The Project Gutenberg EBook of The RichLittle Poor Boy, by Eleanor Gates

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Title: The Rich Little Poor Boy

Author: Eleanor Gates

Release Date: February 21, 2008 [EBook#24663]

Language: English

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THE RICHLITTLE POOR

BOY

ELEANOR GATES

Cover

WHAT HE SAW THERE HELD

HIM SPELLBOUND IN HISCHAIR

THE RICHLITTLE POOR

BOYBY

ELEANOR GATESAUTHOR OF "THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL,"

"THE PLOW-WOMAN," "THE BIOGRAPHY OF APRAIRIE GIRL," "ALEC LLOYD, COW-PUNCHER,"

"PIGGIE," ETC.

D. APPLETON AND COMPANYNEW YORK :: MCMXXII :: LONDON

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BYD. APPLETON AND COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TOF. F. M.

CONTENTSCHAPTER PAGE

I. The Wicked Giant 1II. Pride and Penalty 10

III. A Feast and an Excursion 17IV. The Four Millionaires 24V. New Friends 36

VI. The Dearest Wish 52VII. A Serious Step 60

VIII. More Treasures 68IX. One-Eye 79X. The Surprise 93

XI. The Discovery 108XII. A Prodigal Puffed Up 117

XIII. Changes 122

XIV. The Heaven that NearlyHappened 138

XV. Scouts 144XVI. Hope Deferred 153

XVII. Mr. Perkins 160XVIII. The Roof 172

XIX. A Different Cis 183XX. The Handbook 190

XXI. The Meeting 201XXII. Cis Tells a Secret 212

XXIII. Roses that Tattled 219XXIV. Father Pat 233XXV. An Ally Crosses a Sword 241

XXVI. The End of a Long Day 247XXVII. Another Gift 255

XXVIII. Another Story 275XXIX. Revolt 290XXX. Disaster 300

XXXI. The Vision 318XXXII. Help 330

XXXIII. One-Eye Fights 345XXXIV. Sir Algernon 357XXXV. Good-bys 363

XXXVI. Left Behind 373XXXVII. Ups and Downs 379

XXXVIII. Another Good-by 391XXXIX. The Letter 400

XL. "The True Way" 407

THE RICH LITTLEPOOR BOY

ELEANOR GATES

H

CHAPTER I

THE WICKED GIANT

E was ten. But his clothes were forty.And it was this difference in thematter of age, and, consequently, in

the matter of size, that explained why, atfirst sight, he did not show how thin-bodied he was, but seemed, instead, to berather a stout little boy. For his faded, oldshirt, with its wide sleeves lopped off justabove his elbows, and his patchedtrousers, shortened by the scissors to kneelength, were both many times too large forhim, so that they lay upon him, front, back

and sides, in great, overlapping pleats thatwere, in turn, bunched into heavy tucks;and his kitchen apron, worn with thewaistband about his neck, the strings beingtied at the back, also lent him—if viewedfrom the front—an appearance both ofwidth and weight.

But he was not stout. His frame wasnot even fairly well covered. From theapron hem in front, the two legs that leddown to the floor were scarcely largerthan lead piping. From the raveling endsof his short sleeves were thrust out armsthat matched the legs—bony, skinny arms,pallid as to color, and with hardly anymore shape to them than there was to thepoker of the cookstove. But while thelead-pipe legs ended in the sort of hard,

splinter-defying boy's feet that could bemet with on any stretch of pavementoutside the tenement, the bony arms didnot end in boyish hands. The hands thathung, fingertips touching halfway to theknee, were far too big for a boy of ten.They were red, too, as if all the blood ofhis thin shoulders had run down his armsand through his wrists, and stayed there.And besides being red, fingers, palms andbacks were lined and crinkled. Theylooked like the hands of a hard-working,grown girl. That was because they knewdish washing and sweeping, bed makingand cooking, scrubbing and laundering.

