Volume 3, No. 6 June 2010 420 Weaver Rd., Millersburg, PA 17061 Cover Price $3.

00

The Old Wolf of “This section of country lies in low ridges, their southern
extremities being far down in the Blue Mountains and Cas-
cades, and ending only with the valley of the Columbia. Be-

West Fork tween these ridges, in the ‘bottoms,’ run quite rapid streams,
though fordable
cept at sea-
at almost any place, ex-
sons when the snow
by Christine Stephens is melting from the mountains,
or during freshets.
“This reminds me,” said Lieutenant Hale, “of the
time I was out in the ‘Bunch Grass’ country, herding
“The soil in
sheep for my brother—your Uncle Holman, boys.”
the ‘bottoms’
Lieutenant Hale was stopping in Northern Georgia
is rich, and the
with a sister, during the holidays, and his nephews,
pioneers gener-
with two or three of the neighbors’ boys, had been on
ally settle so as
a hunt—a successful
to control as much
one it proved—after
river as possible, for
a wolf which had
the scarcity of water in
been committing
that region is one great
many depredations
drawback to settling for
among the poultry,
cultivating the land. There
lambs and sheep
is scarcely any timber, ei-
during the year.
ther; no forests in the val-
The creature had
leys, save scrub birch and hawthorn
been wonderfully
on the creeks. Fire-wood and lum-
expert in eluding all
ber are hauled from the mountains,
pursuit, but at last
a distance of from ten to fifty miles,
had been captured
according to the situation of the
after a long and baf-
ranch.
fling chase.
“My brother’s range ran along
“I was seventeen
the Fork for some distance, and
then,” continued
then back among the brown hills.
Lieutenant Hale.
Quantities of bunch grass — a tall,
“My brother was
coarse, but sweet and exceedingly
fifteen years older
“AT THE FIRST THRUST, THE ANIMAL LEAPED OUT, nutritious herbage, growing in
than I — he being
UPSETTING ME COMPLETELY.”
tufts, and taking its name from this
the oldest of a large
peculiarity — made fine grazing.
family, while I was
It is a synonym in the West for all
the youngest. He had at first gone to Kansas and taken up
that is strong and good and rich. Bunch-grass beef is consid-
land, accumulating quite a property. Then being possessed
ered the tenderest, bunch-grass ponies are the fleetest, and a
to become a wealthy ranchman, he grew discontented, and
bunch-grass man is superior in every respect to his less fa-
pulled up stakes, as the saying goes, and moved on to Or-
vored brother pioneer.
egon, taking up a range on the West Fork of Fall River, whose
source is in the neigh boring Cascade Range. continued on page 45...
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Page 6 June 2010

From the Editor’s Desk...

Did You Know...???
Index...
1. The fleshy projection above the bill of a Tom Swift & His Wireless Message .......... Page 8
turkey is called a snood.
(continued story)
2. There are 206 bones in the human body. by Victor Appleton

3. Our galaxy has approximately 250 billion

stars. Wait And Hope ...................................... Page 22
(continued story)
4. The first drive-in service station in the by Horatio Alger, Jr.
United States was opened by Gulf Oil Com-
pany - on December 1, 1913, in Pittsburgh,
Pride and Poverty ................................ Page 29
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(continued story)
5. A male moth can smell a female moth from by John Russell Coryell
100 yards away.

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Page 8
Tom Swift
and His Wireless Message
or The Castaways of Earthquake Island
by Victor Appleton
Author of “Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle,” “Tom Swift and His Motor Boat,” “Tom Swift and His Airship,” “Tom Swift and
His Submarine Boat,” “Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout,” Etc.
CHAPTER XI. - A Night of Terror
Here is another Tom Swift adventure. He is already
starting out with an enemy, Andy Foger. And Tom is
up flying again when oh, they realize they are over the
ocean and the craft can’t turn around, or land right
now. They have plenty of food on board to keep the
craft up in the air till the gale goes away. So they may
be okay…
After the first shock of Tom’s announcement, the two men,
who were traveling with him in the airship, showed no signs
of fear. Yet it was alarming to know that one was speeding
over the mighty ocean, before a terrific gale, with nothing
more substantial under one that a comparatively frail airship.
Still Mr. Damon knew Tom of old, and had confidence in
his ability, and, while Mr. Fenwick was not so well acquainted
with our hero, he had heard much about him, and put faith in
his skill to carry them out of their present difficulty.
“Are you sure you can’t turn around and go back?” asked
Mr. Fenwick. His knowledge of air-currents was rather lim-
ited.
“It is out of the question,” replied Tom, simply. “We would
surely rip this craft to pieces if we attempted to buffet this
storm.”
“Is it so bad, then?” asked Mr. Damon, forgetting to bless
anything in the tense excitement of the moment.
“It might be worse,” was the reply of the young inventor.
“The wind is blowing about eighty miles an hour at times, and
to try to turn now would mean that we would tear the planes
loose from the ship. True, we could still keep up by means of
the gas bag, but even that might be injured. Going as we are,
in the same direction as that in which the wind is blowing, we
do not feel the full effect of it.”
“But, perhaps, if we went lower down, or higher up, we
could get in a different current of air,” suggested Mr. Fen-
wick, who had made some study of aeronautics.
“I’ll try,” assented Tom, simply. He shifted the elevating
rudder, and the Whizzer began to go up, slowly, for there was
great lateral pressure on her large surface. But Tom knew his
business, and urged the craft steadily. The powerful electric
June 2010
engines, which were the invention of Mr. Fenwick, stood them
in good stead, and the barograph soon showed that they were
steadily mounting.
“Is the wind pressure any less?” inquired Mr. Damon, anx-
iously.
“On the contrary, it seems to be increasing,” replied Tom,
with a glance at the anemometer. “It’s nearly ninety miles an
hour now.”
“Then, aided by the propellers, we must be making over a
hundred miles an hour.” said the inventor.
“We are,--a hundred and thirty,” assented Tom.
“We’ll be blown across the ocean at this rate,” exclaimed
Mr. Damon. “Bless my soul! I didn’t count on that.”
“Perhaps we had better go down,” suggested Mr. Fenwick.
“I don’t believe we can get above the gale.”
“I’m afraid not,” came from Tom. “It may be a bit better
down below.”
Accordingly, the rudder was changed, and the Whizzer
pointed her nose downward. None of the lifting gas was let
out, as it was desired to save that for emergencies.
Down, down, down, went the great airship, until the adven-
turers within, by gazing through the plate glass window in the
floor of the cabin, could see the heaving, white-capped bil-
lows, tossing and tumbling below them.
“Look out, or we’ll be into them!” shouted Mr. Damon.
“I guess we may as well go back to the level where we
were,” declared Tom. “The wind, both above and below that
particular stratum is stronger, and we will be safer up above.
Our only chance is to scud before it, until it has blown itself
out. And I hope it will be soon.”
“Why?” asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice.
“Because we may be blown so far that we cannot get back
while our power holds out, and then--” Tom did not finish, but
Mr. Damon knew what he meant--death in the tossing ocean,
far from land, when the Whizzer, unable to float in the air any
longer, should drop into the storm-enraged Atlantic.
They were again on a level, where the gale blew less furi-
ously than either above or below, but this was not much relief.
It seemed as if the airship would go to pieces, so much was
it swayed and tossed about. But Mr. Fenwick, if he had done
June 2010 Page 9
Page 10 June 2010
June 2010 Page 11

nothing else, had made a staunch craft, which stood the travel-
ers in good stead.
All the rest of that day they swept on, at about the same
speed. There was nothing for them to do, save watch the ma-
chinery, occasionally replenishing the oil tanks, or making
minor adjustments.
“Well,” finally remarked Mr. Damon, when the afternoon
was waning away, “if there’s nothing else to do, suppose we
eat. Bless my appetite, but I’m hungry! And I believe you said,
Mr. Fenwick, that you had plenty of food aboard.”
“So we have, but the excitement of being blown out to sea
on our first real trip, made me forget all about it. I’ll get dinner
at once, if you can put up with an amateur’s cooking.”
“And I’ll help,” offered Mr. Damon. “Tom can attend to the
airship, and we’ll serve the meals. It will take our minds off
our troubles.”
There was a well equipped kitchen aboard the Whizzer and
soon savory odors were coming from it. In spite of the terror
of their situation, and it was not to be denied that they were
in peril, they all made a good meal, though it was difficult to
drink coffee and other liquids, owing to the sudden lurches
which the airship gave from time to time as the gale tossed
her to and fro.
Night came, and, as the blackness settled down, the gale
seemed to increase in fury. It howled through the slender wire
rigging of the Whizzer, and sent the craft careening from side
to side, and sometimes thrust her down into a cavern of the air,
only to lift her high again, almost like a ship on the heaving
ocean below them.
As darkness settled in blacker and blacker, Tom had a
glimpse below him, of tossing lights on the water.
“We just passed over some vessel,” he announced. “I hope
they are in no worse plight than we are.” Then, there suddenly
came to him a thought of the parents of Mary Nestor, who
were somewhere on the ocean, in the yacht Resolute bound
for the West Indies.
“I wonder if they’re out in this storm, too?” mused Tom.
“If they are, unless the vessel is a staunch one, they may be
in danger.”
The thought of the parents of the girl he cared so much for
being in peril, was not reassuring to Tom, and he began to
busy himself about the machinery of the airship, to take his
mind from the presentiment that something might happen to
the Resolute.
..........
“We’ll have our own troubles before morning,” the lad
mused, “if this wind doesn’t die down.”
There was no indication that this was going to be the case,
for the gale increased rather than diminished. Tom looked at
their speed gage. They were making a good ninety miles an
hour, for it had been decided that it was best to keep the engine
and propellers going, as they steadied the ship.
“Ninety miles an hour,” murmured Tom. “And we’ve been
going at that rate for ten hours now. That’s nearly a thousand
miles. We are quite a distance out to sea.”
He looked at a compass, and noted that, instead of being
headed directly across the Atlantic they were bearing in a
southerly direction.
“At this rate, we won’t come far from getting to the West
Indies ourselves,” reasoned the young inventor. “But I think
the gale will die away before morning.”
The storm did not, however. More fiercely it blew through
the hours of darkness. It was a night of terror, for they dared
not go to sleep, not knowing at what moment the ship might
turn turtle, or even rend apart, and plunge with them into the
depths of the sea.
So they sat up, occasionally attending to the machinery, and
noting the various gages. Mr. Damon made hot coffee, which
they drank from time to time, and it served to refresh them.
There came a sudden burst of fury from the storm, and the
airship rocked as if she was going over.
“Bless my heart!” cried Mr. Damon, springing up. “That
was a close call!”
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Page 12 June 2010

