he took to his bed.

"I am feeling worse," said he to the bell boy who answered his
ring.  "I want you to send for that doctor again.  Ask him to
call about noon."

"Yes, sir," answered the boy, and Doctor Gardner was sent for
without delay.  He came and made another examination and left
some medicine.

"I'll take the medicine regularly," said the stranger, who was in
bed.  But when the doctor had left he quietly poured half of the
contents of the bottle into the wash bowl, where it speedily
drained from sight!

"Don't catch me drinking such rot," he muttered to himself.  "I'd
rather have some good liquor any day," and he took a long pull
from a black bottle he had in his valise.

About noon a carriage drove up to the hotel and two men alighted.

One led the way into the hotel and asked to see the register.

"I'd like to see Mr. David Ball," said he to the clerk.

"Mr. Ball is sick."

"So I have heard and that is why I wish to see him."

"I'll send up your card."

"I don't happen to have a card.  Tell him Mr. Anderson is here,
from Philadelphia, with a friend of his."

The message was sent to the sick man's room, and word came down
that he would see the visitors in a few minutes.

"He says he is pretty sick and he can't talk business very long,"
said the bell boy.

"We won't bother him very much," answered the man who had given
his name as Anderson.

Joe happened to be close by during this conversation and he
looked the man called Anderson over with care.

"I've seen that man, too!" he declared to himself.  "But where? 
I declare he is as much of a mystery as the sick one!"

Our hero's curiosity was now aroused to the highest pitch, and
when the two men walked up to David Ball's room he followed to
the very doorway.

"Come in," came from the room, and a deep groan followed.  On the
bed lay the man from Montana, wrapped in several blankets and
with a look of anguish on his features.

"Feeling pretty bad, eh?" said Anderson, as he stalked in.  "I am
downright sorry for you."

"I'm afraid I am going to die," groaned the man in bed.  "The
doctor says I am in bad shape.  He wants me to take a trip to
Europe, or somewhere else."

"This is Mr. Maurice Vane," went on Anderson.  "We won't trouble
you any more than is necessary, Mr. Ball."

"I am sorry to disturb you," said Maurice Vane.  He was a kindly
looking gentleman. "Perhaps we had better defer this business
until some other time."

"Oh, no, one time is as bad as another," came with another groan
from the bed.  "Besides, I admit I need money badly.  If it
wasn't for that--".  The man in bed began to cough.  "Say, shut
the door," he went on, to the first man who had come in.

The door was closed, and for the time being Joe heard no more of
the conversation.

It must be admitted that our hero was perplexed, and with good
reason.  He felt certain that the man in bed was shamming, that
he was hardly sick at all.  If so, what was his game?

"Something is surely wrong somewhere," he reasoned.  "I wish I
could get to the bottom of it."

The room next to the one occupied by David Ball was empty and he
slipped into this. The room contained a closet, and on the other
side was another closet, opening into the room the men were in. 
The partition between was of boards, and as the other door stood
wide open, Joe, by placing his head to the boards, could hear
fairly well.

"You have the stock?" he heard Maurice Vane ask.

"Yes, in my valise.  Hand me the bag and I'll show you," answered
the man in bed. "Oh, how weak I feel!" he sighed.

There was a silence and then the rustling of papers.

"And what is your bottom price for these?" went on Maurice Vane.

"Thirty thousand dollars."

"I told Mr. Vane you might possibly take twenty-five thousand,"
came from the man called Anderson.

"They ought to be worth face value--fifty thousand dollars," said
the man in bed.

A talk in a lower tone followed, and then more rustling of
papers.

"I will call to-morrow with the cash," said Maurice Vane, as he
prepared to leave.  "In the meantime, you promise to keep these
shares for me?"

"I'll keep them until noon.  I've got another offer," said the
man in bed.

"We'll be back," put in the man called Anderson.  "So don't you
sell to anybody else."

Then the two visitors left and went downstairs. Five minutes
later they were driving away in the direction of the railroad
station.

"This certainly beats anything I ever met before," said Joe, to
himself as he watched them go.  "I'll wager all I am worth that
I've met that Anderson before, and that he is a bad man.  I do
wish I could get at the bottom of what is going on."

In the evening he had occasion to go upstairs in the hotel once
more.  To his surprise he saw Mr. David Ball sitting in a
rocking-chair, calmly smoking a cigar and reading a paper.

"He isn't as sick as he was this morning," he mused.  "In fact, I
don't think he is sick at all."

He wished to be on hand the following morning, when the strangers
came back, but an errand took him up the lake.  He had to stop at
several places, and did not start on the return until four in the
afternoon.

On his way back Joe went ashore close to where the old lodge was
located, and something, he could not tell what, made him run over
and take a look at the spot that had proved a shelter for Ned and
himself during the heavy storm.  How many things had occurred
since that fatal day!

As our hero looked into one of the rooms he remembered the
strange men he had seen there --the fellows who had talked about
mining stocks.  Then, of a sudden, a revelation came to him, like
a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.