But his head was all that a boy's headshould be, showing plenty of brain roomabove his ears. While it was still actually

—and naturally—large for his body, itlooked much too large; not only becausethe body that did its bidding wasundersized, but because his hair, brightand abundant, added to his head a strikingcircumference.

He hated his hair, chiefly because ithad a hint of wave in it, but also becauseits color was yellow, with even a touch ofgreen! He had been taunted about it—byboys. But what was worse, women andgirls had admired it, and laid hands uponit—or wanted to. And small wonder; forin thick undulations it stood away fromforehead and temples as if blown by thewind. A part it had not, nor any sort ofneat arrangement. He saw strictly to that.Whenever his left hand was not busy,

which was less often than he could wish,he tugged at his locks, so that they rearedthemselves on end, especially at the verytop, where they leaned in variousdirections and displayed what appeared tobe several cowlicks. At every quarter thatshining mop was uneven, because badlycut by Big Tom Barber, his foster father,whose name belied his tonsorial ability.

Below that wild shock of colorful hairwas a face that, when clean, could claimattention on its own account. It was asquare-jawed little face over which thered was quick to come, though, unhappily,it did not stay. Its center was a nose thatseemed a trifle small in proportion to itssurroundings. But the top line of it wasstraight, and the nostrils were well

carved, and had a way of lifting andswelling whenever his interest wascaught.

Under them was a mouth that was wideyet noticeably beautiful—not with the softbeauty of a baby's mouth, or a girl's, andnot because it could boast even a touch ofscarlet. It had been cut as carefully as hisnose, the lips full yet firm, their linesdrawn delicately, but with strength. It wassensitive, with a little quirk at each cornerwhich betrayed its humor. Above allthings, its expression was sweet.

Colorless as were his cheeks and lips,nevertheless he did not seem a pale boy,this because his brows were a mistyyellow-white, and his thick lashes flaxen;while his eyes were an indescribable

mixture of glowing gray and blueplentifully flecked with yellow. Perfectlyadjusted were these straight-looking eyes,and set far apart. By turns they werequick, and bold, and open, and full ofeager inquiry; or they were thoughtfullyhalf covered by their heavy lids, very still,and far sighted. And when he laughed,what with the shine of his hair and browsand light lashes, and the flash of his eyesand his teeth, the effect was as if sunlightwere upon his face—though the sun soseldom shone upon him that he had not oneboyish freckle.

Such was Johnnie Smith.

Just now he was looking smaller andless sunlit than usual. This was becauseBig Tom bulked in front of him, delivering

the final orders for the day before goingdown the three flights of stairs, out into thebrick-paved area, thence through a dank,ground-floor hall which bored its wayfrom end to end of another tenement, andinto the crowded East Side street, and soto his work on the docks.

Barber was a huge-shouldered, long-armed slouch of a man, with a close-cropped head (flat at the back) uponwhich great hairy ears stood out likegrowths. His eyes were bloodshot andbulging, the left with an elusive cast in itthat showed only now and then, when ittestified to the kink in his brain. His nose,uneven in its downward trend, was so fatand wide and heavy that it fairly sprawledupon his face; and its cavernous, black

nostrils made it seem to possesssomething that, to Johnnie, was like apersonality—as if it were a queer sort ofsnakish thing, carefully watched over bythe bulging, bloodshot eyes.

For Barber's nose had the power ofmoving itself as Johnnie had seen no othernose move. Slowly and steadily it went upand down whenever Barber ate or talked—as even Johnnie's small, straight nosewould often do. But whenever Big Tomlaughed—sneeringly or boastfully or inugly triumph—the nose would make asudden, sidewise twist.

But something besides its power tomove made it seem a live and separatething: the longshoreman troubled himselfto shave only of a Sunday morning, when,

with all the stiff, dark growth clearedaway to right and left—for Barber's beardgrew almost to his eyes—his nose, thoughbent and purplish, was fairly like a nose.But with Monday, again the nose took onthat personality; and seemed to becrouching and writhing at the center of itsmat of stubble.