Tom said nothing. Mr. Fenwick looked pale and alarmed. ily accomplished, but it was a change for the worse, since, the
The hours passed. They were swept ever onward, at about nearer to the ocean they went, the fiercer blew the wind.
the same speed, sometimes being whirled downward and again “Back! Go back up higher!” cried Mr. Damon,
tossed upward at the will of the wind. The airship was well- “We can’t!” yelled Tom. “We’ve got to stay here now!”
nigh helpless, and Tom, as he realized their position, could not “Oh, but this is awful!” exclaimed Mr. Fenwick. “We can
repress a fear in his heart as he thought of the parents of the never stand this!”
girl he loved being tossed about on the swirling ocean, in a The airship swaged more than ever, and the occupants were
frail pleasure yacht. tossed about in the cabin, from side to side. Indeed, it did
seem that human beings never could come alive out of that
CHAPTER XII fearful ordeal.
A DOWNWARD GLIDE As Tom looked from one of the windows of the cabin, he
They sat in the cabin of the airship, staring helplessly at noted a pale, grayish sort of light outside. At first he could not
each other. Occasionally Tom rose to attend to one of the ma- understand what it was, then, as he observed the sickly gleams
chines, or Mr. Fenwick did the same. Occasionally, Mr. Da- of the incandescent electric lamps, he knew that the hour of
mon uttered a remark. Then there was silence, broken only by dawn was at hand.
the howl of the gale. “See!” he exclaimed to his companions, pointing to the
It seemed impossible for the Whizzer to travel any faster, window. “Morning is coming.”
yet when Tom glanced at the speed gage he noted, with a feel- “Morning!” gasped Mr. Damon. “Is the night over? Now,
ing of surprise, akin to horror, that they were making close to perhaps we shall get rid of the storm.”
one hundred and fifty miles an hour. Only an airplane could “I’m afraid not,” answered Tom, as he noted the anemom-
have done it, and then only when urged on by a terrific wind eter and felt the shudderings of the Whizzer as she careened
which added to the speed produced by the propellers. on through the gale. “It hasn’t blown out yet!”
The whole craft swayed and trembled, partly from the vi- The pale light increased. The electrics seemed to dim and
bration of the electrical machinery, and partly from the awful fade. Tom looked to the engines. Some of the apparatus was
wind. Mr. Fenwick came close to Tom, and exclaimed: in need of oil, and he supplied it. When he came back to the
“Do you think it would be any use to try once more to go main cabin, where stood Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, it was
above or below the path of the storm?” much lighter outside.
Tom’s first impulse was to say that it would be useless, but “Less than a day since we left Philadelphia,” murmured the
he recollected that the craft belonged to Fenwick, and surely owner of the Whizzer, as he glanced at a distance indicator,
that gentleman had a right to make a suggestion. The young “yet we have come nearly sixteen hundred miles. We certainly
inventor nodded. did travel top speed. I wonder where we are?”
“We’ll try to go up,” he said. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll see “Still over the ocean,” replied Mr. Damon, as he looked
if I can force her down. It will be hard work, though. The wind down at the heaving billows rolling amid crests of foam far
is too stiff.” below them. “Though what part of it would be hard to say.
Tom shifted the levers and rudders. His eyes were on the We’ll have to reckon out our position when it gets calmer.”
barograph--that delicate instrument, the trembling hand of Tom came from the engine room. His face wore a troubled
which registered their height. Tom had tilted the deflection look, and he said, addressing the older inventor:
rudder to send them up, but as he watched the needle he saw it “Mr. Fenwick, I wish you’d come and look at the gas gen-
stationary. They were not ascending, though the great airship erating apparatus. It doesn’t seem to be working properly.”
was straining to mount to an upper current where there might “Anything wrong?” asked Mr. Damon, suspiciously.
be calm. “I hope not,” replied Tom, with all the confidence he could
It was useless, however, and Tom, seeing the futility of it, muster. “It may need adjusting. I am not as familiar with it
shifted the rudder to send them downward. This was more eas- as I am with the one on the Red Cloud. The gas seems to be
escaping from the bag, and we may have to descend, for some
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The airship quivered from end to end, and seemed to make a
sudden dive downward. Then it appeared to recover, and once
more glided forward.
Tom, followed by Mr. Fenwick, made a rush for the com-
partment where the machine was installed. They had no soon-
er reached it than there sounded an explosion, and the airship
recoiled as if it had hit a stone wall.
“Bless my shaving brush! What’s that?” cried Mr. Damon.
“Has anything happened?”
“I’m rather afraid there has,” answered Tom, solemnly. “It
sounded as though the gas bag went up. And I’m worried over
the strength of the planes. We must make an investigation!”
“We’re falling!” almost screamed Mr. Fenwick, as he
glanced at the barograph, the delicate needle of which was
swinging to and fro, registering different altitudes.
“Bless my feather bed! So we are!” shouted Mr. Damon.
“Let’s jump, and avoid being caught under the airship!”
He darted for a large window, opening from the main cabin,
and was endeavoring to raise it when Tom caught his hand.
“What are you trying to do,” asked the lad, hoarsely.
“Save my life! I want to get out of this as soon as I can. I’m
going to jump!”
“Don’t think of it! You’d be instantly killed. We’re too high
for a jump, even into the ocean.”
“The ocean! Oh, is that still below us? Is there any chance
of being saved? What can be done?” Mr. Damon hesitated.
“We must first find out how badly we are damaged,” said
Tom, quietly. “We must keep our heads, and be calm, no mat-
ter what happens. I need your help, Mr. Damon.”
This served to recall the rather excited man to his senses. He
came back to the centre of the cabin, which was no easy task,
for the floor of it was tilted at first one angle, and then another.
He stood at Tom’s side.
“What can I do to help you?” he asked. Mr. Fenwick was
darting here and there, examining the different machines.
None of them seemed to be damaged.
“If you will look and see what has happened to our main
wing planes, I will see how much gas we have left in the bag,”
suggested Tom. “Then we can decide what is best to be done.
We are still quite high, and it will take some time to complete
our fall, as, even if everything is gone, the material of the bag
will act as a sort of parachute.”
Mr. Damon darted to a window in the rear of the cabin,
where he could obtain a glimpse of the main wing planes. He
gave a cry of terror and astonishment.
“Two of the planes are gone!” he reported. “They are torn
and are hanging loose.”
“I feared as much,” retorted Tom, quietly, “The gale was too
much for them.”
“What of the lifting gas?” asked Mr. Fenwick, quickly.
“It has nearly all flowed out of the retaining bag.”
“Then we must make more at once. I will start the generat-
Page 13
ing machine.”
He darted toward it.
“It will be useless,” spoke Tom, quietly.
“Why?”
“Because there is no bag left to hold it. The silk and rubber
envelope has been torn to pieces by the gale. The wind is even
stronger than it was last night.”
“Then what’s to be done?” demanded Mr. Damon, with a
return of his alarmed and nervous manner. “Bless my finger-
nails! What’s to be done?”
For an instant Tom did not answer. It was constantly get-
ting lighter, though there was no sun, for it was obscured by
scudding clouds. The young inventor looked critically at the
various gages and indicators.
“Is--is there any chance for us?” asked Mr. Fenwick, qui-
etly.
“I think so,” answered Tom, with a hopeful smile. “We have
about two thousand feet to descend, for we have fallen nearly
that distance since the accident.”
“Two thousand feet to fall!” gasped Mr. Damon. “We can
never do it and live!”
“I think so,” spoke Tom.
“Bless my gizzard! How?” fairly exploded Mr. Damon.
“By vol-planing down!”
“But, even if we do, we will fall into the ocean!” cried Mr.
Fenwick. “We will be drowned!”
“No,” and Tom spoke more quietly than before. “We are
over a large island.” he went on, “and I propose to let the dis-
abled airship vol-plane down to it. That is our only chance.”
“Over an island!” cried Mr. Damon. He looked down
through the floor observation window. Tom had spoken truly.
At that moment they were over a large island, which had sud-
denly loomed up in the wild and desolate waste of the ocean.
They had reached its vicinity just in time.
Tom stepped to the steering and rudder levers, and took
charge. He was going to attempt a most difficult feat--that of
guiding a disabled airship back to earth in the midst of a hur-
ricane, and landing her on an unknown island. Could he do it?
There was but one answer. He must try. It was the only
chance of saving their lives, and a slim one at best.
Down shot the damaged Whizzer like some giant bird with
broken wings, but Tom Swift was in charge, and it seemed as
if the craft knew it, as she began that earthward glide.
Page 14
CHAPTER XIII
ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND
Mingled feelings possessed the three adventurers within
the airship. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick had crowded to
the window, as Tom spoke, to get a glimpse of the unknown
island toward which they were shooting. They could see it
more plainly now, from the forward casement, as well as from
the one in the bottom of the craft. A long, narrow, rugged
piece of land it was, in the midst of the heaving ocean, for the
storm still raged and lashed the waves to foam.
“Can you make it?” asked Mr. Damon, in a low voice.
“I think so,” answered Tom, more cheerfully.
“Shall I shut down the motor?” inquired the older inventor.
“Yes, you might as well. We don’t need the propellers now,
and I may be better able to make the glide without them.”
The buzzing and purring electrical apparatus was shut
down. Silence reigned in the airship, but the wind still howled
outside. As Tom had hoped, the ship became a little more
steady with the stopping of the big curved blades, though had
the craft been undamaged they would have served to keep her
on an even keel.
With skillful hand he so tilted the elevating planes that,
after a swift downward glide, the head of the Whizzer would
be thrown up, so to speak, and she would sail along in a plane
parallel to the island. This had the effect of checking her mo-
mentum, just as the aviator checks the downward rush of his
monoplane or biplane when he is making a landing.
Tom repeated this maneuver several times, until a glance at
his barograph showed that they had but a scant sixty feet to
go. There was time but for one more upward throwing of the
Whizzer’s nose, and Tom held to that position as long as pos-
sible. They could now make out the topography of the island
plainly, for it was much lighter. Tom saw a stretch of sandy
beach, and steered for that.
Downward shot the airship, inert and lifeless. It was not
like gliding his little Butterfly to earth after a flight, but Tom
hoped he could make it. They were now within ten feet of the
earth, skimming forward. Tom tried another upward tilt, but
the forward planes would not respond. They could get no grip
on the air.
With a crash that could have been heard some distance the
Whizzer settled to the sand. It ran along a slight distance, and
then, as the bicycle wheels collapsed under the pressure, the
airship seemed to go together in a shapeless mass.
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At the first impact with the earth, Tom had leaped away
from the steering wheel and levers, for he did not want to
be crushed against them. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, in
pursuance of a plan adopted when they found that they were
falling, had piled a lot of seat cushions around them. They
had also provided some as buffers for Tom, and our hero, at
the instant of the crash, had thrown himself behind and upon
them.
It seemed as if the whole ship went to pieces. The top of the
main cabin crashed down, as the side supports gave way, but,
fortunately, there were strong main braces, and the roof did
not fall completely upon our friends.
The whole bottom of the craft was forced upward and had
it not been for the protecting cushions, there might have been
serious injuries for all concerned. As it was they were badly
bruised and shaken up.
After the first crash, and succeeding it an instant later, there
came a second smash, followed by a slight explosion, and a
shower of sparks could be seen in the engine room.
“That’s the electrical apparatus smashing through the
floor!” called Tom. “Come, let’s get out of here before the
gasoline sets anything on fire. Are you all right, Mr. Damon,
and you, Mr. Fenwick?”
“Yes, I guess so,” answered the inventor. “Oh, what a ter-
rible crash! My airship is ruined!”
“You may be glad we are alive,” said Mr. Damon. “Bless
my top knot, I feel--”
He did not finish the sentence. At that moment a piece of
wood, broken from the ceiling, where it had hung by a strip
of canvas came crashing down, and hit Mr. Damon on the
head.
The eccentric man toppled over on his pile of cushions,
from which he was arising when he was struck.
“Oh, is he killed?” gasped Mr. Fenwick.
“I hope not!” cried Tom. “We must get him out of here, at
all events. There may be a fire.”
They both sprang to Mr. Damon’s aid, and succeeded in
lifting him out. There was no difficulty in emerging from the
airship as there were big, broken gaps, on all sides of what
was left of the cabin. Once in the outer air Mr. Damon re-
vived, and opened his eyes.
“Much hurt?” asked Tom, feeling of his friend’s head.
“No--no, I--I guess not,” was the slow answer. “I was
stunned for a moment. I’m all right now. Nothing broken, I
guess,” and his hand went to his head.
“No, nothing broken,” added Tom, cheerfully, “but you’ve
got a lump there as big as an ostrich egg. Can you walk?”
“Oh, I’m all right. Bless my stars, what a wreck!”
Mr. Damon looked at the remains of the airship. It certain-
ly was a wreck! The bent and twisted planes were wrapped
about the after part, the gas bag was but a shred, the frame
was splintered and twisted, and the under part, where the
June 2010
starting wheels were placed, resembled a lot of broken bi-
cycles. The cabin looked like a shack that had sustained an
explosion of dynamite.
“It’s a wonder we came out alive,” said Mr. Fenwick, in a
low voice.
“Indeed it is,” agreed Tom, as he came back with a tin can
full of sea water, with which to bathe Mr. Damon’s head. The
lad had picked up the can from where it had rolled from the
wreck, and they had landed right on the beach.
“It doesn’t seem to blow so hard,” observed Mr. Damon, as
he was tenderly sopping his head with a handkerchief wet in
the salt water.
“No, the wind is dying out, but it happened too late to do us
any good,” remarked Tom, sorrowfully. “Though if it hadn’t
blown us this far, we might have come to grief over the ocean,
and be floundering in that, instead of on dry land.”
“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Fenwick, who was carefully feeling
of some bruises on his legs. “I wonder where we are, anyhow.”
“I haven’t the least idea,” responded Tom. “It’s an island,
but which one, or where it is I don’t know. We were blown
nearly two thousand miles, I judge.”
He walked over and surveyed the wreck. Now that the ex-
citement was over he was beginning to be aware of numerous
bruises and contusions, His legs felt rather queer, and on roll-
ing up his trousers he found there was a deep cut in the right
shin, just below his knee. It was bleeding, but he bandaged it
with a spare handkerchief, and walked on.
Peering about, he saw that nearly the whole of the machin-
ery in the engine room, including most of the electrical ap-
paratus, had fallen bodily through the floor, and now rested
on the sand.
“That looks to be in pretty good shape.” mused Tom, “but
it’s a question whether it will ever be any good to us. We can’t
rebuild the airship here, that’s certain.”
He walked about the wreck, and then returned to his friends.
Mr. Damon was more like himself, and Mr. Fenwick had dis-
covered that he had only minor bruises.
“Bless my coffee cup!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “I declare,
I feel hungry. I wonder if there’s anything left to eat in the
wreck?”
“Plenty,” spoke Tom, cheerfully. “I’ll get it out. I can eat a
sandwich or two myself, and perhaps I can set up the gasoline
stove, and cook something.”
As the young inventor was returning to the wreck, he was
halted halfway by a curious trembling feeling. At first he
thought it was a weakness of his legs, caused by his cut, but a
moment later he realized with a curious, sickening sensation
that it was the ground--the island itself--that was shaking and
trembling.
The lad turned back. Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick were
staring after him with fear showing on their faces.
“What was that?” cried the inventor.
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Page 15
“Bless my gizzard! Did you feel that, Tom?” cried Mr. Da-
mon. “The whole place is shaking!”
Indeed, there was a stronger tremor now, and it was accom-
panied by a low, rumbling sound, like distant thunder. The
adventurers were swaying to and fro.
Suddenly they were tossed to the ground by a swaying mo-
tion, and not far off a great crack opened in the earth. The
roaring, rumbling sound increased in volume.
“An earthquake! It’s an earthquake!” cried Tom. “We’re in
the midst of an earthquake!”
CHAPTER XIV
A NIGHT IN CAMP
The rumbling and roaring continued for perhaps two min-
utes, during which time the castaways found it impossible to
stand, for the island was shaking under their feet with a sick-
ening motion. Off to one side there was a great fissure in the
earth, and, frightened as he was, Tom looked to see if it was
extending in their direction.
If it was, or if a crack opened near them, they might be pre-
cipitated into some bottomless abyss, or into the depths of the
sea. But the fissure did not increase in length or breadth, and,
presently the rumbling, roaring sound subsided. The island
grew quiet and the airship travelers rose to their feet.
“Bless my very existence! What happened?” cried Mr. Da-
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Page 16
“It was an earthquake; wasn’t it, Tom?” asked Mr. Fenwick.
“It sure was,” agreed the young inventor. “Rather a hard
one, too. I hope we don’t have any more.”
“Do you think there is any likelihood of it?” demanded Mr.
Damon. “Bless my pocketbook! If I thought so I’d leave at
once.”
“Where would you go?” inquired Tom, looking out across
the tumbling ocean, which had hardly had a chance to subside
from the gale, ere it was again set in a turmoil by the earth-
tremor.
“That’s so--there isn’t a place to escape to,” went on the
eccentric man, with something like a groan. “We are in a bad
place--do you think there’ll be more quakes, Tom?”
“It’s hard to say. I don’t know where we are, and this island
may be something like Japan, subject to quakes, or it may be
that this one is merely a spasmodic tremor. Perhaps the great
storm which brought us here was part of the disturbance of
nature which ended up with the earthquake. We may have no
more.”
“And there may be one at any time,” added Mr. Fenwick.
“Yes,” assented Tom.
“Then let’s get ready for it,” proposed Mr. Damon. “Let’s
take all the precautions possible.”
“There aren’t any to take,” declared Tom. “All we can do
is to wait until the shocks come--if any more do come, which
I hope won’t happen, and then we must do the best we can.”
“Oh, dear me! Bless my fingernails!” cried Mr. Damon,
wringing his hands. “This is worse than falling in an airship!
There you do have some chance. Here you haven’t any.”
“Oh, it may not be so bad,” Tom cried to reassure him. “This
may have been the first shock in a hundred years, and there
may never be another.”
But, as he looked around on the island, he noted evidences
that it was of volcanic origin, and his heart misgave him, for
he knew that such islands, created suddenly by a submarine
upheaval, might just as suddenly be destroyed by an earth-
quake, or by sinking into the ocean. It was not a pleasant
thought--it was like living over a mine, that might explode at
any moment. But there was no help for it.
Tom tried to assume a cheerfulness he did not feel. He re-
alized that, in spite of his youth, both Mr. Damon and Mr.
Fenwick rather depended on him, for Tom was a lad of no
ordinary attainments, and had a fund of scientific knowledge.
He resolved to do his best to avoid making his two compan-
ions worry.
“Let’s get it off our minds,” suggested the lad, after a while.
“We were going to get something to eat. Suppose we carry out
that program. My appetite wasn’t spoiled by the shock.”
“I declare mine wasn’t either,” said Mr. Damon, “but I can’t
forget it easily. It’s the first earthquake I was ever in.”
He watched Tom as the latter advanced once more toward
the wreck of the airship, and noticed that the lad limped, for
his right leg had been cut when the Whizzer had fallen to earth.
“What’s the matter, Tom; were you hurt in the quake?”
asked the eccentric man.
“No--no,” Tom hastened to assure him. “I just got a bump
in the fall--that’s all. It isn’t anything. If you and Mr. Fenwick
want to get out some food from the wrecked store room I’ll see
if I can haul out the gasoline stove from the airship. Perhaps
we can use it to make some coffee.”
June 2010
By delving in about the wreck, Tom was able to get out the
gasoline stove. It was broken, but two of the five burners were
in commission, and could be used. Water, and gasoline for use
in the airship, was carried in steel tanks. Some of these had
been split open by the crash, but there was one cask of water
left, and three of gasoline, insuring plenty of the liquid fuel.
As for the water, Tom hoped to be able to find a spring on the
island.
In the meanwhile, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick had been
investigating the contents of the storeroom. There was a large
supply of food, much larger than would have been needed,
even on a two weeks’ trip in the air, and the inventor of the
Whizzer hardly knew why he had put so much aboard.
“But if we have to stay here long, it may come in handy,”
observed Tom, with a grim smile.
“Why; do you think we will be here long?” asked Mr. Da-
mon.
The young inventor shrugged his shoulders.
“There is no telling,” he said. “If a passing steamer happens
to see us, we may be taken off to-day or to-morrow. If not we
may be here a week, or--” Tom did not finish. He stood in a
listening attitude.
There was a rumbling sound, and the earth seemed again to
tremble. Then there came a great splash in the water at the foot
of a tall, rugged cliff about a quarter of a mile away. A great
piece of the precipice had fallen into the ocean.
“I thought that was another earthquake coming,” said Mr.
Damon, with an air of relief.
“So did I,” admitted Mr. Fenwick.
“It was probably loosened by the shock, and so fell into the
sea,” spoke Tom.
Their momentary fright over, the castaways proceeded to
get their breakfast. Tom soon had water boiling on the gaso-
line stove, for he had rescued a tea-kettle and a coffee pot from
the wreck of the kitchen of the airship. Shortly afterward, the
aroma of coffee filled the air, and a little later there was min-
gled with it the appetizing odor of sizzling bacon and eggs,
for Mr. Fenwick, who was very fond of the latter, had brought
along a supply, carefully packed in sawdust carriers, so that
the shock had broken only a few of them.
“Well, I call this a fine breakfast,” exclaimed Mr. Damon,
munching his bacon and eggs, and dipping into his coffee the
hard pilot biscuit, which they had instead of bread. “We’re
mighty lucky to be eating at all, I suppose.”
“Indeed we are,” chimed in Mr. Fenwick.
“I’m awfully sorry the airship is wrecked, though,” spoke
Tom. “I suppose it’s my fault. I should have turned back be-
fore we got over the ocean, and while the storm was not at
its height. I saw that the wind was freshening, but I never
supposed it would grow to a gale so suddenly. The poor old
Whizzer--there’s not much left of her!”
“Now don’t distress yourself in the least,” insisted Mr. Fen-
June 2010
wick. “I’m proud to have built a ship that could navigate at all.
I see where I made lots of mistakes, and as soon as I get back
to Philadelphia, I’m going to build a better one, if you’ll help
me, Tom Swift.”
“I certainly will,” promised the young inventor.
“And I’ll take a voyage with you!” cried Mr. Damon. “Bless
my teaspoon, Tom, but will you kindly pass the bacon and
eggs again!”
There was a jolly laugh at the eccentric man, in which he
himself joined, and the little party felt better. They were seated
on bits of broken boxes taken from the wreck, forming a little
circle about the gasoline stove, which Tom had set up on the
beach. The wind had almost entirely died away, though the sea
was still heaving in great billows, and masses of surf.
They had no exact idea of the time, for all their watches
had stopped when the shock of the wreck came, but presently
the sun peeped out from the clouds, and, from knowing the
time when they had begun to fall, they judged it was about ten
o’clock, and accordingly set their timepieces.
“Well,” observed Tom, as he collected the dishes, which
they had also secured from the wreck, “we must begin to think
about a place to spend the night. I think we can rig up a shelter
from some of the canvas of the wing-planes, and from what
is left of the cabin. It doesn’t need to be very heavy, for from
the warmth of the atmosphere, I should say we were pretty
well south.”
It was quite warm, now that the storm was over, and, as they
looked at the vegetation of the island, they saw that it was
almost wholly tropical.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if we were on one of the smaller
of the West Indian islands,” said Tom. “We certainly came
far enough, flying a hundred miles or more an hour, to have
reached them. But this one doesn’t appear to be inhabited.”
“We haven’t been all over it yet,” said Mr. Damon. “We may
find cannibals on the other side.”
“Cannibals don’t live in this part of the world,” Tom assured
him. “No, I think this island is practically unknown. The storm
brought us here, and it might have landed us in a worse place.”
As he spoke he thought of the yacht Resolute, and he won-
dered how her passengers, including the parents of Mary
Nestor, had fared during the terrible blow.
“I hope they weren’t wrecked, as we were,” mused Tom.
But there was little time for idle thoughts. If they were go-
ing to build a shelter, they knew that they must speedily get at
it. Accordingly, with a feeling of thankfulness that their lives
had been spared, they set to work taking apart such of the
wreck as could the more easily be got at.
Boards, sticks, and planks were scattered about, and, with
the pieces of canvas from the wing-planes, and some spare
material which was carried on board, they soon had a fairly
good shack, which would be protection enough in that warm
climate.
Next they got out the food and supplies, their spare clothing
and other belongings, few of which had been harmed in the
fall from the clouds. These things were piled under another
rude shelter which they constructed.
By this time it was three o’clock, and they ate again. Then
they prepared to spend the night in their hastily made camp.
They collected driftwood, with which to make a fire, and, after
supper, which was prepared on the gasoline stove, they sat
Page 17
about the cheerful blaze, discussing their adventures.
“Tomorrow we will explore the island,” said Tom, as he
rolled himself up in his blankets and turned over to sleep. The
others followed his example, for it was decided that no watch
need be kept. Thus passed several hours in comparative quiet.
It must have been about midnight that Tom was suddenly
awakened by a feeling as if someone was shaking him. He sat
up quickly and called out:
“What’s the matter?”
“Eh? What’s that? Bless my soul! What’s going on?” shout-
ed Mr. Damon.
“Did you shake me?” inquired Tom.
“I? No. What--?”
Then they realized that another earth-tremor was making
the whole island tremble.
Tom leaped from his blankets, followed by Mr. Damon and
Mr. Fenwick, and rushed outside the shack. They felt the earth
shaking, but it was over in a few seconds. The shock was a
slight one, nothing like as severe as the one in the morning.
But it set their nerves on edge.
“Another earthquake!” groaned Mr. Damon. “How often are
we to have them?”
“I don’t know,” answered Tom, soberly.
They passed the remainder of the night sleeping in blankets
on the warm sands, near the fire, for they feared lest a shock
might bring the shack down about their heads. However, the
night passed with no more terrors.
CHAPTER XV
THE OTHER CASTAWAYS
“Well, we’re all alive, at any rate,” announced Tom, when
the bright sun, shining into his eyes, had awakened him. He
sat up, tossed aside his blankets, and stood up. The day was a
fine one, and the violence of the sea had greatly subsided dur-
ing the night, their shack had suffered not at all from the slight
shock in the darkness.
“Now for a dip in old Briney,” the lad added, as he walked
down to the surf, “I think it will make me feel better.”
“I’m with you,” added Mr. Fenwick, and Mr. Damon also
joined the bathers. They came up from the waves, tingling
with health, and their bruises and bumps, including Tom’s cut
leg, felt much better.
“You did get quite a gash; didn’t you,” observed Mr. Fen-
wick, as he noticed Tom’s leg. “Better put something on it. I
have antiseptic dressings and bandages in the airship, if we
can find them.”
“I’ll look for them, after breakfast,” Tom promised, and fol-
lowing a fairly substantial meal, considering the exigencies
under which it was prepared, he got out the medicine chest, of
which part remained in the wreck of the Whizzer, and dressed
his wound. He felt much better after that.
“Well, what’s our program for to-day?” Mr. Damon wanted
to know, as they sat about, after they had washed up what few
dishes they used.
“Let’s make a better house to stay in,” proposed Mr. Fen-
wick. “We may have to remain here for some time, and I’d like
a more substantial residence.”
“I think the one we now have will do,” suggested Tom. “I
was going to propose making it even less substantial.”
“Why so?”
Page 18
“Because, in the event of an earthquake, while we are sleep-
ing in it, we will not be injured. Made of light pieces of wood
and canvas it can’t harm us very much if it falls on us.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Damon. “In earthquake countries
all the houses are low, and built of light materials.”
“Ha! So I recollect now,” spoke Mr. Fenwick. “I used to
read that in my geography, but I never thought it would apply
to me. But do you think we will be subject to the quakes?”
“I’m afraid so,” was Tom’s reply. “We’ve had two, now,
within a short time, and there is no way of telling when the
next will come. We will hope there won’t be any more, but--”
He did not finish his sentence, but the others knew what
he meant. Thereupon they fell to work, and soon had made a
shelter that, while very light and frail, would afford them all
the protection needed in that mild climate, and, at the same
time, there would be no danger should an earthquake collapse
it, and bring it down about their heads while they were sleep-
ing in it.
For they decided that they needed some shelter from the
night dews, as it was exceedingly uncomfortable to rest on
the sands even wrapped in blankets, and with a driftwood fire
burning nearby.
It was noon when they had their shack rebuilt to their lik-
ing, and they stopped for dinner. There was quite a variety of
stores in the airship, enough for a much larger party than that
of our three friends, and they varied their meals as much as
possible. Of course all the stuff they had was canned, though
there are some salted and smoked meats. But canned food can
be had in a variety of forms now-a-days, so the castaways did
not lack much.
“What do you say to an exploring expedition this after-
noon?” asked Tom, as they sat about after dinner. “We ought
to find out what kind of an island we’re on.”
“I agree with you,” came from Mr. Fenwick. “Perhaps on
the other side we will stand a much better chance of speak-
ing some passing vessel. I have been watching the horizon for
some time, now, but I haven’t seen the sign of a ship.”
“All right, then we’ll explore, and see what sort of an island
we have taken possession of,” went on Tom.
“And see if it isn’t already in possession of natives--or can-
nibals,” suggested Mr. Damon. “Bless my frying pan! but I
should hate to be captured by cannibals at my time of life.”
“Don’t worry; there are none here,” Tom assured him again.
They set out on their journey around the island. They agreed
that it would be best to follow the beach around, as it was easi-
er walking that way, since the interior of the place consisted of
rugged rocks in a sort of miniature mountain chain.
“We will make a circuit of the place,” proposed Tom, “and
then, if we can discover nothing, we’ll go inland. The centre of
the island is quite high, and we ought to be able to see in any
direction for a great distance from the topmost peak. We may
be able to signal a vessel.”
“I hope so!” cried Mr. Damon. “I want to send word home
that I am all right. My wife will worry when she learns that the
airship, in which I set out, has disappeared.”
“I fancy we all would like to send word home,” added Mr.
Fenwick. “My wife never wanted me to build this airship, and,
now that I have sailed in it, and have been wrecked, I know
she’ll say ‘I told you so,’ as soon as I get back to Philadel-
phia.”
June 2010
Tom said nothing, but he thought to himself that it might be
some time before Mrs. Fenwick would have a chance to utter
those significant words to her husband.
Following the beach line, they walked for several miles. The
island was larger than they had supposed, and it soon became
evident that it would take at least a day to get all around it.
“In which case we will need some lunch with us.” said Tom.
“I think the best thing we can do now is to return to camp, and
get ready for a longer expedition to-morrow.”
Mr. Fenwick was of the same mind, but Mr. Damon called
out:
“Let’s go just beyond that cliff, and see what sort of a view
is to be had from there. Then we’ll turn back.”
To oblige him they followed. They had not gone more than
a hundred yards toward the cliff, than there came the prelim-
inary rumbling and roaring that they had come to associate