"I've got it! I've got it!" he cried. "Mr. David Ball is that
fellow who called himself Malone, and Anderson is the man named
Caven! They are both imposters!"



CHAPTER XI.


A FRUITLESS CHASE.


The more Joe thought over the matter the more he became convinced
that he was right. He remembered a good deal of the talk he had
overheard during the storm, although such talk had, for the time
being, been driven from his mind by the tragic death of old Hiram
Bodley.

"If they are working some game what can this Maurice Vane have to
do with it?" he asked himself.

He thought it best to get back to the hotel at once, and tell Mr.
Mallison of his suspicions. But, as luck would have it, scarcely
had he started to row his boat again when an oarlock broke, and
so it took him the best part of an hour to make the trip.

"Where is Mr. Mallison?" he asked of the clerk of the hotel.

"Out in the stable, I believe," was the answer.

Without waiting, our hero ran down to the stable and found the
hotel proprietor inspecting some hay that had just been unloaded.

"I'd like to speak to you a moment, Mr. Mallison," he said. 
"It's important," and he motioned for the man to follow him.

"What is it, Joe?"

"It's about those men who called to see that sick man, and about
the sick man, too."

"He has gone--all of them have gone."

"What!" ejaculated our hero.  "The sick man, too?"

"Exactly.  But he didn't go with the others.  While they were
here he was in bed, but right after they left he arose, dressed
himself, and drove away."

"Where did he go to?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know what became of the other two men?"

"I do not.  But what's up? Is there anything wrong?" questioned
the hotel proprietor, with a look of concern on his face.

"I am afraid there is," answered Joe, and told his tale from
beginning to end.

"That's an odd sort of a yarn, Joe.  It's queer you didn't
recognize the men before.

"It is queer, sir, but I can't help that.  It flashed over me
just as I looked into the window of the old lodge."

"You haven't made any mistake?"

"No, sir."

"Humph!" Andrew Mallison mused for a moment.  "I don't really see
what I can do in the matter.  We can't prove that those men are
wrongdoers, can we?"

"Not unless they tried some game on this Mr. Maurice Vane."

"They may have sold him some worthless mining shares.  That sort
of a trick is rather old."

"I think we ought to make a search for this David Ball, or
Malone, or whatever his name is."

"I'm willing to do that."

After questioning half a dozen people they learned that the
pretended sick man had driven off in the direction of a village
called Hopedale.

"What made him go there, do you think?" questioned Joe.

"I don't know, excepting that he thought of getting a train on
the other line."

A horse and buggy were procured, and in this Mr. Mallison and our
hero drove over to Hopedale.  They were still on the outskirts of
the village when they heard a locomotive whistle.

"There's the afternoon train now!" cried Joe.  "Perhaps it's the
one he wants to catch."

The horse was touched up and the buggy drove up to the railroad
platform at breakneck speed.  But the train was gone and all they
could see of it was the last car as it swung around one of the
mountain bends.

"Too late, Mr. Mallison!" sang out the station master.  "If I had
known ye was comin' I might have held her up a bit."

"I didn't want the train, Jackson.  Who got on board?"

"Two ladies, a man and a boy--Dick Fadder."

"Did you know the man?"

"No."

"What did he have with him?"

"A dress suit case."

"Was he dressed in a dark blue suit and wear a slouch hat?" asked
Joe.

"Yes, and had a light overcoat with him."

"That was our man."

"Anything wrong with him?" asked the station master.

"Perhaps," answered the hotel proprietor. "Anyway, we wanted to
see him.  Did he buy a ticket?"

"Yes, to Snagtown."

"What can he want in Snagtown?" asked Joe.

"Oh, that might have been a blind, Joe. He could easily go
through to Philadelphia or some other place, if he wanted to."

At first they thought of telegraphing ahead to stop the man, but
soon gave that plan up. They had no evidence, and did not wish to
make trouble unless they knew exactly what they were doing.

"I hope it turns out all right," observed Andrew Mallison, when
they were driving back to Riverside.  "If there was a swindle it
would give my hotel a black eye."

"That's one reason why I wanted that man held," answered Joe.

The next day and that following passed quietly, and our hero
began to think that he had made a mistake and misjudged the men.
He was kept very busy and so almost forgot the incident.

Among the new boarders was a fussy old man named Chaster, who was
speedily nicknamed by the bell boys Chestnuts.  He was a
particular individual, and made everybody as uncomfortable as he
possibly could.

One day Wilberforce Chaster--to use his full name,--asked Joe to
take him out on the lake for a day's fishing.  Our hero readily
complied, and was in hot water from the time they went out until
they returned.  Nothing suited the old man, and as he caught
hardly any fish he was exceedingly put out when he came back to
the hotel.

"Your boatman is of no account," he said to Andrew Mallison.  "I
have spent a miserable day," and he stamped off to his room in
high anger.

"It was not my fault, Mr. Mallison," said Joe, with burning
cheeks.  "I did my level best by him."

"That man has been making trouble for us ever since he come,"
answered the hotel proprietor. "I am going to ask him to go
elsewhere when his week is up."