But Barber's mouth was his worstfeature, with its great, pushed-outunderlip, which showed his completesatisfaction in himself. So big was that lipthat it seemed to have acquired its sizethrough the robbing of the chin justbeneath—for Big Tom had little enoughchin.

But his neck was massive, and an angryred, sprinkled with long, wiry hairs. It

fastened his flat-backed head to a bodythat was like a gorilla's, thick and wideand humped. And his arms gave an addedtouch of the animal, for they were so longthat his great palms reached to his knees;and so sprung out at the shoulder, and socurved in at the wrist, that when they metat the fingers they formed a pair ofmammoth, muscled tongs—tongs that gaveBarber his boasted value in and out ofships.

His legs were big, too. As he stoodover Johnnie now, it was plain to seewhere the boy's shaggy trousers had comefrom (the grotesquely big shirt as well).Each of those legs was almost as big asJohnnie's skimped little body. And theyturned up at the bottom in great broganned

feet that Barber was fond of using asinstruments of punishment. More than onceJohnnie had felt those feet. And if he couldever have decided how pain was to beinflicted upon him, he would always havechosen the long, thick, pliant strap thatbelted in, and held together, his baggyclothes. For the strap left colorful tracksthat stung only in the making; but the markof one of those feet went black, and achedto the bone.

Johnnie hated Big Tom worse than hehated his own yellow hair. But he fearedhim, too. And now listened attentively asthe longshoreman, his cutty pipe smokingin one knotted fist, his dinner pail in theother, his cargo hook slung to his burlyneck, glowered down upon him.

"Git your dishes done," admonishedBarber. "Don't let the mush dry on 'em,and draw the flies."

There being no question to answer,Johnnie said nothing. Final orders of amorning were the usual thing. If he wascareful not to reply, if he waited, takingcare where he looked, the longshoremanwould have his say out and go—pressedby time. So the boy, almost holding hisbreath, fastened his eyes upon a patch ofwall where the smudged plaster wasbroken and some laths showed. And not amuscle of him moved, except one big toe,which he curled and uncurled across acrack in the rough, worn kitchen floor.

"Git everything else done, too," wenton Big Tom. "You don't scrub till to-

morrow, so the day's clear for stringin'beads, or makin' vi'lets. And don't let mecome home t'night and find no hot supper.You hear me." He chewed once or twice—on nothing.

Johnnie continued silent, counting thelaths—from the top down, from the bottomup. But his toe moved a shade faster. Forthere was a note of rising irritation in thatYou hear me.

"I say, you hear me!" repeated BigTom (replies always angered him: thistime silence had). He thrust the whole ofthe short stem of his "nose-warmer" intohis mouth. Then, with the free hand, heseized Johnnie by one thin shoulder andgave him a rough, forward jerk.

"Yes," acknowledged the boy,realizing too late that this was oneoccasion when speech would have beensafest. He still concentrated on the laths,hoping that matters would go no further.

But that single jerk, far from satisfyingBarber's rancor, only added to it—precisely as if he had tasted somethingwhich had whetted his appetite for more.He gripped Johnnie's shoulder again, thistime driving him back a step. "Now, nosass!" he warned.

The blood came rushing to Johnnie'sface, darkening it so that the misty yellow-white brows stood out grotesquely. Andhis chest began to heave. He loathed thetouch of Barber's hand. He despised thedaily orders that only turned him against

his work. But most of all he shrank fromthe indignity of being jerked when it waswholly undeserved.

Big Tom marked the boy's rising color.And the sight spurred his ill-humor. "Whatdo you do for your keep?" he demanded."Stop pullin' your hair!" He struckJohnnie's hand down with a sweaty palmthat touched the boy's forehead. "Pullin'and hawlin' all the time, but don't earn thegrub y' swallow!"

Just as one jerk always led to another,so one blow was usually the prelude to athrashing. Johnnie saw that he must stopthe thing right there; must have instant helpin diverting Barber. Taking a quick, deepbreath, he sounded his call for aid—aloud, croupy cough.