with an earthquake. At the same time, the ground began to
shiver and shake.
“Here comes another one!” cried Tom, reeling about. He
saw Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick topple to the beach. The
roaring increased, and the rumbling was like thunder, close at
hand. The island seemed to rock to its very centre.
Suddenly the whole cliff toward which they had been walk-
ing, appeared to shake itself loose. In another instant it was
flung outward and into the sea, a great mass of rock and stone.
The island ceased trembling, and the roaring stopped. Tom
rose to his feet, followed by his companions. He looked to-
ward the place where the cliff had been. Its removal by the
earthquake gave them a view of a part of the beach that had
hitherto been hidden from them.
And what Tom saw caused him to cry out in astonishment.
For he beheld, gathered around a little fire on the sand, a par-
ty of men and women. Some were standing, clinging to one
another in terror. Some were prostrate on the ground. Others
were running to and fro in bewilderment.
“More castaways!” cried Tom. “More castaways and, he
added under his breath, “more unfortunates on earthquake is-
land!”
CHAPTER XVI
AN ALARMING THEORY
For a few seconds, following Tom’s announcement to his
two companions, neither Mr. Damon nor Mr. Fenwick spoke.
They had arisen from the beach, where the shock of the earth-
quake had thrown them, and were now staring toward the other
band of castaways, who, in turn were gazing toward our three
friends. There was a violent agitation in the sea, caused by the
fall of the great cliff, and immense waves rushed up on shore,
but all the islanders were beyond the reach of the rollers.
“Is it--do I really--am I dreaming or not?” at length gasped
Mr. Damon.
“Is this a mirage, or do we really see people, Tom?” in-
June 2010
quired Mr. Fenwick.
“They are real enough people,” replied the lad, himself
somewhat dazed by the unexpected appearance of the other
castaways.
“But how--why--how did they get here?” went on the inven-
tor of the Whizzer.
“As long as they’re not cannibals, we’re all right,” mur-
mured Mr. Damon. “They seem to be persons like ourselves,
Tom.”
“They are,” agreed the lad, “and they appear to be in the
same sort of trouble as ourselves. Let’s go forward, and meet
them.”
The tremor of the earthquake had now subsided, and the
little band that was gathered about a big fire of driftwood was
calmer. Those who had fallen, or who had thrown themselves
on the sand, arose, and began feeling of their arms and legs to
see if they had sustained any injuries. Others advanced toward
our friends.
“Nine of them,” murmured Tom, as he counted the little
band of castaways, “and they don’t seem to have been able to
save much from the wreck of their craft, whatever it was.” The
beach all about them was bare, save for a boat drawn up out of
reach of high water.
“Do you suppose they are a party from some disabled air-
ship, Tom,” asked Mr. Fenwick.
“Not from an airship,” answered the lad. “Probably from
some vessel that was wrecked in the gale. But we will soon
find out who they are.”
Tom led the way for his two friends. The fall of the cliff had
made a rugged path around the base of it, over rocks, to where
the other people stood. Tom scrambled in and out among the
boulders, in spite of the pain it caused his wounded leg. He
was anxious to know who the other castaways were, and how
they had come there.
Several of the larger party were now advancing to meet the
lad and his friends. Tom could see two women and seven men.
A moment later, when the lad had a good view of one of the
ladies and a gentleman, he could not repress a cry of astonish-
ment. Then he rubbed his eyes to make sure it was not some
blur or defect of vision. No, his first impression had been cor-
rect.
“Mr. Nestor!” cried Tom, recognizing the father of his girl
friend. “And Mrs. Nestor!” he added a moment later.
“Why--of all things--look--Amos--it’s--it can’t be possible-
-and yet--why, it’s Tom Swift!” cried the lady.
“Tom--Tom Swift--here?” ejaculated the man at her side.
“Yes--Tom Swift--the young inventor--of Shopton--don’t
you know--the lad who saved Mary’s life in the runaway--
Tom Swift!”
“Tom Swift!” murmured Mr. Nestor. “Is it possible?”
“I’m Tom Swift, all right,” answered the owner of that name,
“but how in the world did you get on this island, Mr. Nestor?”
“I might ask you the same thing, Tom. The yacht Resolute,
on which we were making a voyage to the West Indies, as
guests of Mr. George Hosbrook, was wrecked in the awful
gale. We took to the boats and managed to reach this island.
The yacht sunk, and we only had a little food. We are almost
starved! But how came you here?”
“Mr. Fenwick’s airship was wrecked, and we dropped down
here. What a coincidence! To think that I should meet you
Page 19
here! But if you’re hungry, it’s the best thing in the world that
we met you, for, though our airship was wrecked, we have a
large supply of food. Come over to our camp, and we’ll give
you all you want!”
Tom had rushed forward, and was shaking hands with
Mary’s parents, so unexpectedly met with, when Mr. Nestor
called out:
“Come over here, Mr. Hosbrook. I want you to meet a friend
of mine.”
A moment later, the millionaire owner of the ill-fated Reso-
lute was shaking hands with Tom.
“I can’t understand it,” Mr. Hosbrook said. “To think of
meeting other people on this desolate island--this island of
earthquakes.”
“Oh, please don’t speak of earthquakes!” cried Mrs. Nestor.
“We are in mortal terror! There have been several since we
landed in the most terrible storm day before yesterday. Isn’t it
awful! It is a regular earthquake island!”
“That’s what I call it,” spoke Tom, grimly.
The others of the larger party of refugees now came up.
Besides Mr. and Mrs. Nestor, and Mr. Hosbrook, there was
Mr. and Mrs. Floyd Anderson, friends of the millionaire; Mr.
Ralph Parker, who was spoken of as a scientist, Mr. Barcoe
Jenks, who seemed an odd sort of individual, always looking
about suspiciously, Captain Mentor, who had been in com-
mand of the yacht, and Jake Fordam, the mate of the vessel.
“And are these all who were saved?” asked Tom, as he in-
troduced his two friends, and told briefly of their air voyage.
“No,” answered Mr. Hosbrook, “two other boatloads, one
containing most of the crew, and the other containing some
of my guests, got away before our boat left. I trust they have
been rescued, but we have heard nothing about them. How-
ever, our own lives may not long be safe, if these earthquakes
continue.”
“But did I understand you to say, Mr. Swift, that you had
food?” he went on. “If you have, I will gladly pay you any
price for some, especially for these two ladies, who must be
faint. I have lost all my ready cash, but if we ever reach civi-
lization, I will--”
“Don’t speak of such a thing as pay,” interrupted Mr. Fen-
wick. “All that we have we’ll gladly share with you. Come
over to our camp. We have enough for all, and we can cook on
our gasoline stove. Don’t speak of pay, I beg of you.”
“Ah--er, if Mr. Hosbrook has no money, perhaps I can offer
an equivalent,” broke in the man who had been introduced as
Barcoe Jenks. “I have--er--some securities--” He stopped and
looked about indefinitely, as though he did not know exactly
what to say, and he was fumbling at a belt about his waist; a
belt that might contain treasure.
“Don’t speak of reimbursing us,” went on Mr. Fenwick,
with rather a suspicious glance at Mr. Jenks. “You are wel-
come to whatever we have.”
“Bless my topknot; certainly, yes!” joined in Mr. Damon,
eagerly.
“Well, I--er--I only spoke of it,” said Mr. Jenks, hesitatingly,
and then he turned away. Mr. Hosbrook looked sharply at him,
but said nothing.
“Suppose we go to our camp,” proposed Tom. “We may be
able to get you up a good meal, before another earthquake
comes.”
Page 20
“I wonder what makes so many of them?” asked Mrs.
Nestor, with a nervous shiver.
“Yes, indeed, they are terrifying! One never knows when to
expect them,” added Mrs. Anderson.
“I have a theory about them,” said Mr. Parker, the scientist,
who, up to this time had spoken but little.
“A theory?” inquired Tom.
“Yes. This island is one of the smaller of the West Indies
group. It is little known, and has seldom been visited, I be-
lieve. But I am sure that what causes the earthquakes is that
the whole island has been undermined by the sea, and it is the
wash of great submarine waves and currents which cause the
tremors.”
“Undermined by the sea?” repeated Tom.
“Yes. It is being slowly washed away.”
“Bless my soul! Washed away!” gasped Mr. Damon.
“And, in the course of a comparatively short time, it will
sink,” went on the scientist, as cheerfully as though he was a
professor propounding some problem to his class.
“Sink!” ejaculated Mrs. Nestor. “The whole island under-
mined! Oh, what an alarming theory!”
“I wish I could hold to a different one, madam,” was Mr.
Parker’s answer, “but I cannot. I think the island will sink after
a few more shocks.”
“Then what good will my--” began Barcoe Jenks, but he
stopped in confusion, and again his hand went to his belt with
a queer gesture.
CHAPTER XVII
A MIGHTY SHOCK
Tom Swift turned to gaze at Mr. Barcoe Jenks. That indi-
vidual certainly had a strange manner. Perhaps it might be
caused by the terror of the earthquakes, but the man seemed
to be trying to hold back some secret. He was constrained and
ill at ease. He saw the young inventor looking at him, and his
hands, which had gone to his belt, with a spasmodic motion,
dropped to his side.
“You don’t really mean to say, Parker, that you think the
whole island is undermined, do you?” asked the owner of the
Resolute.
“That’s my theory. It may be a wrong one, but it is borne
out by the facts already presented to us. I greatly fear for our
lives!”
“But what can we do?” cried Mrs. Nestor.
“Nothing,” answered the scientist, with a shrug of his shoul-
ders. “Absolutely nothing, save to wait for it to happen.”
“Don’t say that!” begged Mrs. Andersen.
“Can’t you gentlemen do something--build a boat and take
us away. Why, the boat we came here in--”
“Struck a rock, and stove a hole in the bottom as big as a
barrel, madam,” interrupted Captain Mentor. “It would never
do to put to sea in that.”
“But can’t something else be done?” demanded Mrs. Nestor.
“Oh, it is awful to think of perishing on this terrible earth-
quake island. Oh, Amos! Think of it, and Mary home alone!
Have you seen her lately, Mr. Swift?”
Tom told of his visit to the Nestors’ home. Our hero was
almost in despair, not so much for himself, as for the unfortu-
nate women of the party--and one of them was Mary’s mother!
Yet what could he do? What chance was there of escaping
June 2010
from the earthquake?
“Bless my gizzard!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “Don’t let’s
stand here worrying! If you folks are hungry come up to our
camp. We have plenty. Afterward we can discuss means of
saving ourselves.”
“I want to be saved!” exclaimed Mr. Jenks. “I must be
saved! I have a great secret--a secret--”
Once more he paused in confusion, and once more his hands
nervously sought his belt.
“I would give a big reward to be saved,” he murmured.
“And so, I fancy, we all would,” added Captain Mentor.
“But we are not likely to. This island is out of the track of the
regular line of vessels.”
“Where are we, anyhow?” inquired Mr. Fenwick. “What is-
land is this?”
“It isn’t down on the charts, I believe,” was the captain’s
reply, “but we won’t be far out, if we call it Earthquake Island.
That name seems to fit it exactly.”
They had walked on, while talking, and now had gone past
the broken cliff. Tom and his two friends of the airship led the
way to the camp they had made. On the way, Mr. Hosbrook
related how his yacht had struggled in vain against the tem-
pest, how she had sprung a leak, how the fires had gone out,
and how, helpless in the trough of the sea, the gallant vessel
began to founder. Then they had taken to the boats, and had,
most unexpectedly come upon the island.
“And since we landed we have had very little to eat,” said
Mrs. Nestor. “We haven’t had a place to sleep, and it has been
terrible. Then, too, the earthquakes! And my husband and I
worried so about Mary. Oh, Mr. Swift! Do you think there is
any chance of us ever seeing her again?”
“I don’t know,” answered Tom, softly. “I’ll do all I can to
get us off this island. Perhaps we can build a raft, and set out.
If we stay here there is no telling what will happen, if that
scientist’s theory is correct. But there is our camp, just ahead.
You will be more comfortable, at least for a little while.”
In a short time they were at the place where Tom and the
others had built the shack. The ruins of the airship were exam-
ined with interest, and the two women took advantage of the
seclusion of the little hut, to get some much needed rest until
a meal should be ready.
One was soon in course of preparation by Tom and Mr. Da-
mon, aided by Mate Fordam, of the Resolute. Fortunate it was
that Mr. Fenwick had brought along such a supply of food, for
there were now many mouths to feed.
That the supper (which the meal really was, for it was get-
ting late) was much enjoyed, goes without saying. The yacht
castaways had subsisted on what little food had been hurriedly
put into the life boat, as they left the vessel.
At Tom’s request, while it was yet light, Captain Mentor and
some of the men hunted for a spring of fresh water, and found
one, for, with the increase in the party, the young inventor saw
the necessity for more water. The spring gave promise of sup-
plying a sufficient quantity.
There was plenty of material at hand for making other
shacks, and they were soon in course of construction. They
were made light, as was the one Tom and his friends first built,
so that, in case of another shock, no one would be hurt seri-
ously. The two ladies were given the larger shack, and the
continued on page 46...
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Page 22
Wait And Hope
by Horatio Alger Jr.
Author of “Ragged Dick”, “Tattered Tom”, “Luck And Pluck”, “Brave and Bold”, Etc.
CHAPTER XXV. - Sam Gives Himself Away.
Ben Bradford went to Boston to pick up Emma, a young girl
who will be the charge of Ben’s Aunt Jane. Boarding and tak-
ing care of Emma will help to pay the bills for Ben and his aunt
and cousin, since Ben has been laid off of work.
Ben decides in his time he will go to school and he became a
very good scholar. He was one of the two who were going to get
a prize, and the two boys who were rivals were Ben Bradford
and Sam Archer.
Ben was warned not to win, because it was Sam Archer
whose Dad owned the mill Ben worked at and he was chancing
not getting his job back if he won. Ben was not slack in his test,
trying his hardest to win. Ben was the winner and he was right,
he was denied working at the mill again.
Sam Archer, not being satisfied forged a letter from Boston
saying a store, Jones and Porter, wanted to hire Ben right away.
It seemed fishy to Ben but he headed off to Boston. On the way
there Ben meets another young man and they begin talking. It
turns out the young man is a nephew of Mr. Porter of Jones
and Porter and knows nothing of Ben being hired there. At this
time Ben realizes it was Sam who forged the letter, but Henry
Porter tells Ben to come with him anyway to the bookstore…
BEN was looking with interest at a row of new books when
he was summoned into the private office. He was not prepared
for the good news that was in store for him.
“My young friend,” said Mr. Porter, Senior, “we are not re-
sponsible for the letter that brought you here.”
“No, sir,” said Ben. “I am sorry to have troubled you, and
taken up your time. I’ll go home this afternoon.”
He looked sober enough, poor Ben, for it would not be pleas-
ant facing his aunt and friends in Milltown, and explaining
matters. Even the “licking” which he fully determined to give
Sam Archer, if he should, prove to be the author of the decoy
letter, would be a poor satisfaction.
“On the whole, you may as well stay,” said Mr. Porter. “My
nephew thinks we can find a place for you in the store.”
“Will you really take me?” asked Ben, flushed and eager.
“We will try you. My nephew thinks you will suit us.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Ben, warmly, addressing himself to
Henry Porter.
“Your friend, who wrote the letter, will be rather disappoint-
ed, eh?” said young Porter, smiling.
“Yes,” said Ben, who could smile now. “I should like to see
him when he learns that his malicious letter has procured me
a situation.”
“There is one thing we have not referred to— the salary,”
said Mr. Porter. “What do we pay young Robinson?”
June 2010
“Six dollars a week,” said his nephew.
“Then Benjamin shall have the same. He has no knowledge
of the business, to be sure —”
“I will have soon,” said Ben, confidently.
“That’s right, my lad. Make yourself useful to us, and you
won’t have cause to regret it. Henry, assign Benjamin to the
proper apartment, and let him come to you for advice when he
requires it.”
Mr. Porter returned to his writing, and Ben understood that
he was dismissed.
He was set to work dusting books, and young Porter went to
his own desk; he was chief book-keeper.
“When the store closes,” he said, “come to me. I shall take
you to my room tonight, and in a day or two I will find you a
suitable boarding-place.”
In the evening, at his friend’s room, Ben wrote the following
letter to his friend James Watson: —
BOSTON, July 18, 18—.
DEAR JAMES, — Though I have been only a few hours in
Boston I have a good deal to tell you. You remember my show-
ing you the letter from Jones & Porter, which induced me to
come to the city. Well, it was a hoax. It didn’t come from the
firm at all. Somebody wanted to play a trick on me, and wrote
it. I think I know who that somebody is, and I think you can
guess too. I have no doubt Sam Archer was at the bottom of
it. You know what a mean fellow he is, and that he would like
nothing better than to injure me. But I am glad to say that he
has not succeeded. By great good luck I got acquainted with
Mr. Porter’s nephew on board the cars. I showed him the let-
ter, which he pronounced probably a forgery. But he took me
to the store (he is head book-keeper) and introduced me to his
uncle. It seems that there will be a vacancy at the beginning
of next month, and, as I was on the ground, they engaged me.
So Sam’s mean trick has been the means of obtaining me a
position. He will be provoked enough when he hears it. Now
I will tell you what I want you to do. Don’t say a word about
the letter being a hoax. Merely tell the boys that I have got
the place I expected. If Sam wrote the letter he will certainly
betray himself. Keep mum, and lead him on. Then let me know
what you find out. I will write again soon.
Your affectionate friend,
BEN BRADFORD.
June 2010
“It’s a mean trick, and just like Sam,” ejaculated James when
he read Ben’s letter. “I’ll follow Ben’s instructions. Sam will be
coming round making inquiries pretty soon. I’ll manage him.”
James was right in his supposition. Sam eagerly awaited the
upshot of his trick. He concluded that Ben would come back
Monday night depressed and humiliated, and he was on the
street near Ben’s house when the afternoon train got in, ready
to feast his eyes on his rival’s unhappiness. But he waited in
vain.
“He’s going to wait till tomorrow,” he thought. “He don’t
like to come home in disgrace. He might as well come back at
once, for it must come to that in the end.”
All the next day Sam was expecting Ben. Finally he got im-
patient.
“What a fool he must be to stay in the city on expense!” he
thought. “I suppose he must be making a desperate attempt to
get another place. Ha, ha! How miserable he must feel!”
The next morning, about ten o’clock, he met James Watson
on the street. James had received the letter from Ben the eve-
ning previous.
“How are you James?” said Sam, with unusual cordiality.
“I’m all right,” said James, rather coolly.
“Have you heard from Ben Bradford?’’ Sam next inquired.
“I heard last night.”
“What does he say?” asked Sam, eagerly.
“He hadn’t been in his situation long enough to tell how he
should like it,” answered James, fixing his eyes intently on
Sam.
“Is he in a situation?” demanded Sam, in evident surprise.
“To be sure. What do you think he went to Boston for?”
“Where is he working?” asked Sam, incredulously.
“He is with Jones & Porter, of course. Didn’t you know they
sent for him?”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Sam. “I’ll bet he is fooling you. I don’t
believe he is in their store at all.”
“I’m on the track,” thought James; “I’ll draw him out.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said he, quietly. “Jones &
Porter sent for Ben, and he is in their employ. I don’t see any-
thing strange in that.”
“I’ll bet you a dollar Ben Bradford will be back here within a
week,” said Sam, in a tone of great confidence. “I don’t believe
Jones & Porter ever wrote him a letter.”
“I saw the letter.”
“Suppose you did; it might have been a hoax.”
“Then whoever wrote it did Ben a good turn, for he has got
a place at Jones & Porter’s.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Sam, uneasily.
“Ben writes me that he is there, and he would have no object
in telling a lie.”
“Will you let me see the letter?”
“No, I won’t.”
Sam nodded his head in a satisfied way.
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Page 23
“That convinces me that it’s all a humbug. Ben hasn’t got a
place any more than I have.”
“You think the letter a hoax?”
“Yes, I do.”
“What reason have you for thinking so?” asked James,
sharply.
“I decline to state.”
“Who do you think wrote it?”
“How should I know?”
“As you know so much, I don’t mind telling you that you are
right. The letter was a hoax.”
Sam laughed heartily.
“I thought so,” he said.
“And I know who wrote it.”
Sam didn’t laugh now.
“Who?” he asked, uncomfortably.
“You did it.”
“What do you mean?” blustered Sam.
“Exactly what I say. Otherwise you would have had no rea-
son to suspect the genuineness of it.”
“Does Ben Bradford charge me with it? Just wait till I see
him.”
“That will be some time unless you go to Boston. Jones &
Porter happened to have a vacancy, and Ben stepped into it.
Your letter got him a place.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Sam, faintly.
“It’s true, and it’s lucky for you. If Ben had been obliged to
come home he would have given you the worst licking you
ever had.”
Sam made an angry reply, and walked off sad at heart. He
had tried to injure Ben, and had only helped him.
“Just my luck!” he muttered. “I wish I hadn’t written the
letter.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
BEN FINDS A BOARDING-PLACE.
HENRY PORTER had a fine suite of rooms at the south end
of Boston. Ben spent the first night with him.
“You’ve got a nice home, Mr. Porter,” said our hero, admir-
ingly.
“Yes,” said the book-keeper. “My rooms alone cost me fif-
teen dollars a week.”
“Without board?” ejaculated Ben, opening his eyes in
amazement.
“Yes,” said the young man, smiling.
“Why, that is almost eight hundred dollars a year.”
“Quite correct. I see you think me extravagant.”
“I was wondering how you could afford it,” said Ben, can-
didly.
“Your surprise is natural. If I only depended on my salary,
I certainly should not hire such expensive apartments. But a
good aunt left me twenty thousand dollars, two years since,
and this being well invested yields me about fourteen hundred
dollars a year.”
“I wonder you don’t go into business for yourself, Mr. Por-
ter.”
“I have thought of it, but doubt whether I should manage a
business of my own judiciously. If not, I should run the risk of
losing all my money. I like keeping books for my uncle, and
he pays me a good salary. With this and the income from my
 Page 24
property I can live as well as I wish without incurring any risk
at all.”
“I don’t know but that is best,” said Ben, thoughtfully.
“Now let me speak of your own plans, Ben. Your income is
six dollars a week.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must regulate your expenses accordingly.”
“I want to do so, Mr. Porter. How much board shall I have to
pay?” asked Ben, anxiously.
“I cannot tell without inquiring. There is boarding-house on
Harrison Avenue, kept by a worthy lady of my acquaintance.
She may have a small room that will suit your means. How
much do you feel able to pay?”
“I should like to have enough over to buy my clothes,” said
Ben; “I don’t want to have to call on Aunt Jane.”
“We will see if we can manage it. Get your hat, and we will
go to the boarding-house now.”
It was a three-story brick house, such as is common in Bos-
ton. It was unusually neat for a boarding-house of medium
grade, Mrs. Draper being an excellent house-keeper, with a
horror of dirt.
“How do you do, Mr. Porter?” was the landlady’s greeting.
Mr. Porter had once boarded with her, before his legacy fell to
him.
“Very well, thank you, Mrs. Draper. How is business? Pretty
full, eh?”
“Yes, sir; I’ve got only one small room vacant.”
“Where is it?”
“On the third floor.”
“May we see it?”
“It won’t suit you, Mr. Porter.”
“It may suit my young friend here.”
“A relative of yours?” inquired Mrs. Draper, with interest.
“No, but he is a young friend in whom I feel an interest.”
“I shall be very glad if the room suits him, then.”
Mrs. Draper led the way upstairs to the vacant room. It was
small, but neatly carpeted, and provided with a good bureau,
washstand, and all that was needful in a chamber.
‘’How do you like it, Ben?” asked the bookkeeper.
“Very much,” said Ben, in a tone of satisfaction.
Mr. Porter walked to the other end of the room and discussed
terms with Mrs. Draper in a low voice which Ben did not hear.
“What is your price for this room with board, Mrs. Draper?”
“I have generally got six dollars a week.”
“I want you to let my young friend have it for four.”
“I really couldn’t do it, Mr. Porter. You have no idea how
much I have to pay at the market for meat and vegetables. Then
my landlord won’t reduce my rent.”
“You don’t understand me, Mrs. Draper,” said the “book-
keeper, smiling. “You are to charge him only four dollars a
week; but I propose to make up the difference.”
“That is, of course, satisfactory,” said the landlady, looking
relieved.
“One thing more. My young friend is not to know about this
arrangement. He is to suppose that four dollars a week is pay-
ment in full.”
“There is only one objection to that, Mr. Porter. If my other
boarders suppose that that is all he pays, they will make a fuss,
and want their rate of board reduced.”
“Then he shall be cautioned to keep the price he pays secret.
June 2010
Ben! “
Ben walked over to where they were standing.
“Mrs. Draper agrees to take you at the very low price of four
dollars a week for room and board.”
Ben looked delighted.
“Then I shall have money enough from my wages to pay all
my expenses without calling on Aunt Jane.”
“Yes, if you are economical. As this price is extremely low,
you are not to mention to any of the other boarders how much
you pay.”
“I will be sure to remember it,” said Ben, “and I am much
obliged to Mrs. Draper for favoring me.”
“I suppose you will want to come to-morrow,” said the land-
lady.
“Yes,” answered Ben. “I suppose I may as well come to
breakfast.”
“Very well. We have breakfast from seven to nine.”
“I will take an early breakfast, as I am to be at the store at
eight.”
As they were leaving the house Mr. Porter said, “Don’t sup-
pose, Ben, that I am anxious to get rid of you. I had half a mind
to keep you with me a week or two. But one thing deterred
me. You are a poor boy, and have your own way to make in
the world. You can’t for years afford to live as I am doing. If
I accustomed you to living expensively it would be harder for
you to accommodate yourself to your means and the home you
are able to pay for.”
“I understand you, Mr. Porter, and thank you. I consider you
a true friend,” said Ben, earnestly.
The book-keeper looked pleased. He felt more and more sat-
isfaction in having procured Ben a place in his uncle’s estab-
lishment.
“I see you are a sensible boy, Ben. You are right in looking
upon me as a friend. I hope you will come and call upon me
often.”
“Thank you, sir. I shall consider it a privilege to do so. And
I hope you will give me any advice that you think will benefit
me.”
“I will, Ben, and I will begin now. We have a large Public
Library in Boston, of which we are very proud. It is one of
the two or three largest libraries in the United States, and it is
free to all residents of the city. I advise you to enter your name
there, and draw books from it.”
“I should be glad to,” said Ben, eagerly.
“Come round, and I will show it to you.”
Together they entered the handsome building on Boylston
Street, which is occupied by the Public Library. Ben, who had
never seen a large library, or, indeed, any library containing
over a thousand books, was amazed at what he saw.
“I didn’t suppose there was any library in the world so
large,” he said.
‘’ There are libraries much larger in London and Paris and
some other European cities; but I doubt if there is any which
does more general good than this. Here is the Reading Room,
where you will find hundreds of papers and magazines. You
can come in here any evening. It will be much better than to
spend your time where many boys and young men do, — in
billiard and drinking saloons.”
Ben’s eyes sparkled with pleasant anticipations.
“I shall enjoy living in Boston very much,” he said.
June 2010
“I think you will. While a large city has more temptations
than a small town, it has also more privileges and opportunities
for improvement. I hope, Ben, you will start right, and prepare
the way for a useful and honorable manhood.”
“Thank you, Mr. Porter. I mean to try.”
The next day Ben took formal possession of his room in the
boarding-house on Harrison Avenue. He found a pleasant class
of boarders there and a good table. Though not luxurious, it
was better than he had been used to at home, and he felt him-
self fortunately placed.
CHAPTER XXVII.
SAM ATTEMPTS STRATEGY AND FAILS.
THE more Sam Archer thought of the favorable effect of his
letter upon Ben’s fortunes the more he felt provoked.
“I wish I hadn’t sent him to Jones & Porter,” thought he.
“How could I tell that they had a vacancy? I hope he won’t
suit them.”
But Ben seemed to stay in Boston.
When a fortnight had passed Sam managed to meet James
Watson.
“Have you heard from Ben Bradford lately?” he asked.
“Yes,” said James.
“What does he write?”
“That he likes his place very much. The book-keeper is very
kind to him, and assists him with advice. Then he likes being
in a bookstore.”
Sam was not overjoyed at the news.
“How kind you are to take such an interest in Ben!” said
James, slyly.
“I don’t take an interest in him,” returned Sam, resentfully.
“I never liked him.”
“Then what makes you ask after him so particularly?”
“I expected he’d be discharged by this time.”
“What made you think so? Did you think he wouldn’t be
faithful?”
“He didn’t give satisfaction at the mill. He was discharged.”
“So was I.”
“But not for the same reason,” said Sam, “It was because
times were dull.”
“I rather think Ben’s work was satisfactory enough, but you
influenced your father against him. However, it doesn’t matter.
He’s better off where he is.”
“How much pay does he get?” inquired Sam.
“More than he received at the mill. He is able to pay his
board and all other expenses.”
“I wonder whether all this is true,” considered Sam, as he
walked slowly away. “James Watson is Ben’s friend, and he
may represent things better than they are.”
An excellent plan suggested itself to Sam. He would ask his
father’s permission to go to Boston and pass a day or two with
his friend, Frank Ferguson. This would allow him to drop into
Jones & Porter’s store, and judge for himself how Ben was
situated.
Sam had no trouble about obtaining the requisite permission.
On reaching the city he decided to call at the store before
going to his friend’s residence.
Ben was dusting books, when a glance towards the door re-
vealed the entrance of Sam. The latter had cherished a faint
hope that James had deceived him, and that Ben was really not
Page 25
employed. There was no chance for doubt now.
“How shall I receive him?” Ben asked himself. He decided
to treat him coolly, but not to quarrel.
“Good-morning, Bradford,” said Sam.
‘’ Good-morning, Archer,” was the return greeting.
Sam didn’t quite like this familiarity. It was all very well
for him to use it, but he felt that Ben ought to treat him with
greater respect.
“How do you like working here?”
“Very much,” answered Ben. “Much better than in the mill,”
he added, significantly.
“I shouldn’t think they’d have taken a green country boy,”
suggested Sam, pleasantly.
“Perhaps they wouldn’t if a friend hadn’t written for me,”
said Ben, with a meaning glance at Sam, who colored in spite
of himself.
“How much pay do you get?”
“I would rather not say.”
“Because it is so small,” said Sam, with a sneer.
“On the contrary, I look upon it as liberal; but it is my busi-
ness. I am doing better than if I had remained at Milltown.”
This was bad news for Sam.
“I am really obliged to the person who wrote the letter which
secured me the position,” Ben added.
This was a subject upon which Sam did not care to speak.
“It isn’t much of a business to dust books,” he said, after a
pause, desiring to depreciate what he could not take away.
“I sell books sometimes,” said Ben, smiling. “Can I show
you something this morning?”
“No, I don’t want anything. Where do you live?”
“I board on Harrison Avenue.”
“In a cheap boarding-house?”
“There are some very nice people who board there. I have a
good room, and I think myself very well off.”
Sam came to a sudden decision. He had succeeded in pre-
venting Ben from obtaining a place in the mill, but he would
much rather have had him there than in a place in Boston.
Would it be possible to induce Ben to give up his place, and
enter the mill again? He could be discharged after a while, and
cast adrift. It was rather foolish to suppose that Ben would snap
at such bait, but he decided to try it.
“I think you would be better off in the mill,” he said. ‘’You
could board at home, and help your aunt. You would soon be
promoted too.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to enter the mill,” exclaimed
Ben, amazed. “Your father told me that my record was not
good;” and Ben looked indignant.
“Father was feeling out of sorts,” said Sam, smoothly. “He
will take you on if you’ll come back.”
“What does the fellow mean?” thought Ben. It didn’t take
him long to guess. If he should return to the mill he would be
once more in Sam’s power. Now he was quite independent of
him.
“You really think your father would employ me?” he asked.
“Yes, he would if I asked him to.”
“And are you willing to do that?”
“Yes,” answered Sam.
“I would thank you, Sam Archer, if I thought your offer was
a friendly one.”
“What makes you think it isn’t?’
Page 26 June 2010