The insults that Joe had received that day from Wilberforce
Chaster rankled in his mind, and he determined to square accounts
with the boarder if he possibly could.

Towards evening he met a bell boy named Harry Ross who had also
had trouble with Chaster, and the two talked the matter over.

"We ought to get square," said Harry Ross. "I wish I could souse
him with a pitcher of ice water."

"I've got a plan," said Joe.

Stopping at the hotel was a traveling doctor, who came to
Riverside twice a year, for a stay of two weeks each time.  He
sold some patent medicines, and had in his room several skulls
and also a skeleton strung on wires.

"That doctor is away," said our hero.  "I wonder if we can't
smuggle the skulls and the skeleton into Mr. Chaster's room?"

"Just the cheese!" cried the bell boy, enthusiastically.  "And
let us rub the bones with some of those matches that glow in the
dark!"

The plan was talked over, and watching their chance the two
transferred the skeleton and the skulls to the apartment occupied
by Wilberforce Chaster.  Then they rubbed phosphorus on the
bones, and hung them upon long strings, running over a doorway
into the next room.

That evening Wilberforce Chaster remained in the hotel parlor
until ten o 'clock.  Then he marched off to his room in his usual
ill humor. The gas was lit and he went to bed without delay.

As soon as the light went out and they heard the man retire, Joe
and the bell boy began to groan in an ominous manner.  As they
did so, they worked the strings to which the skulls and the
skeleton were attached, causing them to dance up and down in the
center of the old man's room.

Hearing the groans, Wilberforce Chaster sat up in bed and
listened.  Then he peered around in the darkness.

"Ha! what is that?" he gasped, as he caught sight of the skulls. 
"Am I dreaming--or is that--Oh!"

He started and began to shake from head to foot, for directly in
front of him was the skeleton, moving up and down in a jerky
fashion and glowing with a dull fire.  His hair seemed to stand
on end.  He dove under the coverings of the bed.

"The room is haunted!" he moaned.  "Was ever such a thing seen
before! This is wretched! Whatever shall I do?"

The groans continued, and presently he gave another look from
under the bed clothes. The skeleton appeared to be coming nearer.
He gave a loud yell of anguish.

"Go away! Go away! Oh, I am haunted by a ghost! This is awful! I
cannot stand it!"

He fairly tumbled out of bed and caught up his clothing in a
heap.  Then, wrapped in some comfortables, he burst out of the
room and ran down the hallway like a person possessed of the evil
spirits.

"Come be quick, or we'll get caught!" whispered Joe, and ran into
the room, followed by the bell boy.  In a trice they pulled loose
the strings that held the skulls and the skeleton, and restored
the things to the doctor's room from which they had been taken. 
Then they went below by a back stairs.

The whole hotel was in an alarm, and soon Mr. Mallison came upon
the scene.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, severely, of
Wilberforce Chaster.

"The meaning is, sir, that your hotel is haunted," was the
answer, which startled all who heard it.



CHAPTER XII.


THE PARTICULARS OF A SWINDLE.


"This hotel haunted?" gasped the proprietor.  "Sir, you are
mistaken.  Such a thing is impossible."

"It is true," insisted Mr. Wilberforce Chaster.  "I shall not
stay here another night."

"What makes you think it is haunted?"

"There is a ghost in my room."

"Oh!" shrieked a maid who had come on the scene.  "A ghost! I
shall not stay either!"

"What kind of a ghost?" demanded Andrew Mallison.

"A--er--a skeleton--and some skulls! I saw them with my own
eyes," went on the victim.  "Come and see them for yourself."

"This is nonsense," said the hotel proprietor. "I will go and
convince you that you are mistaken."

He led the way and half a dozen followed, including Wilberforce
Chaster, who kept well to the rear.  Just as the party reached
the door of the apartment Joe and the bell boy came up.

Without hesitation Andrew Mallison threw open the door of the
room and looked inside. Of course he saw nothing out of the
ordinary.

"Where is your ghost?" he demanded.  "I see nothing of it."

"Don't--don't you see--er--a skeleton?" demanded the man who had
been victimized.

"I do not."

Trembling in every limb Wilberforce Chaster came forward and
peered into the room.

"Well?" demanded the hotel proprietor, after a pause.

"I--I certainly saw them."

"Then where are they now?"

"I--I don't know."

By this time others were crowding into the apartment.  All gazed
around, and into the clothes closet, but found nothing unusual.

"You must be the victim of some hallucination, sir," said the
hotel proprietor, severely.

He hated to have anything occur which might give his
establishment a bad reputation.

"No, sir, I saw the things with my own eyes."

The matter was talked over for several minutes longer and then
the hired help was ordered away.

"I shall not stay in this room," insisted Wilberforce Chaster.

"You need not remain in the hotel," answered Andrew Mallison,
quickly.  "You can leave at once.  You have alarmed the whole
establishment needlessly."

Some warm words followed, and the upshot of the matter was that
the fussy old boarder had to pack his things and seek another
hotel that very night.