It was instantly answered. The doorbeside the cookstove swung wide, and Ciscame hurrying in from the tiny,windowless closet—this her "ownroom"—where she had been listeninganxiously. "Oh, Mr. Barber," she began,trying to keep her young voice fromtrembling, "this week can I have enoughout of my wages for some more shoe-whitening?"

There were several ways in which totake Big Tom's mind from any subject.The surest of these was to bring up aquestion of spending. And now, answeringto his stepdaughter's subterfuge aspromptly as if he were a mechanism thathad been worked by a key, he turned fromglowering down upon Johnnie to scowl at

her.

"More?" he demanded harshly.

Her blue eyes met his look timidly. Outof the wisdom of her sixteen-year-oldpolicy, she habitually avoided him,slipping away of a morning to her work atthe pasteboard-box factory without aword; slipping back as quietly in the lateafternoon; keeping out of his sight andhearing whenever that was possible; andspeaking to him seldom.

Cis looked at every one timidly. Sheavoided Big Tom not only because it waswise to do so but because she wasnaturally shy and retiring, and avoidedpeople in general. She had a quaint face(framed by straight, light-brown hair) that

ended in a pointed, pink chin. Habituallyshe wore that expression of mingledunderstanding and responsibility commonto all children who have brought up otherchildren. So that she seemed older thanshe was. But her figure was that of a child—slim, frail, and still lacking a woman'sshapeliness, notwithstanding the fact that ithad long carried the burdens of a grown-up.

Facing her stepfather now, she did notfalter. "Yes, please," she answered. "Thelast, I got a month ago."

His pipe was in his fist again, and hewas chewing wrathfully. "I'll see," hegrowled. And waved her to go.

From the hall door, she glanced back at

Johnnie. Not only had she and he a systemof communication by means of coughs,humming, whistles, taps and other audiblesounds; and a second system (just asgood) that depended upon wall marks,soap-inscribed hieroglyphics on the bit ofmirror in Cis's room, or the arrangementof dishes on the kitchen table, and potsand pans on the stove, but they had a well-worked-out silent system—by means ofbrow-raisings, eye and lip movements,head tippings and swift finger pointings—that was as perfect and satisfactory as thedumb conversation of two colts. Such asystem was necessary; for whenever thegreat figure of Barber came wedging itselfthrough the hall door, and his presence,like a blighting shadow, darkened thealready dark little flat, then the two young

voices had to fall instantly silent, sinceBarber would brook no noise—least of allwhispering.

Now by the quick, sidewise tip of hersmall, black-hatted head, Cis inquired ofJohnnie whether she should stay or go.And Johnnie, with what amounted to anupward fling of his eyelids, answered thatshe need not stay. With Barber's cuttyonce more in his right fist, and with hismind veered to a fresh subject, Johnnieknew the crisis was past.

With a swift glance of affection andsympathy, not unmixed with triumph overthe success of her interruption, Cisfluttered out—leaving the door open atBarber's back.

The longshoreman turned heavily as ifto follow her, but came about with a finalcaution, lowering his voice to cheat anybusy ear in the other flat on the same floor."Don't you neglect the old man," hecharged. "Face—hair—fix him up—youknow."

At the stove, an untidy heap ofthreadbare, brown blanket, in a wheelchair suddenly stirred. In several waysold Grandpa was like a big baby, butparticularly in this habit of wakingpromptly whenever he was mentioned. "Isthat you, Mother?" he asked in his thin, oldvoice. (He meant Big Tom's mother, deadnow these many years.)

A swift change came over Barber'sface. His great underlip drew in, what

chin he had was thrust out with somethinglike concern, and his eyes rolled awayfrom Johnnie to the whimpering old man."It's all right, Pa," he said soothingly. "It'sall right. Jus' you sleep." Then he turned,tiptoed through the door, and shut it afterhim softly.

Johnnie did not move—except to shifthis look from the laths to the door knob,and take up his toeing of the crack at hisfeet. The door itself moved, and rattledgently, as the area door three flights belowwas opened by Cis, and a gust from thenarrow court was sent up the stairs of thetenement, as a bubble forces its waysurfaceward through water, to suck at theBarber door.