“The feelings which I have reason to think you entertain for She did not suspect Sam of being malicious in his information,
me, and your conduct in the past.” but concluded that he was mistaken.
“You are too suspicious, Ben.”
“If I find I am, I will apologize to you. As to your proposal, it CHAPTER XXVIII.
would be foolish for me to give up so good a position in order SAM GIVES BEN A FIRST-CLASS CHARACTER.
to accept a poorer one, which is not at all permanent.” THE same mail that carried the book-keeper’s letter to Mrs.
“Well, Bradford, I must bid you good-morning. Just think Bradford also carried a letter from Ben to Sam Archer.
over what I have said, and write to me if you decide to accept.” It ran thus: —
“If I decide to accept I will.”
“He’s getting very impudent,” said Sam to himself. “If I SAM ARCHER, — You might be in better business than
could only get him to give up this place and go into the mill I telling lies about me to my aunt. If you think I look dissipated
could fix him. We’d let him stay two or three weeks, and then your eyes deceive you, and I advise you to wear glasses the
ship him. But he won’t do it. Stay, I think of a way.” next time you come to Boston. If you choose to come to the
What the way was may be conjectured from a letter which store, it is none of my business; but you need not take that
Ben received three days later from his Aunt Jane: — trouble in order to see me. I am always glad to see my friends;
but I don’t consider you one of them.
My DEAR NEPHEW, —I am feeling almost heart-broken. I quite understand your anxiety to get me back into the mill.
It is reported by one who saw you lately that you are looking There was a time when I should have been glad of a place
very dissipated. I was afraid the temptations of the city were there; but now I have a place that suits me better, and don’t
too much for you. You are too young to go away from home. I care to change.
won’t blame you too much, for I feel that you are weak rather
than wicked. But I shall not feel comfortable till you are at BENJAMIN BRADFORD
home again. Don’t hesitate to give up your place. I am assured
that they will take you on again at the mill, and it will be much When Sam received this letter, he looked and felt provoked.
better for you to be at home with us, till you are older, and bet- Somehow or other Ben was always getting the better of him.
ter able to resist temptation. I hope you will at once notify your He wanted to injure him, but there seemed no way. But there
worthy employers that you can get a place at home. is an old saying, “Where there is a will, there is a way,” and I
don’t know but this is as true of mischief as anything else. Sud-
Your anxious aunt, denly it occurred to Sam that he might prejudice Messrs. Jones
& Porter against our hero.
JANE BRADFORD He sat down at once and wrote them an anonymous letter, of
. which this is a copy: —
Ben read this letter in amazed indignation.
“Sam is at the bottom of this,” he concluded. “It is he that MESSERS. JONES & PORTER,—I hear that you have
has reported that I look dissipated. He wants to deprive me taken into your employment a boy named Benjamin Bradford,
of my place, and get me into the mill, where I shall be in his from this town. You probably are not aware that he has a very
power. I can’t forgive him for frightening my poor aunt. If I bad reputation here. He was employed in the mill for a time,
were at home, I should certainly punish him as he deserves.” but was discharged because he was idle and lazy. He keeps bad
Ben took the letter to his friend, the bookkeeper, and showed company, and none of the respectable boys here cared to as-
it to him. sociate with him. I don’t like to see an honorable firm imposed
“What do you think of that?” he asked. upon, and that is why I warn you of the character of your new
“This letter was written at an enemy’s instigation,” he an- clerk, though I have no personal interest in the matter.
swered.
“You are right, Mr. Porter.”
Then Ben told his friend of Sam’s call, and the effort he A FRIEND
made to have him resign his situation. .
“Will you do me a favor, Mr. Porter?” he asked. “That ought to make trouble for Ben,” said Sam to himself.
“Certainly I will, Ben.” He put the letter in an envelope, directed it to Jones & Porter,
“Then, will you write to my aunt, and assure her that my and took it at once to the post-office.
habits are good, and that her informant has wilfully lied? It will The next day Ben was summoned to the counting-room.
relieve her anxiety.” “Ben,” said Mr. Porter, “have you any enemy in Milltown?”
“With pleasure.” “Yes, sir,” answered Ben.
The next day Mrs. Bradford received a letter, very enthusias- “One who would like to do you a mischief?”
tic in its tone, which completely exonerated our hero from the “Yes, sir.”
charges brought against him. “We have just received a letter warning us against you, as
“Your nephew,” it concluded, “bids fair to become one of unworthy of our confidence.”
our best clerks. He is polite, faithful, and continually trying to Mr. Porter smiled, or Ben might have felt uncomfortable.
improve. You need have no apprehensions about him. It would “May I see the letter?” he asked.
be very foolish for him to resign his situation.” The letter was placed in his hands.
On receiving this letter Mrs. Bradford was much comforted. “It is Sam Archer’s handwriting,” he said, looking up. “I
June 2010 Page 27