"I am glad to get rid of him," said the hotel proprietor, after
Wilberforce Chaster had departed.  "He was making trouble all the
time."

"We fixed him, didn't we?" said the bell boy to Joe.

"I hope it teaches him a lesson to be more considerate in the
future," answered our hero.

Several days passed and Joe had quite a few parties to take out
on the lake.  The season was now drawing to a close, and our hero
began to wonder what he had best do when boating was over.

"I wonder if I couldn't strike something pretty good in
Philadelphia?" he asked himself. The idea of going to one of the
big cities appealed to him strongly.

One afternoon, on coming in from a trip across the lake, Joe
found Andrew Mallison in conversation with Mr. Maurice Vane, who
had arrived at the hotel scarcely an hour before. The city man
was evidently both excited and disappointed.

"Here is the boy now," said the hotel proprietor, and called Joe
up.

"Well, young man, I guess you have hit the truth," were Maurice
Vane's first words.

"About those other fellows?" asked our hero, quickly.

"That's it."

"Did they swindle you?"

"They did."

"By selling you some worthless mining stocks?"

"Yes.  If you will, I'd like you to tell me all you can about
those two men."

"I will," answered Joe, and told of the strange meeting at the
old lodge and of what had followed.  Maurice Vane drew a long
breath and shook his head sadly.

"I was certainly a green one, to be taken in so slyly," said he.

"How did they happen to hear of you?" questioned Joe, curiously.

"I answered an advertisement in the daily paper," said Maurice
Vane.  "Then this man, Caven, or whatever his right name may be,
came to me and said he had a certain plan for making a good deal
of money.  All I had to do was to invest a certain amount and
inside of a few days I could clear fifteen or twenty thousand
dollars."

"That was surely a nice proposition," said Joe, with a smile.

"I agreed to go into the scheme if it was all plain sailing and
then this Caven gave me some of the details.  He said there was a
demand for a certain kind of mining shares.  He knew an old miner
who was sick and who was willing to sell the shares he possessed
for a reasonable sum of money.  The plan was to buy the shares
and then sell them to another party--a broker--at a big advance
in price."

"That was simple enough," put in Andrew Mallison.

"Caven took me to see a man who called himself a broker.  He had
an elegant office and looked prosperous.  He told us he would be
glad to buy certain mining shares at a certain figure if he could
get them in the near future. He said a client was red-hot after
the shares.  I questioned him closely and he appeared to be a
truthful man.  He said some folks wanted to buy out the mine and
consolidate it with another mine close by."

"And then you came here and bought the stock of Malone?" queried
Joe.

"Yes.  Caven made me promise to give him half the profits and I
agreed.  I came here, and as you know, Malone, or Ball, or
whatever his name is, pretended to be very sick and in need of
money.  He set his price, and I came back with the cash and took
the mining stock.  I was to meet Caven, alias Anderson, the
next day and go to the broker with him, but Caven did not appear. 
Then I grew suspicious and went to see the broker alone.  The man
was gone and the office locked up.  After that I asked some other
brokers about the stock, and they told me it was not worth five
cents on the dollar."

"Isn't there any such mine at all?" asked Joe.

"Oh, yes, there is such a mine, but it was abandoned two years
ago, after ten thousand dollars had been sunk in it.  They said
it paid so little that it was not worth considering."

"That is certainly too bad for you," said Joe.  "And you can't
find any trace of Caven or Malone?"

"No, both of the rascals have disappeared completely.  I tried to
trace Caven and his broker friend in Philadelphia but it was of
no use.  More than likely they have gone to some place thousands
of miles away."

"Yes, and probably this Ball, or Malone, has joined them," put in
Andrew Mallison.  "Mr. Vane, I am exceedingly sorry for you."

"I am sorry for myself, but I deserve my loss, for being such a
fool," went on the victim.

"Have you notified the police?" asked Joe.

"Oh, yes, and I have hired a private detective to do what he can,
too.  But I am afraid my money is gone for good."

"You might go and reopen the mine, Mr. Vane."

"Thank you, but I have lost enough already, without throwing good
money after bad, as the saying is."

"It may be that that detective will find the swindlers, sooner or
later."

"Such a thing is, of course, possible, but I am not over
sanguine."

"I am afraid your money is gone for good," broke in Andrew
Mallison.  "I wish I could help you, but I don't see how I can."

The matter was talked over for a good hour, and all three visited
the room Malone had occupied, which had been vacant ever since. 
But a hunt around revealed nothing of value, and they returned to
the office.

"I can do nothing more for you, Mr. Vane," said Andrew Mallison.

"I wish I could do something," said Joe.  Something about Maurice
Vane was very attractive to him.

"If you ever hear of these rascals let me know," continued the
hotel proprietor.

"I will do so," was the reply.

With that the conversation on the subject closed.  Maurice Vane
remained at the hotel overnight and left by the early train on
the following morning.



CHAPTER XIII.


OFF FOR THE CITY.


"Joe, our season ends next Saturday."

"I know it, Mr. Mallison."