But Big Tom was not yet gone. And a

moment later, the boy was looking at theouter knob, now in the clutch of severalgreat, grimy, calloused fingers.

"Let your hair alone!" ordered thelongshoreman. Then the door closedfinally, and the stairs complained withloud creakings as Barber descended them.

Johnnie waited till the door in front ofhim moved and rattled again, then—

H

CHAPTER II

PRIDE AND PENALTY

IS toe stopped working across thecrack in the floor. His left handforsook his tousled hair and fell to

his side. His eyes narrowed, and his chincame up. Then his lips began to move,noiselessly. "I'll pay him up for that!" hepromised. "I'll make him wish he didn'tshove me! This time, I'll think a' awful badthink about him! I'll think the worst think Ican! I'll—I'll——"

He paused to decide. He had many"thinks" for the punishing of Big Tom,

each of them ending in the desertion of thatgentleman, who was always lefthelplessly groveling and pleading whileJohnnie made a joyous, triumphantdeparture. Which of all those revengeswould he select this morning? Would hego, after handing the longshoreman over tothe harshest patrolman in New York? orwould it be a doctor who would remainbehind in the flat with the tyrant, assuringJohnnie, as the latter sauntered out of thekitchen for the very last time, that no skillon earth could entirely mend the hurtswhich he had so bravely inflicted upon hisgroaning foster father? or would he setsail grandly from the Battery for some portat least a million miles away, his lastview of the metropolis including in itsforeground, along with a brass band and

many dignitaries of the city, the kneelingshape of a wretched dock-worker whohad repented of his meanness too late?

Suddenly Johnnie caught his breath, hiseyes dilated, his fingers began to playagainst his palms. He had decided. And inthat same instant, a change came over him—complete, satisfactory, astonishing.

Now, instead of the ragged, little boyupon whom Big Tom had glowered down—a meek boy, subdued, even crestfallen,whose eyes were lowered, and whoselashes blinked fearsomely, he was quite agood deal taller, boldly erect, proud in hispoise, light on his neatly shod feet,confident and easy in his manner, with acharming smile to right and left as ringingcheers went up for him while he awaited

the lessening of the pleasant tribute, hiscomposure really quite splendid, hishands stuffed into the pocket of hisabsolutely new, light-gray suit, which hadknee pants.

A change had also taken place in theBarber kitchen. Now the walls werefreshly papered in a regal green-and-goldpattern which, at the floor line, met athick, red carpet. Red velvet curtains hungat either side of the window. Splendid, fatchairs were set carelessly here and there;and a marble-topped table behind Johnniewas piled with a variety of delectabledishes, including several pies oozingjuice.

And the crowd that pressed up to thehall door! It was worthy of his pride, for it

was a notable gathering. In it was notenant of the building, no neighbor fromother, near-by flats, and not a singlemember of that certain rough gang whichhaunted the area, the dark halls leadinginto it, and all the blocks round about.

Indeed, no! Even in his "thinks"Johnnie was most careful regarding theselection of his companions, his socialtrend being ever upward. And he wasnever small about any crowd of his, butalways had everybody he could rememberwho was anybody—a riot of famouspeople. On this occasion he was reachinginto truly exclusive circles. Naturally,then, this was a well-dressed assemblage,strikingly equipped with silk hats (therewere no ladies present) and gold-headed

canes; and every gentleman in thegathering wore patent-leather shoes, and avest that did not match his coat. All weresmart and shaven and wealthy. In theirlead, uniformed in khaki, and wearing thefriendliest look possible to a young manwho is cheering, was His Royal Highness,the Prince of Wales.

Like all the others in that wildlyenthusiastic gathering, the young heirapparent was turned toward Johnnie astoward a hero. And small wonder. Forthere, between the distinguished crowdand the boy, lying prone upon the redcarpet, in his oldest clothes, and unshaven,was none other than Big Tom Barber,felled by the single, overwhelming blowthat Johnnie had just given him, his nose

bleeding (not too much, however) and thebreath clean knocked out of him.