hope, sir, you won’t let it prejudice you against me.” “I wouldn’t demean myself by writing to him,” said Sam,
“I would not allow myself to be influenced by an anonymous wrathfully. “I’ll show you what I think of his letter.”
letter. It is a stab in the dark. No one but a coward would write As he spoke he tore the letter to pieces and scattered them
one.” said Mr. Porter, warmly. on the floor.
“I want to show you how inconsistent Sam is,” said Ben. James shrugged his shoulders.
“He was here a few days ago, and urged me to give up my “You’re a strange boy, Sam,” he said.
place here, and take one in the mill. He said his father, who is “Why am I?”
superintendent, would take me back at his request.” “Haven’t you been working hard to get Ben back to Mill-
“That is rather strange, if he is your enemy.” town?”
“No, sir; he don’t like it because I have a good place here. If “I wish he’d come back.”
I should go into the mill I should probably be discharged in a “And yet you can’t bear the sight of him.”
week or two, and cast adrift. That is what Sam wants.” “No, I can’t. I hate him worse than any fellow I know.”
“Are any boys as malicious as that?” “Come, now, Sam, just listen to a little sensible advice. If
“Not many, sir, I hope; but Sam is an exception.” you had always treated Ben right you would like him as well as
“I sympathize with you in your persecution, Ben; but I can I do. Why should you cherish malice against him? He has good
assure you that no anonymous letters will change my opinion qualities, and so I am sure have you, if you’d only give ‘em a
of you. If this enemy of yours sends another letter, I really shall chance to show themselves.”
feel tempted to increase your wages.” “That’s all gammon,” said Sam, impatiently.
“Then I hope he’ll write again,” said Ben, laughing. “What, about your having good qualities?” interrogated
“If we continue satisfied with you, we shall probably ad- James, with a smile.
vance you on the first of January.” “About my ever liking Ben Bradford. Before I’d make a
“Thank you, sir,” said Ben, warmly. “May I answer this let- friend of him, I would go without friends.”
ter, sir?” “You may think differently some time.”
“You may say that we have shown it to you, and that we Sam shook his head.
despise such malicious attempts to injure.” *************************************************
The following day Sam received a letter from Ben, the whole On the first of January Ben wrote to his aunt –
of which need not be given. This is the way it concluded: — “My dear aunt, - congratulate me on my good luck. Mr. Por-
If you write another similar letter to my employers, you will ter, this morning, called me into the counting room, and in-
be doing me quite a service. It will probably cause them to formed me that henceforth my wages would be eight dollars a
raise my salary. As I owe my place to you, you now have it in week – two dollars more than I have been receiving. I owe this
your power to increase the obligation. How bad you must feel, partly to my good luck. I am a favorite with the book-keeper,
Sam, at your inability to do me harm! I can’t say I exactly sym- who is Mr. Porter’s nephew; otherwise, if I had been advanced
pathize with you, but I certainly pity you for harboring such at all, it would have been only one dollar a week. Don’t you
malice in your heart. I am sorry I can’t oblige you by going think it would have been rather foolish if I had come back and
back to the mill; then you would have the great pleasure of see- gone into the mill, as you wished me too?”
ing me every day. I don’t know how to express my gratitude for “After all, I think Ben did right to stay,” said Aunt Jane,
all your kindness. If ever you want a situation in Boston let me when she read the letter.
know. There is a peanut woman on the Common who wants a “I wish he’d come home,” said Tony. “Then he could
smart, active salesman. I shall be very glad to recommend you. play with me.”
BEN BRADFORD.
“Work is more important than play, Tony,” said his
Sam was stung by the cool indifference and contempt which
appeared in this letter. Ben did not take the trouble to be angry. mother.
He evidently despised his enmity, and defied him. Sam felt that “It aint so bully, though,” remarked Tony.
he hated Ben worse than ever he had before. *********************************************
“What’s that letter you are scowling over, Sam?” asked About this time there was a great commotion in Mill-
James Watson, who was standing in the post-office when he
town, and the person who caused it was Mr. Archer,
was reading it.
“It’s a letter from a miserable puppy,” hissed Sam. Sam’s father.
“Is it? Do you correspond with miserable puppies?”
“I can’t help their writing to me. If you want to know who it CHAPTER XXIX.
is, it’s your friend, Ben Bradford.” THE CUNARD STEAMER.
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June 2010
PRIDE AND POVERTY
or The Story of a Brave Boy.
BY JOHN RUSSELL CORYELL.
Author of Cast Adrift, Andy Fletcher, etc.
CHAPTER XI
Harry, worked in a mill and was told he could no
longer see his sister, because his aunt, Mrs. Mortimer
did not like Harry (because he resembled his father).
So Harry was working and one day there was a bridge
ready to collapse and Harry took someone’s bike to go
across the bridge and stop the oncoming train from go-
ing over. Harry became the hero, which his cousin did
not like. The bike was ruined in the race to save the train
so Harry promised to replace the bike.
When Harry went to replace the bike (which was his
cousins) he met his little sister who was the charge of
Mrs. Mortimer. They talked and Mrs. Mortimer did not
like it. She did not want Harry to have any communica-
tion with his sister.
On Harry’s spare time he had invented something
and was making a model of it. He had one trusted friend
a man at the mill. On the way home from Mrs. Mortim-
er’s house he saw that his boarding house was on fire.
While he runs in the burning building to find his model,
he bumps into someone, finding out that man stole his
model and Mr. Mortimer put the man up to it, a man
who just was released from jail and Harry confronts
him about it…
“Well,” queried Mr. Dewey, when Harry returned to his
machine, “are you discharged?”
“No,” answered Harry, with a short laugh. “He wants to
send me to college.”
Mr. Dewey stared, and Harry repeated what Mr. Mortimer
had said to him and he to Mr. Mortimer.
Mr. Dewey listened attentively, dismay showing on his
face as the story progressed.
“Why Harry,” he said, at last, “you’ve frightened him, to-
be-sure, but you’ve put him on his guard, too, and now he’ll
never rest till he’s safe.”
“Well,” rejoined Harry. “I know I’m a big fool; but it can’t
be helped now. I will be on guard against any trick of his.”
“If you take my advice,” urged Mr. Dewey, “you’ll leave
the mill and the place until you have made sure that he can’t
do you any harm.”
“Why,” asked Harry, looking startled, “you don’t suppose
he’d really try to do me any harm, do you?”
Page 29
“I’m ready to suspect anything of him,” was the emphatic
reply. “Don’t you believe that a man who would set fire to a
house to get the plans of an invention would be capable of
almost anything bad? I do.”
“I suppose he would,” admitted Harry.
“Then think of what I’ve said. I’ll think of it, too.”
But while they were thinking of what had taken place, Mr.
Mortimer was thinking also. He had been terribly frightened,
and, as Mr. Dewey had surmised, his one determination was
to make himself safe.
He had gone too far to recede now, however, and, even if
that had been a safe plan, he was not disposed to adopt it. He
would go on as he had begun.
He had a vague notion that to go on would take him into
the commission of crimes he had not yet contemplated, and
that Arthur Hoyt was the worst possible counselor in such a
case; but he would not think of turning back from the course
he had chosen.
Hoyt was to come to his house that night. Under other cir-
cumstances, he would not have dared to have him come there.
This time he told Mrs. Mortimer that he had invited the young
man.
“He must not come, Mr. Mortimer,” she had said, in her
cold, peremptory fashion. “What can you have been thinking
of?”
“I do not invite him socially,” answered Mr. Mortimer,
with the nearest approach to defiance he had ever shown to
his wife; “but he is necessary to me in getting rid of that boy.”
She put up her hand hastily.
“I do not wish to hear any detail,” she said. “Let the man
come.”
Hoyt came and was taken into the library, where he found
Mr. Mortimer uneasily pacing the floor.
“Well,” began the young man, with a short, sneering laugh,
“I got the papers from the boy’s room.”
“I don’t understand you,” replied Mr. Mortimer, turning
pale.
He did not wish to have it appear, even between them, that
he had any knowledge of the crime that had been committed.
“Yes, you do,” asserted Hoyt, coolly. “You know that I
burned that cottage night before last in order to steal the de-
scription of your nephew’s invention.”
“My nephew!” exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, in a startled whis-
per.
Hoyt laughed.
“Did you suppose I was going to do such a thing as you
Page 30
wished me to with my eyes shut?” he demanded. “It wasn’t
very difficult to discover that you were the brother-in-law of
the boy’s father. I only wonder the thing hasn’t been discov-
ered before. Well, I have the papers, and will copy and send
them to the patent office.”
There was a smiling wickedness on the face of the young
man that frightened Mr. Mortimer out of his first intention of
pretending ignorance of the crime that had been committed.
Besides, it entered his mind at once that some sort of un-
derstanding would be best for the prosecution of any plan
against Harry.
“Well,” he said, drawing a long breath, like a person who
is about to plunge into very cold water. “let it be so. You are
right.”
“That is better,” responded Hoyt, a sardonic smile curling
his thin lip. “We shall get along better together, if we under-
stand each other at the start. And, anyhow, you know, we must
see this thing out to the end.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Mr. Mortimer, quickly.
“The boy saw me as I was leaving his room, night before
last.”
“And knew what you had been there for?”
“Of course, I can’t say that; but he is an extremely bright
boy, and I suspect that he knows why I went there.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Mortimer, bitterly, “and he knows that I
was concerned with you, which is worse.”
Again Hoyt laughed, in his low, evil way.
“So much the better!” he said. “Now, you see, you must
work with me. What do you propose to do about it?”
“I don’t know. I have no plan- only in a general way, that
the boy must be rendered harmless.”
“And, in the meantime, I can’t make any use of the in-
vention,” continued Hoyt; “And he will be able to make new
plans, send them in, and then sell his patent for so much mon-
ey that, if you have any reason to be afraid of him, he can
make a very hard fight against you.”
Mr. Mortimer furtively glanced into the searching, beady,
black eyes of the other, and answered, in a low tone:
“He has discovered in some way, that I had something to
do with the disappearance of his papers.”
“Is that all?” questioned Hoyt, with a short laugh, that sug-
gested the possession of some knowledge by him.
“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Mortimer.
“Oh, nothing!” laughed Hoyt, as if the whole affair was the
best of jokes. “Well, what shall we do with the bright boy?”
“I suppose we must get rid of him,” replied Mr. Mortimer.
“Rid of him in what way?” was the slow query.
“Frighten him out of the place.”
“Pshaw!” said Hoyt, contemptuously. “You don’t suppose
you can frighten that boy, do you? I fancy you don’t know
him.”
“Well, what can we do?”
“Tell me, first, how much he really knows about you,”
asked Hoyt, in a tone he made seem very commonplace,
though he was eager enough for the answer.
Mr. Mortimer was too cunning not to see the trap laid for
him in the seemingly simple question. Hoyt was trying to sur-
prise some of his secrets.
“Oh,” he answered “I don’t imagine he really knows any-
thing! I can’t tell what for if you know abou the matter you
June 2010
know that it doesn’t amount to anything.”
Hoyt smiled like a man who has been beaten at his own
game, but has sufficient sense to keep his temper.
“Oh, yes!” he rejoined, ironically. “I know it is a mere
nothing; but we will assume that he knows everything, and
act accordingly.”
“Very well,” agreed Mr. Mortimer. “and what would you
suggest?”
“I would suggest that even if you succeed in frightening
him out of the place, it would do us no good, for, as long as
he knows what he does, he is dangerous to us. I don’t suppose
you would care to go to prison for a term of years. I am sure I
don’t. I have had a short trial of prison life, and I assure you it
is not pleasant at all, and I saw the easiest side of it.”
“No,” said Mr. Mortimer, hoarsely, “I don’t wish to try
prison life.”
“Then we must do something that will make him power-
less,” was Hoyt’s grim reply.
“What?” demanded Mr. Mortimer.
“Well,” answered Hoyt, with a sort of diabolical slowness
and calmness, “if he would only die now!”
“No, no, no!” cried Mr. Mortimer, in a whisper of horror.
“Dear me, Mr. Mortimer,” said Hoyt, his thin upper lip
curling in a sneer, “how quick you are to take alarm! One
would almost think you had thought of the same thing.”
“Hush, hush! Don’t talk of it,” cautioned Mr. Mortimer.
“Very well,” retorted Hoyt, “we won’t talk of it’ we will
only think of it. In the meantime, it might do to make him a
fugitive from justice. What do you say to that?”
“Can it be done?”
“Most anything can be done, if you only have the wit to
know how to go at it,” was the answer. “Let us consider the
case. He has a great deal in his favor, hasn’t he?”
“A very great deal.”
“He is a hero, and the railroad company is going to have a
gold medal struck in his honor.”
“Yes.”
“The people of the whole town, aristocrats and mill-hands
alike, are very proud of him, eh?”
“Yes.”
“He is honest, straightforward, and an unusually good
workman, besides being a first rate inventor.”
“Yes, yes,” admitted Mr. Mortimer, with increasing uneas-
iness, as for the first time he has presented to him the advan-
tages which Harry was possessed of.
Hoyt laughed in his peculiar way at the gloomy expression
of Mr. Mortimer, and went on:
“Did it ever occur to you that the time when a person is
most likely to fall is when he has reached a high place?”
“I suppose that is so,” replied Mr. Mortimer, looking with a
sort of wonder at the man who was so young and yet so evilly
shrewd.
“Of course it is so. Everybody is ready to be envious of a
successful person. Only give them a fair chance to believe ill
of your nephew-“
“Don’t speak of him as my nephew,” interrupted Mr. Mor-
timer, testily.
Hoyt sneered.
“Very well. Give the people a chance to believe ill of Har-
ry-that is what everybody is calling him now- and you will
June 2010
see how quickly they will do it. I know that from my own
experience.”
“But your plan?” said Mr. Mortimer, impatiently.
“This is it: Let Harvey and his friends tell their story more
loudly and persistently than they have done.”
Mr. Mortimer shook his head doubtfully.
“If Harvey were a boy of more courage there might be
some chance of that being believed,” he said.
“That’s of no consequence,” assured Hoyt. “Give Harvey
lots of money to spend and all the boys will believe anything
he says; and if the boys believe it and repeat it, the story will
soon gain ground. Then will be the time for the boys to get up
a sort of memorial to the railroad company, telling the story in
the true way. See?”
Mr. Mortimer brightened.
“Yes; I begin to see daylight there. Gene Morse is just the
boy to take charge of the matter. Well?”
“It will only take a day or two to accomplish that, for that
sort of work half accomplishes itself when once fairly started.
Then you must discharge him from the mill.”
“But all the mill-hands will strike if I do.”
“Of course; and that is precisely what you want.”
“Indeed it is not. We are not ready for that quite yet. Be-
sides, the men in the other mills would go on working and we
should be very much out of pocket by the operation.”
“Quite a mistake, Mr. Mortimer. The men in the other mills
have been treated just as yours have, of course. They have
been kept just on the verge of striking for some time, haven’t
they?”
Mr. Mortimer smiled as he thought of that stroke of policy
and answered:
“Yes; but we are under agreement not to force a strike until
a certain time- about a month from now.”
“What do you care about the agreement so long as you are
safe? Besides, it would not be forcing a strike. How can you
be expected to know that the discharge of a boy will cause a
strike? You must do it.”
“But if I do, the boy will make some disclosures about the
fire, perhaps.”
:No, we won’t. You leave that to me.”
“Well,” said Mr. Mortimer, uneasily; “but don’t take any
risks. You may ruin us both by one slight mistake. But I don’t
understand your plan yet.”
“You will in a minute. First we lose him the sympathy and
regard of the richer people and the railroad company; then we
discharge him, and the men show their sympathy by striking;
then he burns down the factory to get even with you, and the
men will be angry with him for it, and he won’t have a friend
left.”
Mr. Mortimer stared at the young man as he so quietly de-
clared that Harry would burn down the mill.
“But he won’t burn the mill,” he said.
“Oh, yes, he will! I will see to it that he does, and will ar-
range it so that he will be put in prison if he remains here, or
will have to run away and never return. Don’t you see that he
will never dare to accuse us of setting the cottage on fire, if
he is shown guilty of setting the mill on fire? I suppose your
insurance is good?”
“The insurance is good,” replied Mr. Mortimer, slowly.
“How are you going to induce Harry to do the thing?”
Page 31
“I’ll tell you if you wish to know,” responded Hoyt, with
his puzzling laugh: “but I should think a careful man like you
would rather not know too much.”
“You are right,” said Mr. Mortimer, hastily. “It will be bet-
ter if I know nothing about it.”
“Yes, I think so,” agreed Hoyt.
And it did not occur to Mr. Mortimer until he was thinking
it over afterward that it was very peculiar for Hoyt to wish to
spare him anything.
“Then we must wait two or three days,” continued Mr.
Mortimer, after a short pause.
“It will be necessary; but you can set Harvey and his
friends at work immediately- the sooner the better. And don’t
forget that Harvey is to have plenty of money.
And, by-the-way, speaking of money, I wish you would let
me have twenty-five hundred dollars.”
“But you haven’t the patent yet.”
“I want the money, nevertheless,” said Hoyt, coolly. And,
after a glance into the beady, black eyes, Mr. Mortimer took
oat his check-book and wrote a check for the amount.
CHAPTER XII.
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday went by, and, quite un-
known to Harry or to Mr. Dewey, a revolution had taken place
in public opinion.
Arthur Hoyt’s plan had worked to perfection.
After the first few days of enthusiasm over Harry’s brave
act, the people who did not know Harry personally began to
forget him, and were quite ready to listen to the story which
the boys began to tell about Harvey.
A plenty of money, freely spent, under the direction of the
astute Gene, produced the result of making the boys think that
any story told about such a generous person as Harvey must
be true.
They did not know Harry. He was only a mill-hand, and
anyhow they had grown a little tired of hearing his praises
sung so much.
On the third day the memorial had been prepared, saying
that Harry had done a brave enough thing, no doubt, but that
there had been other boys equally willing to cross the bridge,
and that, in fact, the boy who had owned the bicycle that had
been used had been on the point of crossing when the mill-
hand, being stronger, had knocked him off his bicycle and
taken the credit.
At least fifty boys signed this untruthful paper, most of
them without having the faintest notion that they were wrong-
ing a friendless boy.
The paper was sent to the railroad company, and created a
great deal of consternation there.
The managers looked at the names of the boys, and knew
that they were the sons of the wealthiest and most influential
citizens in Dennsocket.
Then they countermanded the order for the medal, and not
knowing what else to do, determined to take no notice what-
ever of Harry.
The plan had worked so beautifully so far, and with so
little sign of the hand that had projected it, that Mr. Mortimer
was tilled with triumph, and was decided to send Harry his
discharge on the following day, Friday.
Arthur Hoyt, in the meanwhile, had done nothing but wait.
Page 32
On Thursday night, however, he knew that it was time to
put more of his plan in operation. It seemed to him that fortune
had taken a very decided turn in his favor, and he was of the
opinion that he should take every advantage of the turn.
Mr. Mortimer was already in his power, and it only re-
mained for him to rid himself of Harry. After that there stood
nothing between him and wealth.
“Five thousand dollars’” he exclaimed, jeeringly, to him-
self, as he sat smoking in his room that Thursday afternoon.
“’Nothing less than half of all Mortimer has will satisfy me;
and perhaps that won’t. And only that boy in the way!”
That evening he left his lodgings and sought the cottage
where Harry lived.
He had studied Harry’s habits until he knew almost to a
certainty what would happen; he knew that Harry was in the
habit of taking a walk about eight o’clock.
This evening he did so, and Arthur Hoyt followed af-
ter him in a silent, stealthy way, that would inevitably have
put Harry on his guard if he had seen him; but the last thing
he suspected was that he was being watched, and had been
watched for days.
He walked briskly, as his custom was, passed the Mortimer
house, and looked anxiously at it, in the hope of catching a
glimpse, of Madge, and then went on out the road into the
more open suburbs.
After he had come, to that part of the town, the stealthy
shadow behind him became more bold, and made no effort
to hide himself in case Harry looked behind: and when Har-
ry turned to go back, his follower stood by the roadside and
waited for him.
It was a bright, starlit night, but the motionless figure gave
Harry a little feeling of uneasiness, such as will very naturally
come to anyone walking by night in a lonely place.
He had no real fear, however, and showed none as he
walked briskly toward where Arthur Hoyt stood.
“I beg your pardon,” said the latter, in so mild a voice that
any one might well have, been disarmed by it.
Harry tried to distinguish his face, but could not, though
Hoyt drew nearer, as if to give him that very opportunity.
“What do you wish?” asked Harry, stopping.
“I have followed you out here because I have something to
say which I must tell you at once. Do you know me? Please
look at me.”
Extremely puzzled, Harry tried once more to distinguish
the features of the stranger, and this time with some success,
for he started back, exclaiming:
“You?”
“Then you do know me?” said Hoyt, in a mournful tone.
“I am not sure,” answered Harry, guardedly. “Is your name
Hoyt?”
“Yes. Do you remember where you saw me?”
Harry hesitated. It seemed odd to tell the young man to
his face that he had seen him coming out of his room in the
burning cottage.
“Please tell me.” urged Hoyt, in the same low tone of sad-
ness, as it seemed to Harry.
“Didn’t I meet you coming out of my room the night of the
fire?” asked. Harry, in response to him.
“I am sorry to say you did,” affirmed Hoyt, in the same
low tone. “It was about that I wished to see you. Are you not
June 2010
the son of Henry Wainwright, who was once a mill-hand and
afterward a millionaire?”
“Yes,” replied Harry, wondering what sort of revelation
was about to be made to him; for there was something in the
manner of the other that led him to expect something.
“Harry Wainwright,” said Hoyt, suddenly, and speaking
with difficulty, as it seemed to Harry, “here are some papers I
took from your room that night of the fire. I set the cottage on
fire on purpose to steal these papers. Now do what you want
with me.”
And he covered his face with his hands, and appeared to
shake with emotion.
Harry took the papers like one in a dream. It seemed so
impossible to him that he had heard right, that a person who
had done such a thing would come to him and deliberately
confess the crime.
“I – I don’t understand,” he said.
“No. How should you?” cried Hoyt, a little bitterly. “You
are too honest to comprehend it, while I – I am a criminal. But
do not condemn me until you have heard all of the facts. Will
you hear me?”
Harry was terribly distressed at the situation he found him-
self in. He had learned to dislike and distrust the man before
this: but this candid and unhappy confession wrought so upon
his generous heart that he was all sympathy in a moment.
“Certainly I will hear you. But why did you do such a
thing?”
“Yes,” said Hoyt, sadly, “it cannot but seem strange to you
that any temptation could lead me to it. But I will tell you ev-
erything, and you shall judge.”
“But why do you come to me with these papers and this
confession?” asked Harry, perhaps with a lingering distrust.
“Why,” repeated Hoyt, solemnly, “because I am not un-
grateful, however bad I am in other respects. Your father
saved my mother from starvation, and would have saved me,
if he could, from the evil courses which have led me to where
I am.”
“My father?” repeated Harry, with an instant forgetfulness
of all doubts.
What was more natural than that his father should have
done the very thing Hoyt spoke of? What more natural than
that anyone who had known his father should love and respect
him?
“Yes, your father,” said Hoyt. “I did not know when I
wronged you that you were his son, or nothing would have
induced me to consent when Mr.—” He hesitated a few mo-
ments, and then went impetuously on, “Yes, you have the right
to know. All I ask is that you will do nothing against the man
until I can put the proofs into your hands. As for myself, I ask
for no mercy. If I must suffer when you bring him to justice,
then let it be so. Mr. Mortimer hired me to do as I did.”
“I suspected it,” answered Harry.
“You did? Then, even my attempt to right you is wasted. I
have not even that small satisfaction.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” assured Harry, quickly, “for I really
knew nothing. I only suspected.”
“I am grateful for that,” said Hoyt. “Perhaps, then, you do
not know of the other wrongs he has done you?”
“No,” cried Harry, eagerly, “I do not know anything. I sus-
pect a great deal. Can you tell me about what he did to my
June 2010
father?”
“I can tell you a great deal,” declared Hoyt. “Tell me what
you suspect, and I will tell you all I know.”
“It is very little, after all,” answered Harry. “A year before
my father died he was a rich man. He entered into speculation
with Mr. Mortimer, and died poor. Mr. Mortimer is richer than
ever he was. All father had when he died was some worthless
stock in a California gold mine.”
“Which he had purchased at Mr. Mortimer’s solicitation?”
queried Hoyt, eagerly.
“I do not know that. It is the Tiny Hill Gold Mining Com-
pany.”
“Ah,” said Hoyt, mentally repeating the name so that he
should not forget it, “I know nothing about that; but I can tell
you enough to turn your worst suspicions into certainties.”
“But can you give me such proofs as will make him yield
without resort to the law?”
“I cannot now, but in a few days I can. And—yes, you are
right; I ought not to say anything without those proofs. Wait!
You can meet me any night, can you not?”
“Certainly.”
“Then let me be silent until I can bring you such proofs as
will make him confess the whole truth. I can do it in less than
three days. Will you wait?”
“I would like to know something now,” persisted Harry.
“But I shall feel better if I bring you the proofs to support
my word,” said Hoyt. “Please let the matter rest, and say you
forgive me for what I have done to you.”
“I forgive you with all of my heart; and if you need money,
let me give you or lend you some. Please don’t do anything
wrong again, will you – for father’s sake?”
“I won’t – I promise you I won’t. But, before we separate,
let me tell you that Mr. Mortimer intends to discharge you
tomorrow.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Harry. “I thought he had given up
that idea.”
“So he had; but he has taken it up again, because he knows
that the men will strike if you are discharged, and he wishes
the men to strike.”
“What a wretch he must be!” cried Harry, indignantly.
“He is, he is. But you can foil his intentions toward the
men, I think.”
“How?”
“By going to the men when they are discussing the strike,
as they will be sure to do, and telling them frankly not to do it
for your sake, since you will be able to square your accounts
with Mr. Mortimer in another way. Don’t you see?”
“Yes; and, at the same time, I will be doing the men a real
service.”
“Certainly you will. Oh, one more thing. I do not ask any
leniency when it comes to the last and you are dealing with
Mr. Mortimer, but I would like if you would promise me not
to speak of this to anyone until I have submitted the proofs I
have spoken of.”
“I will not speak of it to a soul: and, as for leniency, Mr.
Hoyt, do you think I would ever betray you? Do not think it.
I would rather let Mr. Mortimer escape with all his ill-gotten
gains than risk injuring you.”
And Harry meant all he said.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” faltered Hoyt. “You are far
Page 33
too good to me.”
“Will you let me help you in some other way, Mr. Hoyt?
Won’t you take some money?”
“Not a cent, not a cent. I could not. But bless you for your
kindness. Let us separate now. There is another thing, howev-
er. These proofs that I have are written in chemical ink, so that
without the test they would seem like blank sheets of paper.
You see he took great care to hide his tracks.”
“Yes, yes. But do you know the test?” asked Harry, eagerly.
“Oh, yes! It is a mixture of equal parts of kerosene oil
and alcohol. Do you think you could get say a quart of each
and give it to me here tomorrow night? I would get it myself,
but—well, I cannot afford the money.”
“I will get it, of course,” promised Harry.
“Then good-by, and tomorrow night at this spot I will meet
you and tell you when and where I will meet you with the
restored writings. Would it be too much to ask you to shake
hands with me?”
Harry for answer gave him his hand and grasped his with a
hearty kindness. Then he went his way in a strange perturba-
tion of spirits.
Arthur Hoyt watched him until his hastening steps carried
him out of sight; then the heartless villain laughed his evil,
sneering laugh and muttered:
“Ah! let him tell the hands that he will get even with Mor-
timer in his own way; then let him buy alcohol and kerosene
for some mysterious purpose, and then let him meet me where
I shall designate, and I think he will be done for, and Mr. Mor-
timer will be in my power alone.”
CHAPTER XIII.
When Harry was away from Arthur Hoyt, and had had time
to think over all that had been said, he was sorry that he had
promised to say nothing to anybody of the conversation, and
he determined to ask for permission to tell Mr. Dewey.
A promise was a very serious thing to him, however, and
when he went to the mill, the next day, he did not even hint to
Mr. Dewey that he had learned anything new, not even to say
that he knew his discharge had been determined on.
He tried to work as if he suspected nothing; but, in spite of
himself, he could not help watching every boy who came into
the room from down stairs to see if he had a communication
for him or for Mr. Dewey.
Perhaps, too, there was a little feeling that he would be
glad to have, his discharge come as a sort of confirmation of
what Arthur Hoyt had told him, on the principle that if the
truth of a part were established, the truth of the whole would
be made more probable.
Not that he had any real suspicion that Hoyt had told him
anything but the truth, but, unconsciously to himself, there
may have been a hidden distrust of the young man who had
lent himself to so many wicked performances.
The discharge did not come until nearly noon, and then it
was taken directly to Harry, instead of being sent through Mr.
Dewey. One of the office boys brought it to him.
Harry could not help smiling at Mr. Dewey as he took the
note and opened it; and Mr. Dewey could not resist walking
over to learn the nature of the new communication from the
office, not in the least suspecting what it was.
“Read it,” said Harry, after having run his eye quickly over
 Page 34
it.
Mr. Dewey took it. It was addressed to Henry Wainwright,
at his room, and in the general department, so that there could
be no ground for misapprehension.
“You are hereby discharged from this mill. The discharge
to date at once on the receipt to this notification. Upon ap-
plication at the office, you will receive pay for the full day.
“james W. harms, General Manager.”
“Well!” was all Mr. Dewey could say for a moment.
“Maybe it’s in order to force me to go to college,” laughed
Harry.
“What does it imply?” said Mr. Dewey, indignantly. “And
after the way Mr. Mortimer talked to you, too! Well, he may
take the consequences. The men will be sure to strike.”
“The men mustn’t strike,” answered Harry, earnestly.
“I can’t stop them,” declared Mr. Dewey.
“Then I must try,” said Harry; “for I have reason to be-
lieve that one object in discharging me is to cause the men to
strike.”
“What reason, Harry?”
“That I cannot tell you yet, Mr. Dewey; and please don’t
ask me. Tell me how the men will go about it to strike.”
“They’ll talk it over at noon until they are mad; they will
think it over during the afternoon until they are madder; and
then they will have a meeting tonight and pass the resolution.”
“Do you think they would let me be there—at the meeting,
I mean?” asked Harry.
“Certainly. What will you do there?”
“Beg them not to strike. I shall tell them that I believe the
owners wish them to strike, and that it will be helping them
instead of me, for the reason that I have a way of settling my
own quarrel with Mr. Mortimer.”
“You have learned something new, then, Harry?”
“Yes, but I have promised not to speak of it yet, so please
don’t ask me.”
It all happened just about as Mr. Dewey had said. The men
no sooner learned of the discharge of Harry, and gained some
inkling of the circumstances leading to it, than they talked
it over angrily as they ate their dinners, and, when someone
proposed showing the general disapprobation of it by striking,
there was a general agreement. There was so much work on
hand that the men felt quite safe in striking.
They did think it over during the afternoon, as Mr. Dewey
had predicted, and did become more indignant the more they
thought of it, and the meeting was called, and promised to be
a very full one.
Harry went with the utmost good nature to receive his
money at the office, and was handed over a full day’s pay for
the half day he had worked.
He counted his money, took out a half-day’s pay, and
pushed it back to the clerk. “I have worked only a half-day
today, and shall take pay for only that time,” he said, and was
going away, when the clerk called after him:
“I advise you to take it. You’ll need it before you get an-
other job, I’m thinking.”
The other clerks laughed, as people will do even at a mean
joke, and Harry stopped and looked around.
For a moment he was disposed to be angry; then it oc-
curred to him what a different appearance things would have
in the eyes of the clerks if he should prove his right to what Mr.
June 2010
Mortimer now owned. He smiled pleasantly and answered:
“Oh, I think I can get along without it. Perhaps you gentle-
men had better divide it among you in case any of you should
lose your employment.”
They supposed he referred to the strike, the rumors of
which seemed to have reached the office at almost the first
word among the men. But as the strike would not affect them,
since they would be retained just the same, they could afford
to laugh at Harry’s words, and they did.
During the afternoon Harry bought the alcohol and the
kerosene, as agreed upon with Hoyt, and in the evening took
them with him to the place where he was to meet that scoun-
drel.
Hoyt was waiting for him, and cried out; as soon as he was
near to him:
“Did I not tell you you would be discharged? Did you
bring the oil and alcohol?”
“Here they are. Yes, I am discharged; but I hope not for
long.”
“No,” said Hoyt, exultantly, “not, for long. You have told
nobody what I revealed to you last night?” “Not a soul.”
“That is right. How can I ever repay your kindness to me?”
“You will repay it when you have put it in my power to
force Mr. Mortimer to return what he has robbed me of.”
“It is very good of you to say so, when in truth I am only
doing my plain duty toward you. I beg your pardon,” he add-
ed, hesitatingly, “but you offered to lend me some money last
night.”
‘’Yes, yes. Will you let me?” his generous nature respond-
ing in a moment.
“I did not wish to do it,” replied Hoyt, hypocritically; “but,
in order to carry out my plans to successfully help you, I must
have money—more, I am afraid, than you can procure for
me.”
“I have three hundred and fifty dollars in the bank,” said
Harry, eagerly.
“I needed five hundred, but, if you could let me have the
three hundred and fifty, I will contrive somehow. Believe me,
not a penny of it is for myself. No, I would not touch it for my
own use.”
“When do you wish it?” asked Harry. “It will take at least
half a day to get it. I shall have to draw through one of the
banks for it, and even by telegraphing I could not get it before
tomorrow afternoon.”
“That will be in time. Indeed, I don’t expect to be ready
with the proofs until Sunday. Will you meet me here tomor-
row night at the same time, so that I can tell you how I am
getting on?”
Harry answered “yes,” and excused himself for hurrying
away, saying that he must get back in order to attend the meet-
ing of the mill-hands, who were going to consider the strike.
“I hope you will be able to persuade them not to do it,” said
Hoyt, with every appearance of sympathy. “I know that if they
go out now, they will not get work again for three months;
and I have discovered that, if they remain at work, there is
an agreement among the mill-owners to keep the mills going
for at least two months longer, so that the men would then be
thrown out for only a month.”
“I shall do my best to persuade them to remain at work,”
assured Harry.
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“If you can only convince them that you will get satisfac-
tion some other way, I have no doubt of the result,” said Hoyt;
“for they are very fond of you. But don’t give any notice of
how you expect satisfaction, or you will put Mr. Mortimer on
his guard; and it is in his power to escape us yet. Why can’t
you say that you have your own way of balancing your ac-
counts with Mr. Mortimer and the mill, and that you only ask
them to wait until Monday?”
“Next Monday? So soon as that? But won’t that put Mr.
Mortimer on his guard ?”
“Oh, no!” replied Hoyt, with a smile that might have put
Harry on his guard, if he had seen it. “Mr. Mortimer is too sure
of his safety now to have any fear, unless you hint at the nature
of your plans.”
“Very well,” concluded Harry, turning to go, “I will take
your advice.”
Hoyt watched him out of sight and laughed softly, as he
muttered:
“What a gudgeon you are! You swallow hook and all, and
will be surprised to find yourself landed high and dry on Sun-
day night. See? You have bought oil and alcohol; you will
draw all your money out of the bank; you will publicly threat-
en Mr. Mortimer, and—you will disappear. A very good case
against you, I think.”
Harry hurried away from his betrayer without the faintest
premonition of the web of evidence against him in which he
was to be enmeshed.
The meeting of the mill-hands was already in active prog-
ress when he put in an appearance, and, being recognized at
once, he was invited to take a seat by the chairman.
He could see that the feeling of the meeting was very
strong, and he knew that it was not alone because he was a fa-
vorite with the men, but partly also because the circumstances
of the case roused their antagonism against the oppression of
the money class toward the labor class.
They had all heard the claim that Harry had prevented Har-
vey doing the act that had saved the train, and they believed
that he was discharged to gratify a private spite.
Harry could do nothing but sit and listen to the speeches—
some of them very angry and violent—until the motion was
made to strike until he was taken back; then, feeling very awk-
ward at the notion of getting up to make a speech, he stood
up, blushing and confused, until the first murmur of surprise
was over and the chairman had said: “Harry Wainwright has
the floor.”
“I know,” began Harry, stammering at first and speaking
too low to be heard, but gaining confidence at the sound of
his own voice—”I know I have no right to be here, or to say
anything, because I am not a member of the organization; but,
since I am the cause of the meeting being called, I hope you
will excuse me.”
“Go on!” “Hear, hear!” “Let’s hear what you have to say!”
and similar cries encouraged him, and he began to feel that it
was not as difficult as it had seemed to make a speech.
“What I wished to say was this: I’m not so vain as to sup-
pose it’s all on my account that you think of striking. I know
that it is because you don’t wish any injustice done to any
workman, though I can’t help believing that you all like me
just as I like you. My father was a workingman, and was al-
ways proud of it. He was so proud of it, and always taught me
Page 37
to be so proud of it, that when he died poor”—Harry’s voice
faltered a little, but grew strong again, the men shaking their
heads sympathetically—”when he died poor, I say, I was very
happy to know that I had such a liking for his old work that I
could go at it with a whole heart.”
The men applauded enthusiastically, and murmured to
each other that Harry was a chip of the old block, and would
be rich himself some day, he was so smart. Indeed, he was
making a very good speech— much better than he had any
idea of; though, to be-sure, he found he had no difficulty in
talking, and in coming at what he had to say in a gradual way
that carried the confidence of the workmen with him.
“I only say this,” he went on, “to make you feel that all my
sympathies are with you, and that whatever I say is with you
in my mind. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for think-
ing of doing this on my account, and if it was going to end in
anything good for you, I would not say a word against it; but I
assure you it will do you no good, and it won’t even do me any
good. If you strike, the owners will be glad, for it is just what
they wish you to do. You think you will be doing it to serve
me, when, in fact, you will be playing right into the hands of
the owners, who discharged me because they had heard a ru-
mor that you would strike if I was discharged.”
There was a great uproar at this, and everybody seemed to
be speaking at once, each, however, asking pretty nearly the
same question— “How do you know this?”
“I can’t tell you how I came to know it,” said Harry, when
there was quiet enough for him to be heard; “but I did hear it,
and am sure it is the truth. But that isn’t all. If you go out now,
you will have to stay out for at least three months, and you
know you can’t afford that. If I wasn’t sure of this I wouldn’t
say so. And then there is another thing: I don’t need any help.
I know that Mr. Mortimer doesn’t like me, and I know why a
great deal better than any of you. And what I want to tell you
is that I have my plans laid, and that he will be the sorry one.
Perhaps he will be sorry on Monday. Wait until then, anyhow,
and if I have nothing to tell you then, you may do as you
choose, so far as I am concerned.”
Harry sat down in the midst of a sensation that was natural
enough, considering the things he had said and the mysterious
manner in which he had said them.
Mr. Dewey immediately jumped to his feet, with a resolu-
tion that the meeting adjourn to Monday night, and as there
seemed no good reason for not doing so, the motion was car-
ried, the meeting was adjourned, and Harry was at once sur-
rounded by a curious, questioning crowd.
CHAPTER XIV.
The first thing Harry did the following morning, as soon as
the banks were open, was to go to the bank he had used when
he sent for the money to buy the bicycle for Harvey, and there
made a draft on his home bank for the three hundred and fifty
dollars he had there to his credit.
The bank promised to make use of the telegraph — and, in
fact, it did — and when Harry called again, in the afternoon,
the money was handed over to him. In the meantime, how-
ever, he had received a piece of news that was as unexpected
as it was unwelcome. A letter came from Mr. Harmon, saying
he had been called on most important business to Europe, and
would be gone a month or six weeks. Then there was a post-
Page 38
script, which made Harry wonder:
I have received a letter from Mr. Mortimer’s lawyer asking
about the shares to stock in that Tiny Hill gold mine. I think
there may be something in the mine, after all, or Mr. Mortimer
would not be inquiring after it, though the lawyer makes a
plausible excuse. The shares are in a safe deposit vault, and
cannot be touched in my absence. I tell you about this in order
that you may be on the alert to pick up any information. When
I come back I will have an investigation.”
It was particularly annoying to Harry to have Mr. Harmon
gone at just that time, for he had depended on him to look
after the matter of Mr. Mortimer’s rascality toward his father,
as soon as Hoyt had put the proofs in his hands. He consoled
himself, however, by thinking that, after all, the proofs were
the important things, and, with them in his possession, he
could either wait or find a lawyer in whom he could trust.
Later in the day he received another letter which caused
him even more surprise than the first, though it was in few
enough words,
“Meet me at the mill on Sunday night at eight o’clock. I
promise to satisfy you.
“Richard Mortimer.”
Harry would hardly have been more astonished if a piece
of the heavens had fallen. His first impulse was to show the
letter to Mr. Dewey; but, reflecting that his friend could give
him no valuable advice unless he was made acquainted with
all that had taken place during the past few days, he decided to
show the letter to Arthur Hoyt only and take his advice on it.
So that night, when he met Hoyt, he told him about the
receipt of the letter from Mr. Mortimer and asked his opinion
of it.
“He is frightened,” said Hoyt, confidently, “and I am glad
he is; for it falls in precisely with my wishes. I find by the pa-
pers I have been able to get hold of that the full confirmation
of everything relating to the patents and the mill property is
at the mill. Nevertheless, I know enough to frighten Mr. Mor-
timer into a full confession, and, if you will trust to me, I will
promise that he shall deliver over to you tomorrow night all
the papers necessary to prove your rights.”
“Then you would advise me to go?” questioned Harry.
“Assuredly. But not quite as he expects. My feeling is that
it must be a case of diamond cut diamond. Let us do nothing
to be ashamed of, but let us not do anything to give him an
advantage.”
“Well?” said Harry, doubtfully, for sharp practice was not
a thing he relished.
“You get there a quarter of an hour ahead of the time set
by him, and I will do the same. We can get into the mill by the
back door, which is always open, you know. The watchman
need not see us; for he walks around the building regularly,
and we can slip in when he has gone around the building.”
“But what for?” demanded Harry, uneasily.
“In order that I may show you the copies of the papers
which I have treated to the test, and which will not be ready
until then. You should have them during your interview with
Mr. Mortimer.”
Such stealth was very repugnant to Harry, and he made a
great many demurs before his wily companion could induce
him to promise to do it.
Then they separated, Harry ill at ease and wishing he had
June 2010
some advice on the subject, and Hoyt full of triumph.
“Oh,” said he, as if he had just thought of it, “will you let
me have the note Mr. Mortimer sent you, so that I can compare
it with some of the documents I have, and which are supposed
to be in his handwriting? I am familiar with his writing, but I
would like to be sure.”
Harry gave him the note without hesitation.
“Thank you,” said Hoyt. “We meet then near the mill a
little after half-past seven.”
“Yes,” rejoined Harry, unable to rid himself of an uneasy
feeling about the proposed visit to the mill, and quite forget-
ting the money he had until he had taken some steps away,
when it suddenly recurred to him, and he turned and called
out, “Oh, I had quite forgotten the money! I have it in my
pocket.”
“Never mind it now,” answered Hoyt. “I don’t wish to take
it until the last moment. Bring it with you tomorrow night.”
That night and all of the next day were filled with very
unsatisfactory thoughts for Harry. He had promised to do a
thing he did not approve of, and yet could see no good reason
why he should not do it after having promised that he would.
Sometimes he was on the point of going to Mr. Dewey
to tell him everything, and as often checked himself with the
remembrance of his promise to Hoyt.
When Sunday evening came he was glad, because it would
put an end to his doubts and waverings; and he walked over
toward the mill and made his way to the rear of it, without
making any great concealment of his movements.
Behind him, though he did not know it, stole Arthur Hoyt,
who did not approach him however until he was near the mill.
“At least fifty people,” chuckled Hoyt, “have seen him
coming this way. Oh, these very honest folks, how they do
play into the hands of the wicked ones! If I had told him what
to do, he could not have suited me better.”
He seemed innocent enough, however, when he hurried
up to Harry and stopped him, in the shadow of some of the
smaller outbuildings.
“I don’t like this at all,” said Harry, energetically.
“Nor do I,” agreed Hoyt, no less warmly; “and, if it were
not too late, I would say turn back. But it is too late, as I will
explain as soon as we are inside of the mill. Thank fortune,
everything has turned out beautifully, and you will never be
troubled by this thing again. Now,” he exclaimed, purposely
giving Harry no opportunity to speak, “run across to the door.
You know the waste room. Go there and wait for me. I won’t
be two minutes behind you.”
He pushed Harry, and the latter did as he was bidden and
ran quickly across the yard to the little door that was always
left open for the watchman.
The man had just turned the corner of the building, and
Harry was not seen. He entered the dark and gloomy mill, and,
knowing the way perfectly, hastened to the waste-room.
The waste-room was an iron-clad, fireproof little room, in
which cotton-waste that had been used, oil and other combus-
tible things were kept when it was necessary that they should
be in the building.
On this night, being Sunday, the regulations insisted that
the room should be empty of any dangerous article; and it was
empty.
Harry heard the footsteps of someone approaching, and
June 2010
then a whisper:
“Are you there, Harry?”
“Yes.”
“Go in, and I will follow you. I have a candle in my pock-
et.”
“Why do we come here?” asked Harry, uneasily.
“Safest place,” was the whispered answer. “Nobody can
hear us, and no light can be seen. Have you gone in?”
It seemed to harry that Hoyt’s voice had a peculiar intona-
tion, but he laid it to the fact that he (Harry) had entered the
room, while Hoyt stood outside.
“Yes, I’m in,” said Harry.
“Then stay in!” cried Hoyt, and the door clashed shut, even
while Harry was taking note of the changed tone of the voice,
now unmistakable.
Whether joke or earnest, and though Harry’s heart beat
rapidly in his breast at the thought of passing the night in that
ill-smelling, close room, he could not believe it other than
a joke, he yet threw himself instinctively against the door,
reaching it almost before it was quite shut.
But it shut, and he could hear the bolt shoot while he
pressed against it with all his weight.
What did it portend? What sort of a joke was it? There
came an answer to him, but his mind seemed of a sudden to
spring to a comprehension of the nature of the man who had
led him there.
“Let me out —let me out!” he shouted, and began to kick
on the door and beat it with his fists.
“Oh, no!” came the response, so muffled that he could
scarcely hear it. “You are in there to stay. Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Let me out, or it will be worse for you when I do get
out!”
“I suppose it would be if you ever got out,” was the an-
swer, as if from faraway.”Would you like to know why you are
there, and what is to become of you?”
“Let me out,” demanded Harry, the terror of the situation
overcoming his courage for the time.
“Don’t you wish to know?” asked the voice outside; and it
seemed to Harry that it was full of mockery.
He checked his inclination to cry out, and beat the door
again, and replied, as quietly as he could:
“Yes, tell me. What have I ever done to you? You can’t
keep me here forever.”
“Yes, I will tell you. Do you remember that you threatened
to get even with Mr. Mortimer, at the meeting of the men the
other night?”
“On your advice,” reminded Harry.
He could hear a mocking laugh from the other side.
“Yes, I advised that; and I advised your buying oil and al-
cohol, which you did. I also advised drawing all your money
out of the bank, which you did. Now, see what happens. The
men were to know by Monday what you were going to do.
Sunday night—that is, tonight—the mill takes fire and burns
down; Harry Wainwright has disappeared. Come to investi-
gate, and it is learned that he has threatened to be square with
Mr. Mortimer by Monday; he is known to have bought oil and
alcohol; he has been seen going toward the mill on Sunday
evening ; he is nowhere to be found, and somebody discovers
that he has drawn all of his money out of the bank.”
“Oh, you scoundrel!” screamed Harry, beside himself with
Page 39
the realization of the terrible wickedness of which he has been
the victim.
“I know it,” was the answer; “but I don’t intend that the
world shall know it. Why, I have even provided against the
impossible chance of your escape. The fire will not break out
here for about fifteen minutes. By that time I shall be with
some very good friends, who will testify for me in perfect
good faith.”
Even in his half-mad state, Harry could comprehend how
very completely the net around him had been woven. Nothing
he could ever say would relieve him of the burden of guilt. If
he escaped, it would be as a criminal.
Escape! Could he escape? He thought, in his extremity, to
appeal to the cupidity of the scoundrel.
“If you will let me out, I will give you half—I will give
you all the money my uncle stole from me.”
There came no answer, and he knew he was alone—alone
!—and in a few minutes he would be surrounded by fire. The
fire would creep around the little room, heating it hotter and
hotter. He might shriek and shout, and pound the door with his
poor hands, and never be heard!
CHAPTER XV.
It is not often that a boy is more brave or self-reliant than
Harry Wainwright was, but even his superior in those respects
must have succumbed at first to the terrors of the situation.
There was a little while, certainly, when Harry seemed
quite out of his head.
He knew he could not be heard, he knew he could neither
kick nor beat the iron door down, and yet be emitted cry on
cry till he was hoarse, he kicked and beat the door until he was
sorely bruised, before weakness and despair combined to tell
him that if he ever escaped it would be more by the use of his
wits than muscles.
Then he stooped down and crept in anguish all over the
little room, searching more eagerly for some weapon to use
against the door than ever miner searched for gold.
But there was not a thing in the room, excepting a small
piece of waste, and, having taken that in his hand, he threw it
away from him with a loud wail of despair.
“Oh, must I die here?” he moaned. “Is there nothing I can
do? Let me think.” He grasped his head in his hands as if to
compose the maddened brain. “ If I cry out no one will hear
me, but if I do not make some noise and any one should come
in before I am suffocated, I shall lose my chance. I will kick
the door with my heel, and never stop while strength remains.”
Sometimes the hopelessness of it overcame him and he
would moan and cry and call for help; then fear of losing what
slight chance there was would urge him on again, and, with
his heart throbbing madly, he would constrain himself to keep
up the regular thump, thump, thump with his heel.
And all the while, the moments passing with leaden stride,
he would snuff the close air for the odor of the smoke or of
flame, knowing that when they once had filled the mill his
hope of life was gone.
“Will no one help me? Must I be left to die here?” he
wailed.
“Harry, Harry!”
Surely that was the voice of someone calling him; or was it
his imagination fooling him? He stopped kicking.
Page 40
“Harry, Harry! How do I open it?”
It was a human voice. Yes, yes, it was! Someone had heard
him.
“It’s only bolted. Quick, quick! I am going mad in here.”
Indeed it seemed so. The agony, the stress of awful fear,
followed so suddenly by hope, had set him crying and laugh-
ing and trembling, till he actually believed he was going mad.
Then all at once there was a rush of cool air, and he stag-
gered out of the open door and lost consciousness in the arms
of some unknown person, who wavered under the sudden
weight and kept his feet with difficulty, but did not lose his
senses.
“Harry, Harry,” he cried, shaking him, “ the mill is on fire!
Come, stand up! The mill is on fire, I tell you.”
Harry was recovering himself almost as quickly as he had
lost his consciousness, but the other, not knowing it, had be-
gun to drag him out of the building, when Harry struggled to
his feet.
“Who are you?” were his first words.
“Bill Green. Come, or we’ll be burned up!”
Harry shook himself to recall his scattered senses.
“Yes, yes,” he said, “we must get out. That isn’t the way.
Come! I’m all right now. Follow me.”
Even then, odd as it may seem, he was full of curiosity to
know how Bill Green, of all persons, should be the one to find
him there and rescue him. However, it was not time for con-
versation of any sort, for the building was alight and blazing
in a dozen places at once.
Stumbling now and then, but making his way unerringly,
Harry led Bill to the little door he had entered at, and was
out of it with a rush. He wondered why no one was there, but
guessed at once that the watchman must have just discovered
the fire and gone to give the alarm.
The alarm! The thought recalled to him that he would
certainly be suspected, as Hoyt had said. What should he do
then? Remain and take his chances of refuting the evidence?
Or should he hide himself somewhere? At any rate, he must
hide until he had made up his mind what he should do.
“Come, Bill,” he said; “let us get away from here before
we are seen.”
“Why?” asked Bill, very naturally.
“If I am seen, I shall be suspected of having set the place
on fire,” replied Harry, “and you may be mixed up in it too.
Come! I’ll tell you about it when we are out of the way.”
There was no time to lose, for it could not be many minutes
before the flames would break out and call the whole town
around the mill.
Bill ran by the side of Harry toward a wooded hillside not
far away, that seeming to be the best place of concealment.
“I don’t see,” panted Bill, “why you should be afraid. If
you’d set fire to the place, you wouldn’t have gone in the
waste room, and, if you had, how could you have locked the
door on the outside?”
There was so much force in what Bill said that, when Har-
ry thought it over more coolly than he had been able to do at
first, it seemed to him that there really was no need for running
away. Perhaps he could turn the tables on his wicked enemies.
“That’s so, Bill,” he agreed; “but we’re not far from the
woods now, and we may as well go there to talk it over.”
They were both out of breath when they reached the woods,
June 2010
and so they sat and reflected while they regained their breath.
“How did you happen to find me, Bill?” said Harry: “and I
thought you didn’t like me.”
“You’re wrong there,” responded Bill, emphatically. “You
mean ‘cause I didn’t shake hands with you the other night?
Well, I’ll tell you about that. I was ashamed to do it, I was.
You see, you’d been generous and square with me all through,
and I’d been underhand. Then you saved Beth’s life, when I’d
have let her drown, not knowing who it was; and the more I
thought of it, the more mean I felt; and I just couldn’t shake
hands, that’s all there was about it.”
“Shake now,” said Harry.
The two boys clasped hands heartily.
“How it happened tonight,” went on Bill, “was this: I
saw you going through the streets, and while I was watching
you—for I liked to watch you and wish I was like you —I saw
that fellow, Hoyt, following you. I was so sure he was follow-
ing that I just up and went after him. Well, you don’t know
how surprised I was when I saw him push you along and you
run into the mill. I looked and looked, for I knew that fellow
never was up to any good. The only thing was, I knew dead
sure you wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t on the square, and
so I waited to see what come next. Then he followed you, and
I came pretty near going away; but something—maybe it was
only to see you again —made me wait, and I did till I saw
Hoyt come out without you.”
“There comes the crowds,” said Harry, interrupting. “Go
on! I didn’t mean to stop you.”
“After that I waited and waited, and you didn’t come, and
I began to feel uneasy, knowing what sort of fellow he was;
and then all of a sudden I saw the fire. I can’t tell you just how
I reasoned it out, but I knew you must be in there somewhere,
unable to get out. Then I ran in and found you. That’s all.”
“Well,” said Harry, simply, “you have saved my life. And
I tell you, Bill, it was awful to be in that room and know the
place was on fire, and might burn me up any time.”
“Oh, you knew it, did you?” asked Bill.
“Yes, I knew it, and I’ll tell you all about it; for there’s
nobody else to advise me, and you must.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” assured Bill.
So Harry, in sight of the blazing mill, now a mass of tower-
ing flame, and with the roaring noise of the crowd in his ears,
told Bill all the story of his intercourse with Hoyt. And when
he was through, he said:
“There! That’s why I wanted to get away from the mill.
What do you think?”
“Well,” said Bill, slowly, “I’ll tell you. If I had as good
a name as you’ve got, I’d say let’s go right up there and tell
the whole story just as you’ve told it to me; but, Harry, I ain’t
got a good name, and when it come to depending on me, I
wouldn’t be there.”
“Not got a good name, Bill?” questioned Harry.
“No. After you saved Beth that time, I made up my mind
to do different. So I got mother and Beth to come here with
me, and I’ve been as steady as anybody; but before that, I be-
longed to that Hollow Gang at Pelham—you know ?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, I belonged to that lot, and it was a hard lot, Harry,
as I don’t need to tell you. And one time there was a house set
on fire at Pelham Centre, and the Hollow Gang was arrested—
June 2010 Page 41