"We are going to close the house on Tuesday. It won't pay to keep
open after our summer boarders leave."

"I know that, too."

"Have you any idea what you intend to do?" went on the hotel
proprietor.  He was standing down by the dock watching Joe clean
out one of the boats.

"I'm thinking of going to Philadelphia."

"On a visit?"

"No, sir, to try my luck."

"Oh, I see.  It's a big city, my lad."

"I know it, but, somehow, I feel I might do better there than in
such a town as this,--and I am getting tired of hanging around
the lake."

"There is more money in Philadelphia than there is here, that is
certain, Joe.  But you can't always get hold of it.  The big
cities are crowded with people trying to obtain situations."

"I'm sure I can find something to do, Mr. Mallison.  And, by the
way, when I leave, will you give me a written recommendation?"

"Certainly.  You have done well since you came here.  But you had
better think twice before going to Philadelphia."

"I've thought it over more than twice.  I don't expect the earth,
but I feel that I can get something to do before my money runs
out."

"How much money have you saved up?"

"I've got fifty-six dollars, and I'm going to sell my boat for
four dollars."

"Well, sixty dollars isn't such a bad capital. I have known men
to start out with a good deal less.  When I left home I had but
twenty dollars and an extra suit of clothes."

"Did you come from a country place?"

"No, I came from New York.  Times were hard and I couldn't get a
single thing to do.  I went to Paterson, New Jersey, and got work
in a silk mill.  From there I went to Camden, and then to
Philadelphia.  From Philadelphia I came here and have been here
ever since."

"You have been prosperous."

"Fairly so, although I don't make as much money as some of the
hotel men in the big cities.  But then they take larger risks.  A
few years ago a hotel friend of mine opened a big hotel in
Atlantic City.  He hoped to make a small fortune, but he was not
located in the right part of the town and at the end of the
season he found himself just fifteen thousand dollars out of
pocket.  Now he has sold out and is running a country hotel fifty
miles west of here.  He doesn't hope to make so much, but his
business is much safer."

"I'm afraid it will be a long time before I get money enough to
run a hotel," laughed our hero.

"Would you like to run one?"

"I don't know.  I'd like to educate myself first."

"Don't you study some now?  I have seen you with some arithmetics
and histories."

"Yes, sir, I study a little every day.  You see, I never had much
schooling, and I don't want to grow up ignorant, if I can help
it."

"That is the proper spirit, lad," answered Andrew Mallison,
warmly.  "Learn all you possibly can.  It will always be the
means of doing you good."

The conversation took place on Thursday and two days later the
season at the summer hotel came to an end and the last of the
boarders took their departure.  Monday was spent in putting
things in order, and by Tuesday afternoon work around the place
came to an end, and all the help was paid off.

In the meantime Joe had sold his boat. With all of his money in
his pocket he called at the Talmadge house to see if Ned had
returned from the trip to the west.

"Just got back yesterday," said Ned, who came to greet him.  "Had
a glorious trip.  I wish you had been along.  I like traveling
better than staying at home all the time."

"I am going to do a bit of traveling myself, Ned."

"Where are you going?"

"To Philadelphia--to try my luck in that city."

"Going to leave Mr. Mallison?"

"Yes,--the season is at an end."

"Oh, I see.  So you are going to the Quaker City, as pa calls it. 
I wish you luck.  You'll have to write to me, Joe, and let me
know how you are getting along."

"I will,--and you must write to me."

"Of course."

On the following day Joe rowed along the lake to where his old
home dock had been located and made a trip to what was left of
the cabin.  He spent another hour in hunting for the blue box,
but without success.

"I suppose I'll never find that box," he sighed.  "I may as well
give up thinking about it."

From Andrew Mallison our hero had obtained his letter of
recommendation and also a good pocket map of Philadelphia.  The
hotel man had also made him a present of a neat suit case, in
which he packed his few belongings.

Ned Talmadge came to see him off at the depot.  The day was cool
and clear, and Joe felt in excellent spirits.

Soon the train came along and our hero got aboard, along with a
dozen or fifteen others. He waved a hand to Ned and his friend
shouted out a good-bye.  Then the train moved on, and the town
was soon left in the distance.

The car that Joe had entered was not more than quarter filled and
he easily found a seat for himself by a window.  He placed his
suit case at his feet and then gave himself up to looking at the
scenery as it rushed past.

Joe had never spent much of his time on the railroad, so the long
ride had much of novelty in it.  The scenery was grand, as they
wound in and out among the hills and mountains, or crossed brooks
and rivers and well-kept farms. Numerous stops were made, and
long before Philadelphia was gained the train became crowded.

"Nice day for riding," said a man who sat down beside our hero. 
He looked to be what he was, a prosperous farmer.

"It is," answered Joe.

"Goin' to Philadelphy, I reckon," went on the farmer.

"Yes, sir."

"That's where I'm going, too.  Got a little business to attend
to."

"I am going there to try my luck," said Joe, he felt he could
talk to the old man with confidence.

"Goin' to look fer a job, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wot kin ye do, if I might ask?"