Now the shouting died away, andJohnnie addressed the admiring throng.But his lips moved without even awhisper. "I made up my mind a long timeago," he began, "to give Tom Barber agood thrashin'. So this morning, I done it."

Despite his ungrammatical conclusion,the speech called forth the resoundinghurrahs of the Prince and his gentlemen,and once more Johnnie had to wait,striving to appear properly modest, andtwirling a gold watch chain all of heavylinks. But he could not keep his nostrilsfrom swelling, or his eyes from flashing.And his chest heaved.

It was now that he made Cis one of hisaudience, dressing her in a becoming pinkgown (her favorite color). Old Grandpawas standing beside her, no longer feebleand chair bound, but handsomelyovercoated and hatted, and looking asformidable as any policeman. These two,naturally enough, had only proud glancesfor the young champion of the hour.

But Johnnie's task of subduing Barberwas not finished. The brave boy could seethat the big longshoreman was making asif to rise. Johnnie could still feel the touchof Big Tom's perspiring hand on hisforehead, and the pinch of those cruelfingers on his shoulder. Taking a forwardstep, he gave Barber's shoulder awrenching jerk, then thrust the

longshoreman backward by a spankingblow of the open palm full upon that big,ugly, bristling face.

Again Barber fell prostrate. He waspurple with mortification, and leered up atJohnnie murderously.

"Ha! ha! Y' got enough?" Johnnieinquired. He was all of a glow now, andhis face fairly shone. But he was not donewith the tyrant. A sense of long-outragedjustice made him hand Barber the big,black, three-legged, iron kettle thatbelonged on the back of the cookstove.There was some cold oatmeal in thebottom of the kettle, and Johnnie alsohanded the longshoreman a spoon—with aglance toward the Prince, who seemedawed by Johnnie's complete mastery of the

enemy. "Here!" the boy directed, givingthe pot a light kick with a new shoe(which was brown). "Go ahead and eat.Eat ev'ry bite of it. It's got kerosene init!"

Now Barber got to his kneesimploringly. "Oh, don't make me eat it!" hebegged. "Oh, don't, Johnnie! Please!"

"Y' made me eat it once," said Johnniequietly. "And y' need a lesson, TomBarber, and I'm givin' y' one."

Barber choked down the bad-tastingfood. But there was no taunting of him.Johnnie kept a dignified silence—as didalso the Prince and the gentlemen. Butwhen the last spoonful was swallowed,and Barber was cowering beside the

empty kettle, the boy felt called upon to gostill further, and make away finally withthat strap which was the symbol of all hehated—that held up and together the too-large clothes which had so long mortifiedhis pride; that stood for the physical paindealt out to him by Big Tom if he so muchas slighted a bit of his girl's work.

The strap was around him now, evenover that new suit. It circled him like asnake. He took it off, his lips working inanother splendid speech. "And I don'twear it ever again," he declared, lookingdown at Barber. "Do y' understand that?"He flicked a big arm with the leather,though not hard enough to give pain.

"Yes," faltered the longshoreman,shrinking.

"Well, I'm glad y' understand it,"returned Johnnie. "And now you justwatch me for on-n-ne second! You won'tnever lay this strap across me> again!"

He whipped out a long, sharp, silver-handled bread-knife. Then turning to thetable, he laid the strap upon the beautifulmarble; and, in sight of all, cut it away tothe very buckle—inch by inch!

"Now!" he cried, as he scattered thepieces upon the carpet.

The punishment was complete; histriumph nothing less than perfect. And itoccurred to him now that there wasparticular gratification in having presentthis morning His Royal Highness. "MisterPrince," he said, "I'm awful tickled you

was here!"

The Prince expressed himself as beingequally pleased. "Mister Smith," hereturned, "I don't know as I ever seen aboy that could hit like you! Why, MisterSmith, it's wonderful! How do y' do it?"He shook Johnnie's hand warmly.