the whole lot of us. I had nothing to do with it—mind, I don’t
say I wouldn’t have had if I had the chance—but, anyhow, I
wasn’t in it, and I was given a couple of months and warned.”
“I see,” said Harry.
“And now, if I was to stand up a witness for you, the first
thing they’d do would be to find out my record. Then you’d be
done for, don’t you see?”
“Yes,” admitted Harry, sorrowfully. There was silence
between them for some time, Harry looking listlessly at the
burning building, and Bill looking at Harry.
“I say, Harry,” resumed Bill, presently, in a troubled voice,
“you believe me when I say I hadn’t anything to do with that
fire I told you about ?”
“Of course I do.”
“You didn’t say anything, and I was afraid maybe you were
sorry you’d shaken hands with me.”
“Sorry ! Bill, shake hands again,” replied Harry.
They shook hands, very much to Bill’s satisfaction, and
Harry went on, “No, I was thinking that there was nothing for
me to do but to run away somewhere, until I could think of
some way of straightening this thing out. And I tell you, Bill,
I don’t like running away.”
“I know that,” answered Bill. “Running away isn’t your
style.”
“And I don’t know where to go, or if I did how to get there.
I’ll be suspected for sure. Hoyt’ll make certain of that, and I’ll
be followed and searched for.”
“Hand bills out,” said Bill, remembering his own experi-
ence, “offering a reward. I suppose they’ll have your descrip-
tion pat.”
“Of course. Hoyt will be sure to know everything I have
on.”
“Got any money?” queried Bill, who had an intensely
practical mind and was already planning Harry’s escape.
“Don’t you remember, I told you about the three hundred
and fifty dollars?”
“Well, that’s a stroke of luck, anyhow,” said Bill, cheer-
ily. “Then I’ll tell you what you do. Undress yourself and put
on my clothes. They won’t fit like your own, and they’re no-
wheres near as good; but you’ll look like a gentleman in any-