"Oh, I'm willing to do most anything. I've been taking care of
rowboats and working around a summer hotel, at Lake Tandy."

"Well, ye won't git many boats to look at down to Philadelphy!"
and the old farmer chuckled.

"I suppose not.  Maybe I'll strike a job at one of the hotels."

"Perhaps.  They tell me some hotels down there is monsterous--ten
an' twelve stories high. Ye don't catch me goin' to no sech
place.  In case o' fire, it's all up with ye, if you're on the
twelfth story."

"Are you going to Philadelphia to stay, Mr.----"

"Bean is my name--Josiah Bean.  I'm from Haydown Center, I am. 
Got a farm there o' a hundred acres."

"Oh, is that so!"

"Wot's your handle, young man?"

"My name is Joe Bodley.  I came from Riverside."

"Proud to know you." And Josiah Bean shook hands.  "No, I ain't
going to stay in Philadelphy.  I'm a-going on business fer my
wife.  A relative left her some property an' I'm a-goin' to
collect on it."

"That's a pleasant trip to be on," was our hero's comment.

"I'll feel better when I have the six hundred dollars in my fist. 
I'm afraid it ain't goin' to be no easy matter to git it."

"What's the trouble!"

"I ain't known in Philadelphy an' they tell me a feller has got
to be identified or somethin' like thet--somebody has got to
speak for ye wot knows ye."

"I see.  Perhaps you'll meet some friend."

"Thet's wot I'm hopin' fer."

The train rolled on and presently Joe got out his map and began
to study it, so that he might know something of the great city
when he arrived there.

"Guess I'll git a drink o' water," said Josiah Bean, and walked
to the end of the car to do so. Immediately a slick looking man
who had been seated behind the farmer arose and followed him.



CHAPTER XIV.


A SCENE ON THE TRAIN.


The slick-looking individual had listened attentively to all that
passed between our hero and the farmer.

He waited until the latter had procured his drink of water and
then rushed up with a smile on his face.

"I declare!" he exclaimed.  "How do you do?"  And he extended his
hand.

"How do you do?" repeated the farmer, shaking hands slowly.  He
felt much perplexed, for he could not remember having met the
other man before.

"How are matters up on the farm?" went on the stranger.

"Thank you, very good."

"I--er--I don't think you remember me, Mr. Bean," went on the
slick-looking individual.

"Well, somehow I think I know your face," answered the old
farmer, lamely.  He did not wish to appear wanting in politeness.

"You ought to remember me.  I spent some time in Haydown Center
year before last, selling machines."

"Oh, you had them patent reapers, is that it?"

"You've struck it."

"I remember you now.  You're a nephew of Judge Davis."

"Exactly."

"O' course! O' course! But I can't remember your name nohow."

"It's Davis, too--Henry Davis."

"Oh, yes.  I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Davis."

"I saw you in the seat with that boy," went on the man we shall
call Henry Davis.  "I thought I knew you from the start, but I
wasn't dead sure.  Going to Philadelphia with us?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good enough.  Mr. Bean, won't you smoke with me?  I was just
going into the smoker."

"Thanks, but I--er--I don't smoke much."

"Just one mild cigar.  That won't hurt you, I'm sure.  I love to
meet old friends," continued Henry Davis.

In the end the old farmer was pursuaded to walk into the smoking
car and here the slick-looking individual found a corner seat
where they would be undisturbed.

"I expect to spend a week or more in Philadelphia, Mr. Bean,"
said the stranger; "if I can be of service to you during that
time, command me."

"Well, perhaps ye can be of service to me. Do ye know many folks
in the city?"

"Oh, yes, a great many.  Some are business friends and some are
folks in high society."

"I don't care for no high society.  But I've got to collect six
hundred dollars an' I want somebody to identify me."

"Oh, I can do that easily, Mr. Bean."

"Kin ye?" The farmer grew interested at once.  "If ye kin I'll be
much obliged to ye."

"Where must you be identified?"

"Down to the office of Barwell & Cameron, on Broad street.  Do ye
know 'em?"

"I know of them, and I can find somebody who does know them, so
there will not be the least trouble."

"It's a load off my mind," said Josiah Bean, with a sigh.  "Ye
see, the money is comin' to my wife.  She writ to 'em that I was
comin' to collect an' they writ back it would be all right, only
I would have to be identified.  Jest as if everybody in Haydown
Center don't know I'm Josiah Bean an' a piller in the Union
Church down there, an' a cousin to Jedge Bean o' Lassindale."

"Well, they have to be mighty particular when they pay out any
money in the city. There are so many sharpers around."

"I ain't no sharper."

"To be sure you are not, and neither am I. But I once had trouble
getting money."

"Is thet so?"

"Yes.  But after I proved who I was the folks were pretty well
ashamed of themselves," went on Henry Davis, smoothly.

So the talk ran on and at the end of half an hour the old farmer
and the slick-looking individual were on exceedingly friendly
terms. Henry Davis asked much about the old man and gathered in a
good stock of information.

When Philadelphia was gained it was dark, and coming out of the
big railroad station Joe at first knew not which way to turn. 
The noise and the crowd of people confused him.

"Have a cab?  Carriage?" bawled the hackmen.

"Paper!" yelled a newsboy.  "All the evenin' papers!"

"Smash yer baggage!" called out a luggage boy, not near as tall
as our hero.

Looking ahead, Joe saw Josiah Bean and the slick-looking
individual moving down the street and without realizing it, our
hero began to follow the pair.

"He must be some friend," said our hero to himself.

He wondered where they were going and his curiosity getting the
better of him he continued to follow them for half a dozen
blocks.  At last they came to a halt in front of a building
displaying the sign:

          JOHNSON'S QUAKER HOTEL

          MODERATE TERMS FOR ALL.

"This hotel is all right and the prices are right, too," Joe
heard the slick-looking man tell the old farmer.

"Then thet suits me," answered Josiah Bean. "I'll go in an' git a
room fer the night."

"I think I might as well do the same," said Henry Davis.  "I
don't care to go away over to my boarding house at Fairmount
Park."

The pair walked into the hotel, and Joe saw them register and
pass down the corridor in the company of a bell boy.  Then our
hero entered the place.

"Can I get a room here for the night?" he asked of the clerk
behind the desk.

"Certainly."

"What is the charge?"

"Seventy-five cents."

"That suits me."

The register was shoved forward and Joe wrote down his name. 
Then he was shown to a small room on the third floor.  The
building was but four stories high.

Joe was tired and soon went to bed.  In the next room he heard a
murmur of voices and made out that the old farmer and his friend
were talking earnestly.

"They must be very friendly," was his comment, and thinking the
matter over he fell asleep.

Bright and early in the morning our hero arose, dressed himself,
and went below.  He had breakfast in the restaurant attached to
the hotel and was just finishing up when the old farmer and the
slick-looking individual came in.

"Hullo!" cried Josiah Bean.  "What are you doin' here?"

"I got a room overnight," answered our hero.

"We're stopping here, too.  This is my friend, Mr. Henry Davis."

"Good morning," said the slick-looking man. He did not seem to
fancy meeting Joe.

They sat down close at hand and, while eating, the farmer asked
Joe half a dozen questions.

He spoke about his own business until Henry Davis nudged him in
the side.

"I wouldn't tell that boy too much," he said in a low tone.

"Oh, he's all right," answered the old farmer.

Joe heard the slick-looking individual's words and they made his
face burn.  He looked at the man narrowly and made up his mind he
was not a fellow to be desired for an acquaintance.

Having finished, our hero paid his bill and left the restaurant. 
He scarcely knew which way to turn, but resolved to look over the
newspapers first and see if any positions were offered.

While in the reading room he saw Josiah Bean and his acquaintance
leave the hotel and walk in the direction of Broad street.

A little later Joe took from the paper he was reading the
addresses of several people who wanted help, and then he, too,
left the hotel.

The first place he called at was a florist's establishment, but
the pay was so small he declined the position.

"I could not live on three dollars per week," he said.

"That is all we care to pay," answered the proprietor, coldly. 
"It is more than other establishments pay."

"Then I pity those who work at the other places," returned Joe,
and walked out.



CHAPTER XV.


WHAT HAPPENED TO JOSIAH BEAN.


In the meantime Josiah Bean and the slick-looking individual
turned into Broad street and made their way to a certain
establishment known as the Eagle's Club.

Here Henry Davis called another man aside.

"Say, Foxy, do you know anybody down to Barwell & Cameron's?" he
asked, in a low tone, so that the old farmer could not hear.

"Yes--a clerk named Chase."

"Then come down and introduce me."

"What's the game?"

"Never mind--there's a tenner in it for you if it works."

"Then I'm on, Bill."

"Hush--my name is Henry Davis."

"All right, Hank," returned Foxy, carelessly.

He came forward and was introduced to the old farmer in the
following fashion:

"Mr. Richard Barlow--of Barlow & Small, manufacturers."

All three made their way to the establishment of Barwell &
Cameron, and then Henry Davis was introduced under that name to a
clerk.

As soon as Foxy had departed the slick-looking individual turned
to the clerk and called the old farmer forward.

"This is my esteemed friend, Mr. Josiah Bean, of Haydown Center. 
He has business with Mr. Cameron, I believe."

"I'm here to collect six hundred dollars," said Josiah Bean. 
"Mr. Cameron writ me some letters about it."

"Very well, sir.  Sit down, gentlemen, and I'll tell Mr.
Cameron."

The two were kept waiting for a few minutes and were then ushered
into a private office. Through Chase, the clerk, Henry Davis was
introduced and then Josiah Bean.  All the papers proved to be
correct, and after the old farmer had signed his name he was
given a check.

"See here, I want the cash," he demanded.

"Very well," said Mr. Cameron.  "Indorse the check and I'll have
the money drawn for you across the street."

The farmer wrote down his name once more, and a few minutes later
received his six hundred dollars in twelve brand-new fifty-dollar
bills.