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Page 42 June 2010

thing, so it won’t matter much.”
Harry believed the plan a good one and began to undress
at once.
Bill did the same, and in a few minutes the boys had ex-
changed outer clothing. The money and other contents of the
pockets were also exchanged. “What’s the next thing?” asked
Bill.
“The next thing is to decide where to go.”
“Have you any place in your mind?”
“No, not a place.”
“I’d go to New York; and I’ll tell you why. They will be
most likely to look in Boston for you, don’t you see? Besides,
you can hide in New York. I’ve been there, and I tell you it’s
a big place.”
“I suppose that is good advice. Yes, I will go. But how
shall I get there?”
“That’s so. No trains run on the Valley Road now. You’ll
have to walk over to the main line and catch a train there. You
can do it, I’m sure.”
“How far is it?”
“About twenty-five miles straight. Good road.”
“Phew!” said Harry. “But I can do it, and I will. They
sha’n’t catch me, if I can help it. Don’t tell a soul about this,
will you, Bill?”
“You didn’t need to ask that,” said Bill, in a hurt tone.
“I know it, Bill. The truth is, I wasn’t thinking so much of
you as I was of Mr. Dewey. I’d been thinking I would get you
to tell him; but I guess you’d better not, for he’s such a friend
of mine that he’d never be able to keep still, with everybody
saying I was a rascal.”
“Yes,” said Bill, who was showing himself a very shrewd
fellow; “but if he likes you so much as all that, won’t he be
for making a row when you don’t turn up? That would spoil
all your plans.”
“That’s so, too! You will have to tell him, Bill. Tell him
everything, and beg him not to say a word, no matter what
is charged against me. I think I see a way of getting out of
this scrape; but I’ll have to wait until my father’s lawyer gets
home from Europe, and that won’t be for six weeks.”
“I’ll tell him everything,” said Bill; “and I wish you luck.
And you know, without my telling you, that if there’s a thing
I can do for you at any time, you’ve only to let me know it.”
CHAPTER XVI
On Monday morning after the fire there were four hundred
men, women, boys and girls out of employment. If they had
been out of employment because of a strike, they would have
been quiet and sullen, but in a measure contented, and Harry
Wainwright, as the cause of the strike, would have been a sort
of a hero.
Being out of employment by reason of the fire, they were
all in a state of the utmost excitement and were bemoaning the
fate that had thrown them out of profitable work; and Harry,
instead of being a hero, was roundly denounced and execrated

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Those frenzied screams again ringing
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Something wrong! ran through
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“What’s that?” Ralph flung open
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June 2010
from one end of the town to the other.
For the rumor had been started the night before, during the
fire, that he was the cause of it ; that, in fact, this was the way
he had taken of getting even with Mr. Mortimer.
“Blast him!” said one of the men, to a crowd that had gath-
ered together to discuss the affair. “It don’t hurt Mortimer;
he’s the gainer, for they say the insurance covers everything.
We are the losers. There ain’t one of us that hasn’t lost clothes
or something in the fire, to say nothing of the wages. Hang-
ing’s too good for a whelp like that!”
Most of them had forgotten how much they had liked him.
But it was not much to wonder at if they had, for it certainly
did look, when the affair was investigated, as if Harry had
gone about his work of retaliation very systematically.
Somehow it came out that he had bought oil and alcohol,
that he had drawn all his money out of bank, and that he had
threatened Mr. Mortimer more than once.
Some of the men volunteered to tell what he had said at the
meeting to order a strike, and the clerk in the office told what
he had said when he drew his pay.
A description of Harry was made out, but it was not as
careful as Harry had supposed it would be, for Hoyt was sure
that Harry was dead, and so took no pains to see that it was
accurate.
A reward was offered, and the hope generally expressed
that he would be caught and given his deserts.
The railroad company was doubly glad not to have made
the mistake of giving a medal to such a young scoundrel, be-
cause they not only saved money thereby, but could now do
a graceful thing by sending a pleasant letter to Harvey Mor-
timer, giving him all the credit.
Mr. Mortimer was in such a state of virtuous indignation as
no man ever saw him in before.
He had nothing to testify to at the inquiry into the cause
of the fire, but he was there, and was very angry at the young
reprobate who had proved himself even worse than he had
supposed.
Mrs. Mortimer asked no questions of her husband about
the matter, and, indeed, had only heard that Harry had set the
mills on fire and run away.
She forbade anything to be said before Madge, but took no
other notice of the affair.
What she may have thought in her secret heart, no one
could tell; but Mr. Mortimer noticed that she made no remark
about the visit of Arthur Hoyt when he said casually that he
expected him.
He had not seen Hoyt since the fire, but had received word
from him that he would call that evening, which he did.
And it was noticeable to Mr. Mortimer that the young man,
though pale, wore a singularly menacing smile on his thin lips.
“Well, “said Mr. Mortimer, “ it looks as if we were rid of
that troublesome youngster for awhile anyhow.”
“Yes, I should think so,” answered Hoyt. “I think when we
see him again he won’t look quite the same.”
“You don’t imagine he will ever turn up again, do you ?”
asked Mr. Mortimer.
“You ought to know that better than I,” said Hoyt, very
coolly.
“Why ought I to know ?” asked Mr. Mortimer, with an air
of surprise. “It seems to me—”
Page 43
“Now, Mr. Mortimer,” interrupted Hoyt, “I don’t see the
use of playing the innocent with me. Of course, I don’t know
positively what you have done with the boy, but I can make a
pretty good guess.”
“What I have done with him!” repeated Mr. Mortimer,
staring at the young man, and shuddering a little as he noted
the peculiar expression of his beady eyes. “I don’t understand
you.”
Hoyt shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, well! just as you please. Only I would say that a man
can’t be too careful how he writes letters.”
Mr. Mortimer began to have a strange feeling of fear, as if
there were something threatening him that he could not com-
prehend.
“What letters do you talk of?” he asked.
Hoyt drew a letter from his pocket and read it.
“Meet me at the mill on Sunday night, at eight o’clock. I
will promise to satisfy you.
“Richard Mortimer.”
“I wrote that letter at your bidding, Hoyt; you know I did.
Come, Hoyt,” and he changed his excited tone to a good-na-
tured one, “let us end this nonsense and come to business.”
“Certainly,” answered Hoyt. “Only I ought to say that, if
it had not been that I assisted at the search of his room, this
letter might have fallen into other hands, and you would have
been ruined.”
“Well, give it to me, now that you have it,” said Mr. Mor-
timer, putting out his hand for the letter.
Hoyt folded it up again and quietly put it back in his pock-
et.
“I am sure it will be safer with me,” he said. “Just sup-
pose,” he went on, as if he could not help expostulating—”just
suppose the body of that boy should be found in the ruins
of the mill, where would you be, with this letter in evidence
against you? You ought to be more careful, Mr. Mortimer.”
Mr. Mortimer clutched the arms of his chair and his eyes
half-closed.
“What do you mean? Tell me, Arthur Hoyt, what you mean
by what you do and what you say? The boy’s body! He has
run away.”
“Very well; I don’t wish to have your confidence, if you
don’t wish to give it,” replied Hoyt, in the same even tone he
had used throughout the remarkable interview. “We will say
he has run away. Only remember this, in case trouble should
come from it at some future time. It is known that the boy did
go to the mill at eight o’clock, and there are those who say he
never was seen coming out.”
Mr. Mortimer passed his trembling hand across his brow,
as if to sweep away the fearful thoughts that had taken pos-
session of him.
“You are a monster, Arthur Hoyt,” he said, at last, in a
hoarse whisper. “I understand now. You have killed that boy,
and you bring that letter up as a proof against me. I will not
bear it. I had nothing to do with his death, and I will not admit
it even to you. You think to have me in your power; but you
shall not. I will denounce you. I have proofs enough that I
could not have been there at that—”
“I don’t wonder that you stop there,” sneered Hoyt. “
Where were you on Sunday night at eight o’clock?”
“Where was I?” repeated Mr. Mortimer, a look of horror
Page 44
coming into his face. “Oh, wretch, wretch that I am! I was
waiting for you from half-past seven to half-past eight, in your
room.”
“And of course you can prove that?” said Hoyt, his eyes
seeming to draw nearer together as they were bent fiercely on
Mr. Mortimer.
“No!” whispered he, shrinking away from the gaze of the
young man who held him in his power. “No, I cannot prove
it.” Then he recovered courage for a moment, or it may have
been desperation. “What do you want? How much money for
that letter?”
“Ah!” said Hoyt, drawing a breath of relief, as if the battle
had been won. “Now you are talking of something that inter-
ests me. How much money? That will depend upon several
things. Of course, in fairness, not a penny of what you took—
I won’t use a harsher word—took from Henry Wainwright,
ought to remain in your hands.”
“Don’t try to rob me!” pleaded Mr. Mortimer. “I have done
too much to get that money, to part with more than a fair share
of it.”
“Then it all depends upon your notion of a fair share. You
see you have me at a disadvantage. You know precisely how
much you are worth, and I can only guess at it. Suppose you
make me an offer. I won’t be hard on you, if you treat me half-
way right; but of course I must be generously dealt with. How
much shall it be?”
Mr. Mortimer, now that it had come to a bargain, began to
recover strength. He hesitated, then said:
“I will give you fifty thousand dollars.”
Hoyt smiled, and drew his chair up to a table and began to
figure on a piece of paper. Presently he looked up, and, under
the smile that sat upon his face, Mr. Mortimer could detect
that expression which had carried dread to his heart before.
“Fifty thousand dollars! Now, isn’t it singular that the
only difference between your figures and mine is nothing? It
sounds like a bit of foolishness, does it not? And yet a naught
is nothing, unless, indeed, you put it at the right hand end of
the row; and, now I look at my figures, I see that the naught
does come at the right hand end. What do you make of it?”
And he passed the paper over to Mr. Mortimer.
“Five hundred thousand dollars!” exclaimed Mr. Mortim-
er, looking at the paper. “It is far too much. I will give you one
hundred thousand.”
“Mr. Mortimer,” and there was an evil look in the black
eyes, “I am tired, and I don’t wish to waste any strength on
this matter. I will compromise. These are my final figures, I
wish you to understand. I will take four hundred thousand dol-
lars and all the stock you hold of Tiny Hill Mining Company.”
“You know of that, too?” gasped Mr. Mortimer.
“I know of everything, Mr. Mortimer, so you may as well
give up at once.”
“No,” said Mr. Mortimer, “I will not give you all the stock
I hold. Since you demand it, and I must yield to your demands,
I will give you four hundred thousand dollars: but I will give
you only half of the stock.”
“If I were not so tired I would insist,” replied Hoyt, with a
grim laugh: “but let us be partners. But what shall we do about
the stock that belongs to the Wainwright estate?”
“I have offered to buy it.”
“And you will divide with me if you get it?”
June 2010
“Yes.”
“And when will the money and the shares be ready for
transfer?”
“I suppose it will take a week,” answered Mr. Mortimer,
in a low tone.
Hoyt stood up and took his hat. He went toward the door a
few steps and then turned back.
“You may have some notion of trying to play me a trick,
Mr. Mortimer ; but I assure you it will be useless. I have every
precaution taken. I came into this affair at your solicitation,
and if fate has made me the master instead of you, you ought
to be willing to accept the result. Besides, if it had not been for
me, it is not alone a small part of your fortune that would have
gone, but the whole of it; for the boy you—”
“Don’t dare to say it! You shall never taunt me with that. I
warn you do not try. I pay for the letter, but I accept no burden
of that crime. You do not know me if you think you can urge
me that far.”
Hoyt laughed.
“Let it be, then,” he said. “The boy knew everything, and
would have relieved you of every penny. And then there would
have been the disgrace.”
A week later the transfer was made, Mr. Mortimer pale and
haggard, Arthur Hoyt pale and smiling.
“Now,’’ said the latter, when he was fairly in possession
of the money for which he had risked so much, “do you know
what I am going to do?”
Mr. Mortimer looked at him with hollow eyes, thinking,
perhaps, he would be glad if he could name the place he must
go to.
“I am going,” said Hoyt, “to look at that Tiny Hill gold
mine. I enjoy travel, I think I have earned it, and the mine
ought to be looked after.”
********************************
A wearisome walk and a ride full of dread fell to the lot of
Harry on that Sunday night of the fire: but he did reach New
York in safety, and found there a hotel where he could lodge
for a small sum daily.
The papers the next day and the next had something to
say about the fire, and descriptions of him were published;
but they reassured him rather than frightened him, though he
did not go about much, and had a terrible feeling of shame
because he trembled at the sight of every policeman.
“If I were guilty I could not be more wretched,” he said,
indignantly, to himself.
But, try as he would, he could not relieve himself of the
feeling of being a criminal in hiding. He wished for Mr. Har-
mon to advise him; he thought of writing to Mr. Dewey for
advice; he thought of going to some New York lawyer.
The latter plan he rejected as too dangerous, for the oftener
he went over the points in his favor, and those against him, the
worse the case against him looked.
But remain in New York, afraid of every footstep, watching
every policeman, trembling every time anybody was touched,
he simply could not; and so, one day, after a deal of worried
thought, he suddenly brightened up and exclaimed;
“Why didn’t I think of it before? I will go to the Tiny Hill
gold mine, and find out if there, is anything in it. I will go
tomorrow morning.”
to be continued...
June 2010
THE OLD WOLF OF
WEST FORK
continued from page 1...
“Among these tall tufts buffalo grass covers the ground
in a thick mat, excellent for sheep except during January and
February—the months of snow. In summer the rankest grass
along the river is cut for hay by the careful ranchman and de-
posited in stacks, or under sheds, to tide over the stock during
the worst months.
“On first starting out, Holman invested in cattle, but find-
ing it less profitable than sheep, he changed to the latter. Then
he sent for me to come out and herd for him.
“Father did not at first think favorably of my going out
there to the rough, hard life of a herder. But I was enthusias-
tic to see the new country, and after much reluctance on his
part, and a good deal of coaxing on mine, he consented. And I
never shall forget the morning I started. I could scarcely wait
for the old red stage which ran between W and the station,
four miles beyond my father’s. That was in Maine, boys, the
land of potatoes and snowdrifts.
“To herd sheep is not very hard work, but terribly monoto-
nous. The herder is expected to stay near the flock, and try to
keep within sight, for fear of coyotes.
“These fellows will steal right from under one’s very nose;
but it is difficult to keep the sheep in sight—they are such
creatures to stroll about, and are always scudding into some
out-of-the-way place.
“There were nearly two thousand sheep on the range, most-
ly merinos, and they were divided into several flocks, each
flock having its own herder. At night they were driven up near
the ranch, and secured in corrals, or yards, fenced about two or
three feet high with scrub birch, so that generally there was no
need of a guard through the night.
“During the spring of the year that I went out, the flocks
had been more or less molested by a wolf, as they thought by
the track seen on several occasions, for it carried on its dep-
redations so slyly that no one had been able to get sight of it.
A good many sheep had been taken while straying when out
on the range – always the best, too – and once or twice a lamb
from the corrals, right in the teeth of the dogs.
“It was useless to watch for the creatures about the corrals
nights. For its sense of smell was so keen that it always seemed
aware of the presence of the herder, and never approached.
Some thought that his den might be among the foot-hills of
the Cascades, a few miles to the west, for his range was a large
one, the brute visiting several ranches besides our. Others
scouted the idea of his crossing the river.
“He was very fastidious, too, and only ate the choicest mor-
sels of his victims, so it took a good many sheep and lambs to
carry him through the year. Many were the hunts the herd-boys
had after him, with their dogs, but they always lost track at the
Fork, sometimes at one place, sometimes at another.
“In September the wolf became so mischievous that an-
other hunt was instituted, two of the herd-boys of the Bird
ranch, next to ours, joining, with their dog. It was early
morning, and his track was quite fresh. The dogs set off, al-
most wild with excitement, but the wolf led them a long chase.
Then all at once they seemed baffled. They had lost his trail,
Page 45
and they raced up and down the Fork for miles, howling and
greatly nonplused. Then the herders thought that the old fellow
must have ‘doubled’ his track back to where it made a circle
off in another direction, but by following it they found it only
led to the river some distance below.
“They were now persuaded that the wolf had swum to the
other side, and gone to the mountains. Their boats were all
down river, so we gave him up for that time, and, as he did not
troublous immediately, we took no further notice of him.
“He foraged off in another direction, as we could hear com-
plaints coming from the different ranches. He seemed to be an
old settler, and knew the country well.
“But along in autumn, after the first fall of snow, there was
fresh cause for another hunt, and this time I took a boat, and,
with one of the dogs, rowed to the other side of the Fork, and
followed up the river, while one of the herders, a Scotch boy,
tracked him up on the opposite shore.
“We thought there could be no mistake this time. When
about two miles up, the track was lost on the river-bank, as
usual, by the Scotch boy’s dog, and now I thought my dog
would be sure to find it on our side, and we would soon have
the creature in his lair.
“It was a hopeless puzzle, however, for old Nap, my dog,
ran up and down that side for an hour without getting scent,
and at last he sat down on his haunches, with his tongue lolling
out, looking fairly beaten and disgusted.
“We concluded that the wolf had drowned this time sure,
for he was neither one side nor the other, and there was not a
crevice nor tree-root on either bank that we had not examined
carefully, we thought.
“Here we were mistaken again. The old fellow was not
drowned, and was at Bird’s flock not ten days after, and again
a party of lumbermen, saw him on the Cascade foot-hills—a
powerful, blackish-gray brute, that looked as if he had figured
in many hard battles.
“The snow soon fell to the depth of several inches, but we
used to take the sheep out on the range every day—the cut
of hay that season being small—and let them ‘rustle,’ as dig-
ging for the bunch grass is called; and it is a very odd sight to
see two or three thousand little merinos all digging industri-
ously in the light, dry snow- and gnawing the grass snug to the
ground. We herders traveled back and forth to keep ourselves
warm, while our dogs trampled themselves nests in clumps of
sage and curled up like hedge-hogs.
“Toward the latter part of February there was a terribly cold
spell; then all at once a ‘ Chinook,’ or hot blizzard, the people
called it, rushed in from the southwest, and in a few hours
nearly cleared the ground of snow. That made it easier feeding
for the sheep, and taking advantage of it they strayed in an ag-
gravating way.
“It was then we had another visit from our old enemy, who
had not been near us since the fall. That was a sly way he had.
After fairly raising one neighborhood about his ears he would
coolly take himself off to another locality till the besieged sec-
tion had time to forget his depredations.
“One day, toward night, some of my flock had wandered
down toward the river to nibble birch, and leaving the dog on
his sage bunk I went off in an opposite direction to overtake a
part of the flock that had gone across the ‘bottom’ toward the
higher land. I had not proceeded far when I heard Nap break
Page 46
out into a fierce growl, and then bark and rush forward, while
the sheep dashed hither and thither wildly. Then I saw a large,
blackish-grew animal leaping off toward the birch thicket by
the river, with Nap in hot pursuit. On they went out of sight,
but the dog soon came back, looking as though he had met
with more than his match. He limped and his ears and neck
were badly torn. Evidently the old wolf – for by the lumber-
man’s description it must have been the same one seen on the
mountain – was no mean antagonist to encounter.
“But that was his last visit to our ranch. One day early in
June my brother gave me a holiday to go out on the river. It
was lowering and rather dark, just the kind of day for fishing.
I took a canoe and rowed leisurely up river to where a haw-
thorn thicket grew upon the bank, supposing that here I might
find good ground; but trying my luck up and down for some
time and not feeling so much as a bite, I reeled in my line and
rowed up river, looking for a favorable locality to throw in
my hook.
“When about two miles from the ranch, I came to a place
where the left bank was high, with overhanging cliffs and
scrub birch leaning out over the river. Here the water was
quite deep and dark and still, and rowing in under the cliffs, I
was about to tie my canoe to a projecting rock, preparatory to
giving my whole attention to sport, when a low growl saluted
my ear, seeming to come from somewhere out of the bank. I
hastily pushed out, and listening some time for the sound to be
repeated, that I might locate the beast, I gave it up and thought
perhaps it might have come from the bank overhead. I again
rowed close in, but the moment my oar grated on the rocks the
growl sounded louder and harsher, threatening my approach.
“I felt sure now that there must be a cave in under the cliffs,
and ducking my head, pushed my canoe under the shelving
rocks. It was dark enough in there; but from out the gloom the
fiery glint of two bright eyes shone at me.
“I was unarmed, and had no desire to crawl into that hole
empty-handed, with a creature of whose genus I had no knowl-
edge, but of whose savage nature I had no reason to doubt.
“I let discretion have the reins and backed out, paddling
down river as fast as I could toward the ranch for help.
“Before I had gone very far, I espied Jack McKenney, a
gentleman of leisure in that section, who paid the most of his
attention to hunting.
“The prospect of an encounter with game gave me a will-
ing assistant, and taking Jack in the canoe, we rowed back to
the cave under the cliffs.
“Cautiously backing under the projecting rocks again, we
were sainted by the same ominous growl. The animal had not
stirred from his den.
“Getting in as far as possible, guided by the sounds, we
made an examination of the place. The cave in which the ani-
mal had made his den was far beneath the projecting rocks, so
that it could not be seen from either bank, and he could not get
down to it from the rocks above. The only way he could have
reached it was by swimming across the river and scratching
up into it.
“Pulling out, as the beast would not show himself, we cut
some long birch-poles, and again working up to the den. I
prodded down into it, while Jack held his rifle ready.
“At the first thrust, the animal leaped out, upsetting me
completely, and throwing me over the side of the boat.
June 2010
“But Jack was ready for him, and the brute had scarcely
touched the water, when the report of the rifle rang out.
“It was the veritable old wolf that had troubled us so long.
“The situation of the den now accounted for the dogs al-
ways losing scent at the river-bank, though generally any-
where but near this place. He must have approached it by
swimming sometimes a long distance.
“The den had been most cunningly chosen to evade pur-
suit; but how he ever happened to discover it remains a mys-
tery to me!”
THE END
TOM SWIFT & HIS
WIRELESS MESSAGE
continued from page 20...
men divided themselves between two others that were hastily
erected on the beach. The remainder of the food and stores
was taken from the wreck of the airship, and when dark-
ness began to fall, the camp was snug and comfortable,
a big fire of driftwood burning brightly.
“Oh, if only we can sleep without being awakened by
an earthquake!” exclaimed Mrs. Nestor, as she prepared
to go into the shack with Mrs. Anderson. “But I am al-
most afraid to close my eyes!”
“If it would do any good to stay up and watch, to tell
you when one was coming, I’d do so,” spoke Tom, with
a laugh, “but they come without warning.”
However, the night did pass peacefully, and there was
not the least tremor of the island. In the morning the
castaways took courage and, after breakfast, began dis-
cussing their situation more calmly.
“It seems to me that the only solution is to build some
sort of a raft, or other craft and leave the island,” said
Mr. Fenwick.
“Bless my hair brush!” cried Mr. Damon. “Why can’t
we hoist a signal of distress, and wait for some steamer
to see it and call for us? It seems to me that would be
more simple than going to sea on a raft. I don’t like the
idea.”
“A signal would be all right, if this island was in the
path of the steamers,” said Captain Mentor. “But it isn’t.
Our flag might fly for a year, and never be seen.”
His words seemed to strike coldness to every heart.
Tom, who was looking at the wreck of the airship, sud-
denly uttered an exclamation. He sprang to his feet.
“What is it?” demanded Mr. Fenwick. “Does your
sore leg hurt you?”
“No, but I have just thought of a plan!” fairly shouted
the young inventor. “I have it! Wait and see if I can work
it!”
“Work what?” cried Mr. Damon.
Tom did not get a chance to answer, for, at that mo-
June 2010
ment, there sounded, at the far end of the island, whence
the yacht castaways had come, a terrific crash. It was
accompanied, rather than followed, by a shaking, trem-
bling and swaying of the ground.
“Another earthquake!” screamed Mrs. Nestor, rushing
toward her husband. The castaways gazed at each other
affrighted.
Suddenly, before their eyes, they saw the extreme end
of that part of the island on which they were camping,
slip off, and beneath the foaming waves of the sea, while
the echoes of the mighty crash came to their ears!
CHAPTER XVIII
MR. JENKS HAS DIAMONDS
Stunned, and well-nigh paralyzed by the suddenness
of the awful crash, and the recurrence of the earthquake,
the castaways gazed spell-bound at one another.
Succeeding the disappearance of the end of the island
there arose a great wave in the ocean, caused by the im-
mersion of such a quantity of rock and dirt.
“Look out!” yelled Tom, “there may be a flood here!”
They realized his meaning, and hastened up the beach,
out of reach of the water if it should come. And it did.
At first the ocean retreated, as though the tide was going
out, then, with a rush and roar, the waves came leaping
back, and, had the castaways remained where they had
been standing they would have been swept out to sea.
As it was the flood reached part of the wreck of the
airship, that lay on the beach, and washed away some of
the broken planks. But, after the first rush of water, the
sea grew less troubled, and there was no more danger
from that source.
True, the whole island was rumbling and trembling in
the throes of an earthquake, but, by this time, the refu-
gees had become somewhat used to this, and only the
two ladies exhibited any outward signs of great alarm,
though Mr. Barcoe Jenks, Tom observed, was nervously
fingering the belt which he wore about his waist.
“I guess the worst is over,” spoke Mr. Fenwick, as
they stood looking toward where part of the island had
vanished. “The shock expended itself on tearing that
mass of rock and earth away.”
“Let us hope so,” added Mr. Hosbrook, solemnly.
“Oh, if we could only get away from this terrible place!
We must hoist a signal of distress, even if we are out of
the track of regular vessels. Some ship, blown out of her
course may see it. Captain Mentor, I wish you and Mr.
Fordam would attend to that.”
“I will, sir,” answered the commander of the ill-fated
Resolute. “The signal shall be hoisted at once. Come on,
Mr. Fordam,” he added, turning to the first mate.
“If you don’t mind,” interrupted Tom, “I wish you
would first help me to get what remains of the airship up
out of reach of any more possible high waves. That one
Page 47
nearly covered it, and if there are other big rollers, the
wreck may be washed out to sea.”
“I can’t see that any great harm would result from
that,” put in Mr. Jenks. “There isn’t anything about the
wreck that we could use to make a boat or raft from.”
Indeed, there was little left of the airship, save the mass
of machinery.
“Well, it may come in handy before we leave here,”
said Tom, and there was a quiet determined air about
him, that caused Mr. Damon to look at him curiously.
The odd gentleman started to utter one of his numerous
blessings, and to ask Tom a question, but he thought bet-
ter of it. By this time the earthquake had ceased, and the
castaways were calmer.
Tom started toward the airship wreck, and began pull-
ing off some broken boards to get at the electrical ma-
chinery.
“I guess you had better give Mr. Swift a hand, Captain
Mentor,” spoke the millionaire yacht owner. “I don’t
know what good the wreck can be, but we owe consider-
able to Mr. Swift and his friends, and the least we can do
is to aid them in anything they ask. So, Captain, if you
don’t mind, you and the mate bear a hand. In fact, we’ll
all help, and move the wreck so far up that there will be
no danger, even from tidal waves.”
Tom looked pleased at this order, and soon he and all
the men in the little party were busy taking out the elec-
trical apparatus, and moving it farther inland.
“What are you going to do with it, Tom?” asked Mr.
Damon, in a low voice, as he assisted the young inventor
to carry a small dynamo, that was used for operating the
incandescent lights.
“I hardly know myself. I have a half-formed plan in
my mind. I may be able to carry it out, and I may not. I
don’t want to say anything until I look over the machin-
ery, and see if all the parts which I need are here. Please
say nothing about it.”
“Bless my toothpick! Of course, I’ll not,” promised
Mr. Damon.
When the removal of most of the machinery of the
wrecked airship had been completed, Mrs. Nestor ex-
claimed:
“Well, since you are moving that out of harm’s way,
don’t you think it would be a good idea to change our
camp, also? I’m sure I’ll never sleep a wink, thinking
that part of the island may fall into the ocean at any mo-
ment in the night, and create a wave that may wash us all
out to sea. Can’t we move the camp, Mr. Swift?”
“No reason why we can’t,” answered the lad, smiling.
“I think it would be a good plan to take it farther back.
We are likely to be here some time, and, while we are
about it, we might build more complete shelters, and
have a few more comforts.”
The others agreed with this idea, so the little shacks
Page 48
that had been erected were taken down, and moved to
higher ground, where a better outlook could be had of
the surrounding ocean. At the same time as safe a place
as possible, considering the frequent earthquakes, was
picked out--a place where there were no overhanging
rocks or cliffs.
Three huts were built, one for the two ladies, one for
the men, and third where the cooking could be done.
This last also held the food supplies and stores, and Tom
noted, with satisfaction, that there was still sufficient to
eat to last over a week. Mr. Fenwick had not stinted his
kitchen stores.
This work done, Captain Mentor and Mate Fordam
went to the highest part of the island, where they erected
a signal, made from pieces of canvas that had been in
the life boat. The boat itself was brought around to the
new camp, and at first it was hoped that it could be re-
paired, and used. But too large a hole had been stove in
the bottom, so it was broken up, and the planks used in
making the shacks.
This work occupied the better part of two days, and
during this time, there were no more earthquakes. The
castaways began to hope that the island would not be
quiet for a while. Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Nestor as-
sumed charge of the “housekeeping” arrangements, and
also the cooking, which relieved Tom from those duties.
The two ladies even instituted “wash-day,” and when a
number of garments were hung on lines to dry, the camp
looked like some summer colony of pleasure-seekers,
out for a holiday.
In the meanwhile, Tom had spent most of his time
among the machinery which had been taken from the
airship. He inspected it carefully, tested some of the ap-
paratus, and made some calculations on a bit of paper.
He seemed greatly pleased over something, and one af-
ternoon, when he was removing some of the guy and
stay wires from the collapsed frame of the Whizzer, he
was approached by Mr. Barcoe Jenks.
“Planning something new?” asked Mr. Jenks, with an
attempt at jollity, which, however, failed. The man had a
curious air about him, as if he was carrying some secret
that was too much for him.
“Well, nothing exactly new,” answered Tom. “At best
I am merely going to try an experiment.”
“An experiment, eh?” resumed Mr. Jenks, “And might
I ask if it has anything to do with rescuing us from this
island?”
“I hope it will have,” answered Tom, gravely.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Jenks. “Well, now I have a
proposition to make to you. I suppose you are not very
wealthy, Mr. Swift?” He gazed at Tom, quizzically.
“I am not poor,” was the young inventor’s proud an-
swer, “but I would be glad to make more money--legit-
imately.”
June 2010
“I thought so. Most everyone would. Look here!”
He approached closer to Tom, and, pulling his hand
from his pocket, held it extended, in the palm were a
number of irregularly-shaped objects--stones or crystals
the lad took them to be, yet they did not look like ordi-
nary stones or crystals.
“Do you know what those are?” asked Mr. Jenks.
“I might guess,” replied Tom.
“I’ll save you the trouble. They are diamonds! Dia-
monds of the very first water, but uncut. Now to the
point. I have half a million dollars worth of them. If you
get me safely off this island, I will agree to make you a
quarter of a million dollars worth of diamonds!”
“Make me a quarter of a million dollars worth of
diamonds?” asked Tom, struck by the use of the work
“make.”
“Yes, ‘make,’” answered Mr. Jenks. “That is if I can
discover the secret--the secret of Phantom Mountain.
Get me away from the island and I will share my knowl-
edge with you--I need help--help to learn the secret and
help to make the diamonds--see, there are some of the
first ones made, but I have been defrauded of my rights-
-I need the aid of a young fellow like you. Will you
help? See, I’ll give you some diamonds now. They are
genuine, though they are not like ordinary diamonds. I
made them. Will you--”
Before Tom could answer, there came a warning rum-
ble of the earth, and a great fissure opened, almost at the
feet of Mr. Jenks, who, with a cry of fear, leaped toward
the young inventor.
CHAPTER XIX
SECRET OPERATIONS
“Help me save this machinery!” yelled Tom, whose
first thought was for the electrical apparatus. “Don’t let
it fall into that chasm!”
For the crack had widened, until it was almost to the
place where the parts of the wrecked airship had been
carried.
“The machinery? What do I care about the machin-
ery?” cried Mr. Jenks. “I want to save my life!”
“And this machinery is our only hope!” retorted Tom.
He began tugging at the heavy dynamos and gasoline
engine, but he might have saved himself the trouble,
for with the same suddenness with which it opened, the
crack closed again. The shock had done it, and, as if sat-
isfied with that phenomena, the earthquake ceased, and
the island no longer trembled.
“That was a light one,” spoke Tom, with an air of
relief. He was becoming used to the shocks now, and,
when he saw that his precious machinery was not dam-
aged he could view the earth tremors calmly.
“Slight!” exclaimed Mr. Jenks. “Well, I don’t call it
so. But I see Captain Mentor and Mr. Hosbrook coming.
June 2010
Please don’t say anything to them about the diamonds.
I’ll see you again,” and with that, the queer Mr. Jenks
walked away.
“We came to see if you were hurt,” called the captain,
as he neared the young inventor.
“No, I’m all right. How about the others?”
“Only frightened,” replied the yacht owner. “This is
getting awful. I hoped we were free from the shocks, but
they still continue.”
“And I guess they will,” added Tom. “We certainly are
on Earthquake Island!”
“Mr. Parker, the scientist, says this last shock bears
out his theory,” went on the millionaire. “He says it will
be only a question of a few days when the whole island
will disappear.”
“Comforting, to say the least,” commented Tom.
“I should say so. But what are you doing, Mr. Swift?”
“Trying an experiment,” answered the young inven-
tor, in some confusion. He was not yet ready to talk
about his plans.
“We must begin to think seriously of building some
sort of a boat or raft, and getting away from the island,”
went on the millionaire. “It will be perilous to go to sea
with anything we can construct, but it is risking our lives
to stay here. I don’t know what to do.”
“Perhaps Captain Mentor has some plan,” suggested
Tom, hoping to change the subject.
“No,” answered the commander, “I confess I am at a
loss to know what to do. There is nothing with which
to do anything, that is the trouble! But I did think of
hoisting another signal, on this end of the island, where
it might be seen if our first one wasn’t. I believe I’ll do
that,” and he moved away, to carry out his intention.
“Well, I think I’ll get back, Tom, and tell the others
that you are all right,” spoke Mr. Hosbrook. “I left the
camp, after the shock, because Mrs. Nestor was worried
about you.” The place to which the airship machinery
had been removed was some distance from the camp,
and out of sight of the shacks.
“Oh, yes. I’m all right,” said Tom. Then, with a sud-
den impulse, he asked:
“Do you know much about this Mr. Barcoe Jenks, Mr.
Hosbrook?”
“Not a great deal,” was the reply. “In fact, I may say I
do not know him at all. Why do you ask?”
“Because I thought he acted rather strangely.”
“Just what the rest of us think,” declared the yacht
owner. “He is no friend of mine, though he was my guest
on the Resolute. It came about in this way. I had invited
a Mr. Frank Jackson to make the trip with me, and he
asked if he could bring with him a Mr. Jenks, a friend
of his. I assented, and Mr. Jackson came aboard with
Mr. Jenks. Just as we were about to sail Mr. Jackson re-
ceived a message requiring his presence in Canada, and
Page 49
he could not make the trip.”
“But Mr. Jenks seemed so cut-up about being de-
prived of the yachting trip, and was so fond of the water,
that I invited him to remain on board, even if his friend
did not. So that is how he came to be among my guests,
though he is a comparative stranger to all of us.”
“I see,” spoke Tom.
“Has he been acting unusually strange?” asked Mr.
Hosbrook suspiciously.
“No, only he seemed very anxious to get off the is-
land, but I suppose we all are. He wanted to know what
I planned to do.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No, for the reason that I don’t know whether I can
succeed or not, and I don’t want to raise false hopes.”
“Then you would prefer not to tell any of us?”
“No one--that is except Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Damon.
I may need them to help me.”
“I see,” responded Mr. Hosbrook. “Well, whatever it
is, I wish you luck. It is certainly a fearful place--this
island,” and busy with many thoughts, which crowded
upon him, the millionaire moved away, leaving Tom
alone.
A little while after this Tom might have been seen in
close conversation with Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick.
The former, on hearing what the young inventor had to
say, blessed himself and his various possessions so of-
ten, that he seemed to have gotten out of breath. Mr.
Fenwick exclaimed:
“Tom, if you can work that it will be one of the great-
est things you have ever done!”
“I hope I can work it,” was all the young inventor re-
plied.
For the next three days Tom, and his two friends, spent
most of their time in the neighborhood of the pile of ma-
chinery and apparatus taken from the wrecked Whizzer.
Mr. Jenks hung around the spot, but a word or two from
Mr. Hosbrook sent him away, and our three friends were
left to their work in peace, for they were inclined to be
secretive about their operations, as Tom did not want his
plans known until he was ready.
The gasoline motor was overhauled, and put in shape
to work. Then it was attached to the dynamo. When this
much had been done, Tom and his friends built a rude
shack around the machinery shutting it from view.
“Humph! Are you afraid we will steal it?” asked Mr.
Parker, the scientist, who held to his alarming theory
regarding the ultimate disappearance of the island.
“No, I simply want to protect it from the weather,” an-
swered Tom. “You will soon know all our plans. I think
they will work out.”
“You’d better do it before we get another earthquake,
and the island sinks,” was the dismal response.
But there had been no shocks since the one that nearly
Page 50
engulfed Mr. Jenks. As for that individual he said little
to any one, and wandered off alone by himself. Tom
wondered what kind of diamonds they were that the odd
man had, and the lad even had his doubts as to the value
of the queer stones he had seen. But he was too busy
with his work to waste much time in idle speculation.
CHAPTER XX
THE WIRELESS PLANT
The castaways had been on Earthquake Island a week
now, and in that time had suffered many shocks. Some
were mere tremors, and some were so severe as to throw
whole portions of the isle into the sea. They never could
tell when a shock was coming, and often one awakened
them in the night.
But, in spite of this, the refugees were as cheerful as
it was possible to be under the circumstances. Only Mr.
Jenks seemed nervous and ill at ease, and he kept much
by himself.
As for Tom, Mr. Damon and Mr. Fenwick, the three
were busy in their shack. The others had ceased to ask
questions about what they were doing, and Mr. Nestor
and his wife took it for granted that Tom was building
a boat.
Captain Mentor and the mate spent much time gazing
off to sea, hoping for a sight of the sail of some vessel,
or the haze that would indicate the smoke of a steamer.
But they saw nothing.
“I haven’t much hope of sighting anything,” the cap-
tain said. “I know we are off the track of the regular
liners, and our only chance would be that some tramp
steamer, or some ship blown off her course, would see
our signal. I tell you, friends, we’re in a bad way.”
“If money was any object--,” began Mr. Jenks.
“What good would money be?” demanded Mr. Hos-
brook. “What we need to do is to get a message to some-
one--some of my friends--to send out a party to rescue
us.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Mr. Parker, the scientist.
“And the message needs to go off soon, if we are to be
saved.”
“Why so?” asked Mr. Anderson.
“Because I think this island will sink inside of a
week!”
A scream came from the two ladies.
“Why don’t you keep such thoughts to yourself?” de-
manded the millionaire yacht owner, indignantly.
“Well, it’s true,” stubbornly insisted the scientist.
“What if it is? It doesn’t do any good to remind us of
it.”
“Bless my gizzard, no!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “Sup-
pose we have dinner. I’m hungry.”
That seemed to be his remedy for a number of ills.
“If we only could get a message off, summoning help,
June 2010
it would be the very thing,” sighed Mrs. Nestor. “Oh,
how I wish I could send my daughter, Mary, word of
where we are. She may hear of the wreck of the Reso-
lute, and worry herself to death.”
“But it is out of the question to send a message for
help from Earthquake Island,” added Mrs. Anderson.
“We are totally cut off from the rest of the world here.”
“Perhaps not,” spoke Tom Swift, quietly. He had come
up silently, and had heard the conversation.
“What’s that you said?” cried Mr. Nestor, springing
to his feet, and crossing the sandy beach toward the lad.
“I said perhaps we weren’t altogether cut off from the
rest of the world,” repeated Tom.
“Why not,” demanded Captain Mentor. “You don’t
mean to say that you have been building a boat up there
in your little shack, do you?”
“Not a boat,” replied Tom, “but I think I have a means
of sending out a call for help!”
“Oh, Tom--Mr. Swift--how?” exclaimed Mrs. Nestor.
“Do you mean we can send a message to my Mary?”
“Well, not exactly to her,” answered the young inven-
tor, though he wished that such a thing were possible.
“But I think I can summon help.”
“How?” demanded Mr. Hosbrook. “Have you man-
aged to discover some cable line running past the island,
and have you tapped it?”
“Not exactly.” was Tom’s calm answer, “but I have
succeeded, with the help of Mr. Damon and Mr. Fen-
wick, in building an apparatus that will send out wire-
less messages!”
“Wireless messages!” gasped the millionaire. “Are
you sure?”
“Wireless messages!” exclaimed Mr. Jenks. “I’ll give-
-” He paused, clasped his hands on his belt, and turned
away.
“Oh, Tom!” cried Mrs. Nestor, and she went up to
the lad, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him;
whereat Tom blushed.
“Perhaps you’d better explain,” suggested Mr. Ander-
son.
“I will,” said the lad. “That is the secret we have been
engaged upon--Mr. Damon, Mr. Fenwick and myself.
We did not want to say anything about it until we were
sure we could succeed.”
“And are you sure now?” asked Captain Mentor.
“Fairly so.”
“How could you build a wireless station?” inquired
Mr. Hosbrook.
“From the electrical machinery that was in the wrecked
Whizzer,” spoke Tom. “Fortunately, that was not dam-
aged by the shock of the fall, and I have managed to set
up the gasoline engine, and attach the dynamo to it so
that we can generate a powerful current. We also have
June 2010 Page 51