"Gosh! Them will be nice fer Mirandy to look at," was his
comment, as he surveyed the bills.

"Be careful that you don't lose them, Mr. Bean," cautioned Henry
Davis, as the two left the establishment.

"Reckon the best thing I can do is to git back to hum this
afternoon," remarked Josiah Bean, when he was on the street.

"Oh, now you are in town you'll have to look around a bit," said
the slick-looking individual.  "You can take a train back to-
morrow just as well.  Let me show you a few of the sights."

This tickled the old farmer and he agreed to remain over until
the next noon.  Then Henry Davis dragged the old man around to
various points of interest and grew more familiar than ever.

While they were at the top of one of the big office buildings
Henry Davis pretended to drop his pocketbook.

"How careless of me!" he cried.

"Got much in it?" queried Josiah Bean.

"Three thousand dollars."

"Do tell! It's a powerful sight o' money to carry so careless
like."

"It is.  Maybe you had better carry it for me, Mr. Bean."

"Not me! I ain't goin' to be responsible fer nobody's money but
my own--an' Mirandy's."

"Better see if your own money is safe."

Josiah Bean got out his wallet and counted the bills.

"Safe enough."

"Are you sure?  I thought there was only five hundred and fifty."

"No, six hundred."

"I'll bet you ten dollars on it."

"What!  can't I count straight," gasped the old farmer, much
disturbed.  "Six hundred I tell you," he added, after he had gone
over the amount once more.

"If there is I'll give you the ten dollars," answered the slick
one.  "Let me count the bills."

"All right, there ye be, Mr. Davis."

Henry Davis took the wallet and pretended to count the bills.

"Hullo, what's that?" he cried, whirling around.

"What's wot?" demanded Josiah Bean, also looking around.

"I thought I heard somebody cry fire."

"Don't say thet! Say, let's git out o' here--I don't want to look
at the sights."

"All right--here's your money.  I guess it's six hundred after
all," answered the slick- looking individual, passing over the
wallet.

They hurried to the elevator and got into quite a crowd of
people.

"Wait for me here," said Henry Davis, as they walked past the
side corridor.  "I want to step in yonder office and send a
message to a friend."

He ran off, leaving the old farmer by himself. Josiah Bean looked
around him nervously.

"I guess that wasn't no cry o' fire after all," he mused.  "Well,
if there's a fire I kin git out from here quick enough."

The office building was a large one, running from one street to
the next.  On the street in the rear was a bookstore, the
proprietor of which had advertised for a clerk.

Joe had applied for the position and was waiting for the
proprietor to address him when, on chancing to look up, he saw
Henry Davis rush past as if in a tremendous hurry.

"Hullo, that's the fellow who was with the old farmer," he told
himself.

"What can I do for you, young man?" asked the proprietor of the
bookshop, approaching at that instant.

"I believe you wish a clerk," answered our hero.

"Have you had experience in this line?"

"No, sir."

"Then you won't do.  I must have someone who is experienced."

"I am willing to learn."

"It won't do.  I want an experienced clerk or none at all," was
the sharp answer.

Leaving the bookstore, Joe stood out on the sidewalk for a moment
and then walked around the corner.

A moment later he caught sight of Josiah Bean, gazing up and down
the thoroughfare and acting like one demented.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Matter?" bawled the old farmer.  I've been took in! Robbed!
Swindled! Oh, wot will Mirandy say!"

"Who robbed you?"

"Thet Mr. Davis I reckon! He counted the money last, an' now it's
gone!"

"I saw Mr. Davis a minute ago."

"Where?"

"Around the corner, walking as fast as he could."

"He's got my money! Oh, I must catch him!"

"I'll help you," answered Joe, with vigor. "I thought he looked
like a slick one," he added.

He led the way and Josiah Bean came behind.  The old farmer
looked as if he was ready to drop with fright.  The thought of
losing his wife's money was truly horrifying.

"Mirandy won't never forgive me!" he groaned.  "Oh, say, boy,
we've got to catch that rascal!"

"If we can," added our hero.

He had noted the direction taken by the swindler, and now ran
across the street and into a side thoroughfare leading to where a
new building was being put up.

Here, from a workman, he learned that the sharper had boarded a
street car going south. He hailed the next car and both he and
the old farmer got aboard.

"This ain't much use," said Josiah Bean, with quivering lips. 
"We dunno how far he took himself to."

"Let us trust to luck to meet him," said Joe.

They rode for a distance of a dozen blocks and then the car came
to a halt, for there was a blockade ahead.

"We may as well get off," said our hero. "He may be in one of the
forward cars."

They alighted and walked on, past half a dozen cars.  Then our
hero gave a cry of triumph .

"There he is!" he said, and pointed to the swindler, who stood on
a car platform, gazing anxiously ahead.



CHAPTER XVI.


A MATTER OF SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS.


"Say, you, give me my money!"

Such were Josiah Bean's words, as he rushed up to Henry Davis and
grabbed the swindler by the shoulder.

The slick-looking individual was thoroughly startled, for