a fairly good storage battery, though that was slightly and asked all manner of questions.
damaged by the fall.” Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Damon came in for their share
“I have just tested the machinery, and I think we canof attention, for Tom said had it not been for the aid
send out a strong enough message to carry at least a of his friends he never could have accomplished what
thousand miles.” he did. Then they all trooped up to the little shack, and
“Then that will reach some station, or some passing inspected the plant.
ship,” murmured Captain Mentor. “There is a chance As the young inventor had said, it was necessarily
that we may be saved.” crude, but when he set the gasoline motor going, and
the dynamo whizzed and hummed, sending out great,
“If it isn’t too late,” gloomily murmured the scientist.
“There is no telling when the island will disappear be- violet-hued sparks, they were all convinced that the
neath the sea.” young inventor had accomplished wonders, considering
But they were all so interested in Tom’s announce- the materials at his disposal.
ment that they paid little attention to this dire forebod- “But it’s going to be no easy task to rig up the send-
ing. ing and receiving wires,” declared Tom. “That will take
some time.”
“Tell us about it,” suggested Mr. Nestor. And Tom did.
He related how he had set up the dynamo and gaso- “Have you got the wire?” asked Mr. Jenks.
line engine, and how, by means of the proper coils and “I took it from the stays of the airship,” was Tom’s
reply, and he recalled the day he was at that work, when
other electrical apparatus, all of which, fortunately, was
aboard the Whizzer, he could produce a powerful spark. the odd man had exhibited the handful of what he said
were diamonds. Tom wondered if they really were, and
“I had to make a key out of strips of brass, to produce
he speculated as to what might be the secret of Phantom
the Morse characters,” the lad said. “This took consider-
Mountain, to which Mr. Jenks had referred.
able time, but it works, though it is rather crude. I can
click out a message with it.” But now followed a busy time for all. Under the direc-
“That may be,” said Mr. Hosbrook, who had been tion of the young inventor, they began to string the wires
from the top of the dead tree, to a smaller one, some dis-
considering installing a wireless plant on his yacht, and
who, therefore, knew something about it, “you may send tance away, using five wires, set parallel, and attached
a message, but can you receive an answer?” to a wooden spreader, or stay. The wires were then run
“I have also provided for that,” replied Tom. “I haveto the dynamo, and the receiving coil, and the necessary
made a receiving instrument, though that is even more ground wires were installed.
crude than the sending plant, for it had to be delicately “But I can’t understand how you are going to do it,”
adjusted, and I did not have just the magnets, carbons, said Mrs. Nestor. “I’ve read about wireless messages,
coherers and needles that I needed. But I think it will but I can’t get it through my head. How is it done, Mr.
work.” Swift?”
“Did you have a telephone receiver to use?” “The theory is very simple,” said the young inventor.
“Yes. There was a small interior telephone arrange- “To send a message by wire, over a telegraph system,
ment on Mr. Fenwick’s airship, and part of that came a battery or dynamo is used. This establishes a current
in handy. Oh, I think I can hear any messages that may over wires stretched between two points. By means of
come in answer to ours.” what is called a ‘key’ this current is interrupted, or bro-
“But what about the aerial wires for sending and re- ken, at certain intervals, making the sounding instru-
ceiving messages?” asked Mr. Nestor. ment send out clicks. A short click is called a dot, and a
long click a dash. By combinations of dots, dashes, and
“Don’t you have to have several wires on a tall mast?”
spaces between the dots and dashes, letters are spelled
“Yes, and that is the last thing to do,” declared Tom.
out. For instance, a dot and a space and a dash, represent
“I need all your help in putting up those wires. That tall
tree on the crest of the island will do,” and he pointedthe letter ‘A’ and so on.”
to a dead palm that towered gaunt and bare like a ship’s “I understand so far,” admitted Mrs. Nestor.
mast, on a pile of rocks in the centre of Earthquake Is- “In telegraphing without wires,” went on Tom, “the
land. air is used in place of a metallic conductor, with the help
of the earth, which in itself is a big magnet, or a battery,
CHAPTER XXI as you choose to regard it. The earth helps to establish
MESSAGES INTO SPACE the connection between places where there are no wires,
Tom Swift’s announcement of the practical comple- when we ‘ground’ certain conductors.”
tion of his wireless plant brought hope to the discour- “To send a wireless message a current is generated by
aged hearts of the castaways. They crowded about him, a dynamo. The current flows along until it gets to the
Page 52
ends of the sending wires, which we have just strung.
Then it leaps off into space, so to speak, until it reach-
es the receiving wires, wherever they may be erected.
That is why any wireless receiving station, within a cer-
tain radius, can catch any messages that may be flying
through the air--that is unless certain apparatus is tuned,
or adjusted, to prevent this.”
“Well, once the impulses, or electric currents, are sent
out into space all that is necessary to do is to break, or
interrupt them at certain intervals, to make dots, dash-
es and spaces. These make corresponding clicks in the
telephone receiver which the operator at the receiving
station wears on his ear. He hears the code of clicks, and
translates them into letters, the letters into words and
the words into sentences. That is how wireless messages
are sent.”
“And do you propose to send some that way?” asked
Mrs. Anderson.
“I do,” replied Tom, with a smile.
“Where to?” Mrs. Nestor wanted to know.
“That’s what I can’t tell,” was Tom’s reply. “I will
have to project them off into space, and trust to chance
that some listening wireless operator will ‘pick them
up,’ as they call it, and send us aid.”
“But are wireless operators always listening?” asked
Mr. Nestor.
“Somewhere, some of them are--I hope,” was Tom’s
quiet answer. “As I said, we will have to trust much
to chance. But other people have been saved by send-
ing messages off into space; and why not we? Sinking
steamers have had their passengers taken off when the
operator called for help, merely by sending a message
into space.”
“But how can we tell them where to come for us--on
this unknown island?” inquired Mrs. Anderson.
“I fancy Captain Mentor can supply our longitude and
latitude,” answered Tom. “I will give that with every
message I send out, and help may come--some day.”
“It can’t come any too quick for me!” declared Mr.
Damon. “Bless my door knob, but my wife must be wor-
rying about my absence!”
“What message for help will you send?” Captain
Mentor wanted to know.
“I am going to use the old call for aid,” was the reply
of the young inventor. “I shall flash into space the three
letters ‘C.Q.D.’ They stand for ‘Come Quick--Danger.’
A new code call has been instituted for them, but I am
going to rely on the old one, as, in this part of the world,
the new one may not be so well understood. Then I will
follow that by giving our position in the ocean, as nearly
as Captain Mentor can figure it out. I will repeat this call
at intervals until we get help--”
“Or until the island sinks,” added the scientist, grimly.
June 2010
“Here! Don’t mention that anymore,” ordered Mr.
Hosbrook. “It’s getting on my nerves! We may be res-
cued before that awful calamity overtakes us.”
“I don’t believe so,” was Mr. Parker’s reply, and he
actually seemed to derive pleasure from his gloomy
prophecy.
“It’s lucky you understand wireless telegraphy, Tom
Swift,” said Mr. Nestor admiringly, and the other joined
in praising the young inventor, until, blushing, he hur-
ried off to make some adjustments to his apparatus.
“Can you compute our longitude and latitude, Captain
Mentor,” asked the millionaire yacht owner.
“I think so,” was the reply. “Not very accurately, of
course, for all my papers and instruments went down in
the Resolute. But near enough for the purpose, I fancy.
I’ll get right to work at it, and let Mr. Swift have it.”
“I wish you would. The sooner we begin calling for
help the better. I never expected to be in such a predica-
ment as this, but it is wonderful how that young fellow
worked out his plan of rescue. I hope he succeeds.”
It took some little time for the commander to figure
their position, and then it was only approximate. But at
length he handed Tom a piece of paper with the latitude
and longitude written on it.
In the meanwhile, the young inventor had been con-
necting up his apparatus. The wires were now all strung,
and all that was necessary was to start the motor and
dynamo.
A curious throng gathered about the little shack as
Tom announced that he was about to flash into space the
first message calling for help. He took his place at the
box, to which had been fastened the apparatus for click-
ing off the Morse letters.
“Well, here we go,” he said, with a smile.
His fingers clasped the rude key he had fashioned from
bits of brass and hard rubber. The motor was buzzing
away, and the electric dynamo was purring like some
big cat.
Just as Tom opened the circuit, to send the current into
the instrument, there came an ominous rumbling of the
earth.
“Another quake!” screamed Mrs. Anderson. But it
was over in a second, and calmness succeeded the in-
cipient panic.
Suddenly, overhead, there sounded a queer crackling
noise, a vicious, snapping, as if from some invisible
whips.
“Mercy! What’s that?” cried Mrs. Nestor.
“The wireless,” replied Tom, quietly. “I am going to
send a message for help, off into space. I hope someone
receives it--and answers,” he added, in a low tone.
The crackling increased. While they gathered about
him, Tom Swift pressed the key, making and breaking
June 2010
the current until he had sent out from Earthquake Island
the three letters--”C.Q.D.” And he followed them by
giving their latitude and longitude. Over and over again
he flashed out this message.
Would it be answered? Would help come? If so, from
where? And if so, would it be in time? These were ques-
tions that the castaways asked themselves. As for Tom,
he sat at the key, clicking away, while, overhead, from
the wires fastened to the dead tree, flashed out the mes-
sages.
to be continued...
WAIT AND HOPE
continued from page 27
“Can you send them to the Cunard steamer at East
Boston? I sail for Europe today, and have bought these
to read on the way.”
“Certainly, sir. When does the steamer start on her
voyage?”
“At twelve o’clock. Don’t fail to have them there on
time, as I shall be greatly disappointed to miss them.”
“We won’t fail, sir.”
When the gentleman had left the store, Ben was sum-
moned.
“Ben, do you know the Cunard Wharf in East Bos-
ton?” asked the book-keeper.
“I can easily find it.”
“Here is a package of books to be carried there.”
“All right, sir,” said Ben, rather glad of the chance to
be out in the open air for a time.
“They are for Mr. James Parker. If you don’t find him
leave them with the steward. They will be safe with
him.”
“Very well, Mr. Porter.”
So Ben took the package, and made his way towards
the East Boston ferry.
On board the boat he looked around him, thinking it
possible that he might recognize some one of his fellow-
passengers. Considerably to his surprise he noticed, at
some distance, a face and figure with which he was quite
familiar. They belonged to Mr. Archer, superintendent
of the factory at Milltown, whom he had not seen since
the latter declined to take him on again at the mill. “I
wonder what brings Mr. Archer here?” thought Ben.
His surprise, however, was only momentary. There
was nothing strange in the superintendent’s having busi-
ness at East Boston. Ben noticed, however, that Mr. Ar-
cher wore a travelling-suit, and carried a knapsack.
‘’ He looks as if he were starting on a journey. Shall I
speak to him?”
Ben would have liked to inquire if Squire Archer had
seen his aunt lately, if they had been on friendly terms;
but he was very doubtful how his advances would be
Page 53
received, and remained where he was, unnoticed by his
townsman.
The boat touched the pier and the passengers disem-
barked. Ben was two or three rods behind the squire.
Our hero inquired the way to the steamer, and had no
difficulty about obtaining the necessary information. To
his additional surprise Squire Archer seemed to have
the same destination as himself. In fact, he crossed the
gangway only a little in advance of Ben.
“What can be the squire’s business here?” thought
Ben, in surprise.
It never occurred to him that the mill superintendent
might be going abroad. He had received a letter from his
aunt the day previous, and she had written nothing on
the subject, as she would have been sure to do, had she
known of any such intention.
Ben halted on deck, and looked around for some of-
ficer to whom he could intrust the package. At this mo-
ment Squire Archer turned and saw Ben for the first
time. He started and changed color, as Ben could see.
For an instant he looked irresolute. Then he approached
Ben, and said, roughly, “What brings you here?”
“I am here on business,” answered Ben, who did not
quite like the superintendent’s brusque tone.
“On business! What business?” demanded Squire Ar-
cher, suspiciously.
“I have a package of books for one of the passengers.”
“Oh, I see,” said the mill superintendent, seeming to
be relieved. “You are working in a book-store,” he add-
ed, more graciously.
“Yes, sir.”
“What firm is it?”
“Jones & Porter.”
“Oh, yes, I know. I have often been in their store. How
do you like your place?”
Squire Archer’s tone was quite genial and friendly,
though there was an uneasy expression on his face.
“Very well, sir.”
“If you ever get out of a place, come to me,” said the
squire, in a friendly tone. “I will take you on at the mill
any time.”
“I thought you said my record was not good, Squire
Archer,” Ben could not help saying.
“So I did,” said the superintendent; “but I was mis-
taken. I was thinking of another boy at the time.”
Ben did not believe a word of this; but the explanation
was worth something to him. He could quote it if at any
time his rejection should be alleged against him.
“I am glad to hear it, sir,” he answered. “I felt dis-
turbed about it at the time.”
“Of course. I believe you and Sam had a little differ-
ence.”
“Yes, sir; but I don’t think I was to blame.”
“I don’t care to inquire into that. Boys will have their
Page 54
little tiffs. You and Sam will laugh over it when you
become a little older.”
Squire Archer had never seemed so kind and pleasant.
Ben began to think he had misjudged him.
“I would like to be friends with Sam,” he said. “I shall
be ready to meet him half-way.”
“I will tell him so tonight,” said the superintendent.
“By the way, I suppose you are rather surprised to see
me here. You didn’t think I was going to Europe?” he
inquired, with a forced smile.
“No, sir, I didn’t think that. I suppose you couldn’t be
spared at the mill.”
“Quite true, my boy. I can’t be spared for so long. I
wish I could. I have long wanted to make a European
tour; but I am tied down at home by business. However,
that doesn’t explain why I am here.”
“Don’t tell me sir, unless you like. It is none of my
business.”
“To be sure. In fact there is a little secret about it; but
I don’t mind telling you,” said the squire, confidentially.
Ben felt more and more surprised. Was this the proud
Squire Archer, who carried his head so high? How did
it happen that he should unbend so far as to speak so
confidentially to him?
“If there is a secret about it, perhaps you had better not
tell me,” said Ben.
“Oh, I am quite willing to tell you; but you must not
say anything about it till after the steamer has sailed.
The fact is, a man, who owes the mill a large sum of
money, it is suspected has taken passage on board this
steamer, with the intention of going to Europe and evad-
ing the payment of his debt. I can’t tell you his name, as
that might interfere with my plans. I am here to intercept
him, and prevent his departure.”
“I hope you will succeed, Squire Archer,” said Ben,
who never thought of doubting this statement, which
seemed plausible enough.
“Thank you, Ben. You see, therefore, that it is essential
for me to keep my presence here secret till the steamer
sails. I will go downstairs now, and place myself on the
watch. Whom do you wish to see, — the steward?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There he is now.”
Squire Archer pointed out a man near at hand. As Ben
started towards him, he said, “ Don’t forget to come and
see me if you ever lose your place.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Ben delivered his parcel, and prepared to leave the
steamer.
As he made his way back to the ferry he could not help
thinking over the details of his interview with Squire
Archer.
“He spoke very kindly, and seemed very friend-
ly,” thought Ben. “My feelings towards him are quite
June 2010
changed. I wonder if Sam will ever come round in the
same way. I hope so. I don’t like to be enemies with
anybody.”
It was ten o’clock when he got back to the store. He
did not mention there that he had met anyone whom he
knew. He felt bound to respect Squire Archer’s secret
till after twelve o’clock at all events.
In the afternoon he had so much to attend to that the
meeting did not occur to him. At the close of the af-
ternoon he was walking up Washington Street with the
book-keeper, when the latter bought a copy of the “Eve-
ning Transcript.” He glanced casually at the first page,
read intently a paragraph which he found there, and then
turned to Ben.
“Ben, you are from Milltown, are you not?”
“Yes, Mr. Porter.”
“Do you know a man named Archer living there?”
“Certainly; he is the superintendent of the mill there.”
“Well, here is a paragraph about him. It seems he has
left the town, with fifty thousand dollars belonging to
the corporation. His flight has made a great sensation.
The police are on his track, and it is thought that he will
be arrested and brought back.”
“Good gracious!” ejaculated Ben. “That explains it
then.”
“Explains what?”
“I saw Squire Archer this morning, on the Cunard
steamer. He told me not to mention having seen him till
after the steamer had started.”
“Is it possible!” exclaimed young Porter, surprised.
“Did he give you any explanation?”
“Yes; he said he was looking out for a man who owed
money to the mill, whom he suspected of taking secret
passage for Europe.”
“What a sly old fox! He is the man that owes money
to the mill.”
“I’m sorry for the family,” said Ben, soberly. “Poor
Sam!”
“Isn’t Sam your enemy?”
“He has been, but I am sorry for him all the same.”
“You are a good boy, Ben. I like you all the better for
not exulting over the misfortunes of your enemy.”
“I am not so mean as that, Mr. Porter.”
CHAPTER XXX.
SAM IS IMPROVED BY ADVERSITY.
MR. ARCHER’S flight made a great commotion in
Milltown. He had been supposed to be a man of large
means. No one entertained a suspicion of his integrity.
He had for some years, it appeared, been appropriating
the funds of the corporation to his own use, being trea-
surer as well as superintendent. When exposure was
inevitable he fled. The discovery was made before he
could leave the country; but he had covered his tracks,
June 2010
and, successfully evading pursuit, was on his way to
Europe before he could be captured.
To Sam and his mother it was a great blow, not only
on account of the disgrace, but also because it involved
poverty and a narrow style of living. To persons of
then- pretensions this was heavy to bear. They were
not altogether penniless. Mrs. Archer had property of
her own, to the amount of four thousand dollars, which
was unimpaired. But, even at a liberal rate of interest,
this would not support them. The absconding superin-
tendent left a letter for his wife, concluding in rather
mysterious terms, informing her that he was called
away suddenly on important business, and could not
tell definitely how long he would be absent. He had
not dared to tell the truth, lest it should serve as a clue
to those whom he had wronged. Mrs. Archer was not
long left in doubt as to his meaning. When she heard
the truth, she was quite overwhelmed; Sam, too, was
covered with humiliation. He did not think so much of
the wrong done by his father as of the consequences
to himself. He would be as poor as Ben Bradford, he
thought, and Ben would doubtless exult over his down-
fall. It was natural for Sam to reason thus, for that was
precisely what he would have done under similar cir-
cumstances.
So he remained in the house, dispirited and resentful
against the father who had brought this upon him, till
he got tired of the confinement and walked out, seek-
ing the most unfrequented streets. He hoped to meet no
one whom he knew, but at the corner of the street he
fell in with James Watson.
“He is one of Ben Bradford’s friends. He will rejoice
at what has happened,” thought Sam, and he tried to
hurry by. But James stopped him, and said in a friendly
tone, “Are you out for a walk, Sam? Let us walk to-
gether.”
“I didn’t know as you’d care to walk with me,” said
Sam, half sullenly.
“Why not?”
“After what’s happened.”
“It’s nothing that you are to blame for, Sam. I hope
you don’t think I am mean enough to rejoice over your
misfortune.”
“I didn’t know but you might. You are a friend of
Ben Bradford.”
“Ben will feel just I do.”
“No, he won’t.”
“He will be very sorry. He won’t think of any little
difference there has been between you.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Sam, shaking his head.
“You will, as soon as you see him. You mustn’t lose
courage, Sam. I know it’s bad for you, but —”
“I don’t know what’s going to become of us,” said
Page 55
Sam, despondently. “We shall be poor.”
“That isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you.”
“It’s pretty bad. You know how we have been ac-
customed to live. Now I shan’t be any better off than
Ben.”
“Ben is happy enough. He has to work, of course,
and so I suppose will you. But it won’t be as bad as you
suppose. It will make a man of you.”
“Father has treated us very badly.”
“He has done wrong; but he is your father, and it is
better for others to blame him than you. Remember,
Sam that I am your friend, and if I can do anything for
you I will.”
Sam’s better feelings were touched by this unexpect-
ed sympathy from a boy whom he had supposed hostile
to him.
“Thank you, James,” he said. “You are a good fellow,
— much better than I thought. I supposed you would
be glad I was down in the world.”
“You won’t have such a bad opinion of me again,
Sam?”
“No, I won’t.”
Sam was destined to be still more surprised. The next
day he received the following letter from Ben Brad-
ford: —
DEAR SAM, —I am very sorry to hear of your
misfortune. Of course, no one can blame you or your
mother. I believe I was the last acquaintance to see
your father before he left Boston. I had occasion to go
on board the Cunard steamer which sailed on Wednes-
day. On the deck I met your father, and had a little
conversation with him. He did not tell me that he was
going to Europe; but he was in a travelling dress, and,
no doubt, he was.
What has happened will, no doubt, make some dif-
ference in your plans. If you wish to get a situation in
Boston, I may be able to help you to one. At the begin-
ning of next month there will be an opening for a boy
in an establishment on Milk street. The wages will not
exceed five dollars a week; but it would be difficult for
a beginner to do better. If you wish, I will try to get this
place for you. At any rate, I hope you will regard me as
a friend who wishes you well. The little quarrel there
has been between us is not worth remembering.
Your sincere friend,
BEN BRADFORD.
To say that Sam was surprised to receive this cordial
letter from a boy whom he had so persistently tried to
injure will hardly express his feelings. He was over-
Page 56
whelmed with astonishment, mingled with shame.
How could he have treated Ben so?
“Ben is a great deal better than I am,” he was forced
to admit. “I don’t deserve such kindness from him.”
As to the offer to obtain him a place in Boston, this
was quite acceptable to Sam. He understood that in his
altered circumstances he would have to work; but he
didn’t care to go into the factory. Indeed, it is doubt-
ful whether those at present in charge would be will-
ing to employ the son of the defaulting superintendent.
He was anxious to get away from Milltown, where
his father’s disgrace was known to all. He had always
fancied that he should like to live in Boston, and this
would give him an opportunity.
He showed Ben’s letter to his mother.
“I think I had better ask Ben to get me the place,” he
said.
“To think my son should be indebted to the widow
Bradford’s nephew for a place!” moaned the proud
woman.
“Ben’s a first rate-fellow, mother. I am sorry I ever
treated him as I did.”
“It is very humiliating to think we are dependent on
him for a favor.”
“I don’t know about that, mother,” said Sam, upon
whom adversity was having a salutary effect. “That’s
the way I used to feel; but I made a mistake. If Ben
were not a good fellow he would not have written such
a kind letter. We must not be too proud.”
“We have no right to be proud now. We shall have
scarcely enough to support us in the humblest manner.”
“ My wages will help, mother. I shall get five dollars
a week. That will be two hundred and sixty dollars a
year.”
Even Mrs. Archer was surprised at the change in
Sam. He spoke manfully and hopefully.
“Do you think you will be willing to work?” she
asked, doubtfully.
“Of course I shall; that is, if I can work in Boston. I
don’t want to stay here.”
“Nor I,” said Mrs. Archer. “After what has happened
it will be very unpleasant to meet the people. Besides,
we should have to leave our fine home and live in some
humble tenement.”
“Suppose we both go to Boston, then. We can get in
at some boarding-house.”
“I am afraid our income won’t be sufficient.”
“For two or three years you can spend some of your
principal, mother. By that time I shall be getting higher
wages, and it may not be necessary.”
Mrs. Archer was cheered by Sam’s words, but could
not conceal her surprise.
“I didn’t expect that you would take it so, Sam,” she
June 2010
said. “I did not suppose you would be willing to work
for small pay.”
“I think I have been a fool, mother. Yesterday I felt
bad enough. I thought everybody would rejoice in our
ruin. But I met James Watson, and found him kind and
ready to help me. Then I have got this letter from Ben,
who is also ready to be a friend. I am going to see if I
can’t do something. Shall I write to Ben, accepting his
offer?”
“If you think best, Sam.”
Ben received the following answer to his letter: —
DEAR BEN— I thank you for your kind letter. I feel
very much ashamed of the way I have treated you in the
past. I didn’t know what a good fellow you were. I am
afraid I shouldn’t have behaved as well in your place.
As to your offer I accept it thankfully. I shall be very
glad to get the place you speak of. Mother and I intend
to move to Boston, as it is no longer agreeable to stay
here. Do you know of any boarding-house where the
prices are reasonable, for we cannot afford to pay high
rates? If you do, please find out on what terms we can
be accommodated, and let me know.
There was more, but this was the essential part.
Ben was gratified to find his offer received in good
part.
“Sam has improved,” he thought.
Not to dwell upon details, it may be said that by the
first of the succeeding month Sam and his mother were
comfortably established in a boarding-house on Har-
rison avenue, near Ben’s, and Sam had entered upon
his duties in Milk street. Ben had been successful in
securing the place for him.
CHAPTER XXXI
CLOUDS IN THE SKY.
Ben felt that he and his aunt were fortunately situat-
ed. He was in receipt of a salary of eight dollars a week,
of which he had to pay but four for board, his friend, the
book-keeper, making up the balance charged by his landla-
dy. From the time when his salary was raised he had regu-
larly laid aside two dollars a week, which he had deposited
in the savings-bank on School Street. His aunt, having no
rent to pay, easily got along on her income from work and
from the liberal board paid for little Emma. She, therefore,
needed no help from Ben.
“I am getting on,” thought Ben, complacently regard-
ing his bank-book, at the end of three months. “I am worth
twenty-six dollars already. Whenever my pay is raised I
can save faster.”
But Ben did not take into account that circumstances
might change. He took it for granted that his aunt would
need no help from him; but here he found himself unhap-
pily mistaken.
June 2010
Little Emma, his aunt’s boarder, was a child of pleas-
ant disposition, and had given as little trouble to Mrs.
Bradford as could have been expected of a child of her
age. Her health, too, had been excellent, until all at once
she became pale and thin, and her strength was evident-
ly diminishing. Mrs. Bradford felt it her duty to report
this to Mr. Manning, the child’s guardian. By his direc-
tion a skilful physician was consulted, who gave it as
his opinion that the best thing for the child would be a
sea-voyage. This was, of course, communicated to Mr.
Manning.
“Fortunately,” he responded, “I shall be able to give
the child what she needs, — the opportunity of trying
the effect of sea-air. My sister starts in a fortnight for
Europe. She will be absent six months. I have prevailed
upon her to undertake the charge of Emma, during that
time. If, as I fully anticipate, she returns in good health,
I shall be very glad to place her again under your charge.
I feel that she has been admirably cared for. Certainly
she has been happy and contented. Early next week I am
to visit Boston on business. I will extend my journey to
Milltown, and will be glad if you will have Emma ready
to go back with me.”
Mrs. Bradford read this response with mixed emo-
tions. She was glad that the little girl, to whom she had
become quite attached, would have a chance to recover
her former health and bloom; but she felt her loss dou-
bly, on account of her society, and on account of the
loss of income which her absence would involve. It was
not until after Emma had actually gone that she felt the
full force of the last consideration. As has already been
said, Mrs. Bradford could earn but a limited sum by the
needle, not more than two dollars at best, and this would
not, of course, defray the expense of the little house-
hold. So the poor woman wrote a doleful letter to Ben,
in which she mournfully predicted that Tony and herself
must soon go to the poor-house.
“I am glad that you are able to provide for yourself,
Ben,” she concluded. “It would be a pity if we all were
forced to subsist on public charity. I felt that our pros-
perity would not last. ‘Boast not thyself of to-morrow.’”
When this letter reached Ben his duty was set plainly
before him. The savings, which had given him so much
satisfaction, must be appropriated to the use of his aunt.
They amounted now to forty dollars. From his regular
income he could spare two dollars a week, and, taking
two dollars weekly from his reserve fund, he would be
enabled to allow his aunt four dollars a week, which,
added to her own earnings, would maintain her and
Tony in comfort.
“My dear aunt,” he wrote, “don’t talk of going to
the poor-house just yet. You forget that you have a rich
nephew in Boston, who is unwilling that any of his rela-
tions should live at public expense unless they get into
public office. I don’t suppose there is any chance of your
Page 57
getting elected member of Congress from your district.
If so, you would not need any help from me. As it is, I
shall send you every week four dollars, which I hope
will provide you with your usual comforts, added to
what you generally earn. Don’t think that I shall deny
myself anything. A part of this only comes out of my
weekly salary, the remainder out of a sum I have in the
savings-bank. I can keep up this allowance for twenty
weeks, and that will carry you nearly to the time when
Emma will return to you; then all will be right again.”
This letter cheered Mrs. Bradford a good deal. It sur-
prised her, also, because it was the first intimation she
had that Ben had any money saved up. It also furnished
an assurance that he did not spend his money in dissipa-
tion; otherwise he certainly would not have been able to
lay any by. She wrote to Ben, expressing her gratitude to
him for his generous help, and seemed to be in so much
better spirits that Ben felt quite repaid for the little sac-
rifice he had made, — I said little; but I will change that.
It was a considerable sacrifice, for he was ambitious to
get on, and this agreement which he had made would set
him back where he started. In spite of this, however, Ben
strictly fulfilled his engagement. Regularly every week
Mrs. Bradford received a letter containing four dollars,
and thus the poor-house, which she so much dreaded,
was kept in the distance.
Ben began to save a dollar more from his salary. He
wanted to prepare for the time when his little fund would
be exhausted. If by that time he had twelve dollars more,
he would be able to continue to his aunt her regular al-
lowance, till the six months were at an end, and little
Emma would again be an inmate of his aunt’s house-
hold. The thought that he had arranged matters so sat-
isfactorily made Ben quite cheerful. He realized the ad-
vantage of the habit of saving, without which he would
have been much embarrassed. He was encouraged also
by some help which he received from the book-keeper.
“Ben,” said the latter, one evening, “do you spend all
your salary?”
“Yes, Mr. Porter, I am obliged to.”
“I should think you could save something out of eight
dollars a week, as only four goes for board.”
“So I could,” answered Ben; “but I have to help my
aunt.”
“I thought she was provided for,” said Mr. Porter,
who knew about Emma’s boarding with Mrs. Bradford.
“Doesn’t she get seven dollars a week for boarding a
little girl?”
“She did; but the little girl is now in Europe.”
“How is that?”
So Ben told the story.
“I suppose you cannot send much to your aunt,” said
the book-keeper, thoughtfully.
“I send her four dollars a week.”
“Four dollars a week!” exclaimed the young man,
Page 58
in surprise. “Why, that allows you nothing after paying
your board.”
Then Ben told his friend about the little fund he had
saved, and how he had made it available at the present
juncture.
“Doesn’t it seem hard to have your earnings used up
in this way?” asked the book-keeper.
“No,” answered Ben, cheerfully. “I am very glad that
I have it to give.”
“In a few months your fund will be quite exhausted.”
“It will have been well spent,” said Ben. “My aunt
has always been kind to me. I am glad to be able to re-
turn the obligation.”
“Not many boys would do as you are doing, Ben.”
“Oh, yes, they would, Mr. Porter. I am young and
well. There is plenty of time for me to save up money.
Probably this is for only six months. Then I can begin to
save up again.”
“You are an excellent boy, Ben. Of course you have
done just the right thing. I am glad you are so unselfish.”
“I am afraid I am selfish as the majority of boys; but
I am not mean enough to let my aunt and little cousin
suffer.”
“I believe you consider me a friend of yours, Ben.”
“I consider you one of the best friends I have, Mr.
Porter,” said Ben, warmly.
“Then you must allow me a friend’s privilege. You
must accept this towards the help you are giving your
aunt.”
As he said this he drew from his pocket-book a twen-
ty-dollar bill, and put it into Ben’s hands.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Porter; but ought I to ac-
cept so much?”
“Certainly. Remember that my means are consider-
able, and that I have no one dependent upon me.”
Ben felt that his companion derived pleasure from
his gift, and he did not see why he should make any
further objections. He added the twenty dollars to his
savings-bank fund, and said to himself, ‘’There will be
no trouble now in tiding over the six months.”
But it is said misfortunes never come singly. The
very next day his aunt received a lawyer’s letter, which
plunged her into the deepest despondency. She commu-
nicated the contents at once to Ben. Her letter will be
given in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE BLOW FALLS.
This is the material portion of Mrs. Bradford’s letter to
Ben : —
Dear Benjamin, — The blow has fallen at last. I felt that
our prosperity was not lasting, though I never could make
you believe it. I have always expected the worst, and it has
come. Benjamin, we are ruined; I shall end my days in the
poor-house, after all. If you want an explanation, read the
letter which I enclose.
June 2010
[The letter enclosed was from Solomon Brief, attorney,
of Montreal, informing Mrs. Bradford that, as executor of
the estate of the late Matthew Baldwin, of Montreal, he
begged to remind her that for five years she had failed to
pay the rent on a tenement owned by the deceased, and
which he now found it to be his duty to demand. At sixty
dollars per year, without interest, this would now amount
to three hundred dollars, which he hoped Mrs. Bradford
would see the propriety of paying at once.] Mrs. Bradford
continued: —
I don’t know whether they will put me in jail or not; but
you know that I cannot pay this money, and couldn’t if I
had five years to do it in. What will become of us all I don’t
know. “Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards.”
Your sorrowful aunt,
jane bradford.
P. S. — I am sure your Uncle Matthew never intended
that I should pay rent. He once wrote me a letter to that ef-
fect, but I can’t find it.
Even Ben, hopeful as he was, looked sober after reading
this letter.
“Aunt Jane has reason for feeling blue this time,” he
said to himself. “It is very strange that we received no
notice of Uncle Matthew’s death. I wonder to whom his
money goes.”
In his perplexity Ben went to his friend, the book-
keeper, upon whose advice and knowledge of the world he
placed great reliance.
Mr. Porter listened to Ben’s story with attention.
“Have you ever seen your uncle, Ben?” he inquired.
“No, sir.”
“What was his reputation?”
“He was considered wealthy, but unwilling to spend
money.”
“Rather miserly, in short?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yet he let your aunt occupy her house rent-free?”
“Yes, sir, on the understanding that she should pay the
taxes.”
“That was considerate.”
‘Yes, sir. We always felt grateful for what was a real
help.”
“What heirs was your uncle likely to leave his property
to?”
“I don’t know. I always hoped that Aunt Jane would be
remembered.”
“How old was your uncle, or rather great-uncle?”
“About seventy. He might have been a little older.”
“It is a pity you could not visit Montreal, and make
some inquiries,” said the book-keeper, thoughtfully.
“Of course I can’t do that.”
“Then it will be best, first of all, to write to this law-
yer, and inquire the particulars of Mr. Baldwin’s death; and
next, how his property is left. Then make him acquainted
with the terms on which your aunt has occupied her house.
This will do for the first letter. You can be guided by the
answer in what you write afterwards.”
This advice seemed reasonable, and Ben adopted it.
June 2010
He wrote the letter at once; but it need not be given here.
While waiting for an answer he made an acquaintance who
may be mentioned.
As Ben left the store at six o’clock, one evening, he
brushed by an old man with a bent figure and apparently
feeble. The latter, at the moment Ben’s eye rested upon
him, stumbled and would have fallen had not Ben sprung
forward and held him up.
“Thank you, my boy,” he said, in a tremulous voice. “I
should have fallen but for you.”
“You seem feeble,” said Ben, compassionately.
“Yes, I am not strong.”
“If you wish it I will accompany you to your house; you
might fall again.”
“I am a stranger in Boston. Do you live here?”
“I board here, sir. I am employed in that book-store.”
“What is your name?”
“Benjamin Bradford.”
The old man scanned Ben closely. “Were you born in
Boston?” he asked.
“No, sir, I was born in Milltown.”
“Where do you board?” asked the old man, abruptly.
“At No.—, Harrison avenue.”
“I want to find a comfortable boarding-house. Do you
think I could get in there?”
“Yes, sir; I know Mrs. Draper has a vacant room on the
second floor.”
“Is she reasonable in her charges?” asked the old man,
cautiously.
“Yes, sir. If she were not I could not afford to board
there.”
“I’ve a great mind to go there,” said the old man in an
undertone.
“I wonder if he has money enough to pay his board
regularly,” thought Ben. He did not like to introduce a
boarder by whom his landlady might lose money. His new
acquaintance was dressed in an old-fashioned suit, which
bore marks of long usage. Still he had an air of respectabil-
ity, and Ben decided to risk it.
Just then a grandson of Mrs. Draper’s, Charles Hunting,
a boy rather younger than Ben, who was in a stationery
store on State Street, came up.
“How are you, Ben?” he said.
“All right, Charlie. Do you know if your grandmother
has let the bedroom on the second floor?”
“Yes, I know she hasn’t. She was saying only this morn-
ing that she would like to find someone to take it.”
“Would you like to go round and see it, sir?” asked Ben.
“Yes,” said the old man. “Is it far?”
“About half a mile; but we can take the horse-cars.”
“No, I can walk, if you will walk slow enough for me. I
am not so young as I was.”
“Certainly, sir. Charlie, if you are going home, just tell
your grandmother that this gentleman is coming to look at
her room. You needn’t wait for me.”
“All right, Ben.”
“You are very kind to an old man; what did you say
your name was?”
Page 59
“Ben Bradford.”
“Have you parents living?”
“No, sir, only an aunt and cousin.”
“And they live in Milltown?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are they well off?”
Ben shook his head.
“Not very, sir. They got along very comfortably till late-
ly, but now something has happened which makes me feel
anxious. But I won’t trouble you with it, sir.”
“Tell me about it; I would like to hear it.”
“For five years my aunt has occupied a small house,
rent-free. It belonged to her uncle, who lived in Montreal.
She has just got a letter saying that her uncle is dead, and
demanding payment of rent for the last five years.”
“Dear me, that is bad!”
“Yes, sir, it is quite unlucky.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I have written to the lawyer, telling him on what terms
my aunt occupied her house,—that is, rent-free, on condi-
tion that she paid the taxes regularly.”
“Has she done that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was the uncle’s name? I am a little acquainted in
Montreal. Perhaps I may have heard it.”
“His name was Matthew Baldwin.”
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
“I have heard of him. He was a miserly old man.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Ben, “for I know very
little of him. He was kind in letting my aunt have her house
rent-free.”
“To whom has he left his money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps he has left some to you or your aunt.”
“I don’t think so. We should have heard of it from the
lawyer who wrote to my aunt.”
“Who is the lawyer?”
“Solomon Brief.”
“It seems to me you ought to look after the matter. Why
don’t you go to Montreal?”
“I can’t spare the time or money,” answered Ben. “Be-
sides, we should certainly have heard of it if any property
had been coming to us. I have written to the lawyer, and
expect to hear something soon.”
“Let me know what he writes you, I have a little curios-
ity on the subject. Solomon Brief does not stand very high
in his profession. I wouldn’t trust him very far.”
When they reached the boarding house on Harrison Av-
enue the old man appeared pleased with the vacant room.
He higgled a little about terms, but finally agreed to take it
at the price set by Mrs. Draper. He gave his name as Mar-
cus Benton, and took immediate possession. The next day
a small, shabby trunk was brought to the house, and was
carried to Mr. Benton’s room.
to be continued...
Page 60 June 2010

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