"Well, I guess I'm like David, MisterPrince," Johnnie explained modestly. "O'course you know David—and his friend,Mister Goli'th?—Oh, y' don't? Y' mean y'ain't never met neither one? Oh, gee! I'msurprised! But that's 'cause y' don't knowMrs. Kukor, upstairs. They're both friendsof hers. Well, I'll ask 'em down."

An upturned face and a beckoning armaccomplished the invitation, whereupon

there entered at once the championPhilistine and that youth who was ruddyand of a fair countenance. And after a dealof hand-shaking all around, Johnnie toldthe tale of that certain celebrated fight—told it as one who had witnessed thewhole affair. He turned his face from sideto side as he talked, gesticulating witheasy grace.

"And now I guess we're ready t' start,ain't we?" he observed as he concluded."David, would you and your friend like t'come along?—Only Big Tom, he's got t'stay behind, 'cause——"

At the stove, the untidy heap of brownblanket in the wheel chair stirred again.Out of the faded folds a small head,blanched and bewhiskered, reared itself

weakly. "Johnnie," quavered old Grandpa."Johnnie! Milk!"

The boy's lips ceased to frame words.His right arm fell to his side; the left wentup again to resume that tugging at his hair.He swayed slightly, shifting his weight,and his big toe began once more to curland uncurl. Then, as fancy was displacedby reality, as dreaming gave place to fact,Barber disappeared from the floor. Thesilk-hatted gentlemen with the gold caneswent, too—along with the gallant youngEnglish Prince, that other Prince who wasof Israel, and a tall person with a sore, redbump on his forehead. The gold-and-greenwalls faded; so did the carpet, thecurtains, and that light-gray suit (whichwas precisely like the one Johnnie had

worn when he first came to the Barber flat—except, of course, that it was larger).The marble-topped table and the fat chairsfolded themselves up out of sight. And allthose delicious fruit pies dissolved intothin air.

But one thing did not go: A sense ofsatisfaction. Having met his enemy beforethe world, and conquered him; havingspent his own anger and loathing, andrevenged the other's hated touch, his grayeyes held a pleased, proud look. Oncemore in the soiled big shirt and trousers,with the strap coiled about his middle, hecould put Barber aside for the day—notbrood about him, harboring ill-will, norsulk and fret.

Now he was ready for "thinks" of a

different sort—adventures that werewholly delightful.

A feeling of joy surged through him.Ahead lay fully nine unhampered hours.He pivoted like a top. His arms tossed.Then, like a spring from which a weighthas been lifted, like a cork flying out of acharged bottle, he did a high, leaping hop-skip straight into the air.

"Wow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" he sang outfull-throatedly. "Rr-r-r-r! ree-ee-ee!"—and explosively, "Brt! brt! brt! bing!"

N

CHAPTER III

A FEAST AND ANEXCURSION

INE free hours!—or, to be exact,eight, since the best part of onewould have to be devoted to the flat

in order to avoid trouble. However,Johnnie never did his work any soonerthan he actually had to; and that hour oflabor should be, as always, the last of thenine, this for the sake of obeying Big Tomat the latest possible time, ofcircumventing his wishes, and thwartingand outwitting him, just to the degree that

safety permitted.

So! For eight hours Johnnie would livehis dreams. And, oh, the things he coulddo! the things!

But before he could begin the realbusiness of the day, he had to put Grandpato sleep again. This was bestaccomplished through tiring the little oldman with a long, exciting train trip. "Oo,Grandpa!" cried Johnnie. "Who wants togo ride-ride on the cars?"

"Cars! cars! cars!" shrilled Grandpa,his white-lashed, milky-blue eyes dancing.At once, impatiently, he fell to tapping onthe floor with his cane, while, using hisother hand, he swung the wheel chair in acircle. Across his shrunken chest, from

one side of the chair to the other, was astrand of rope that kept him from tumblingout of his seat. To hasten the promiseddeparture, he began to throw his weightalternately against the rope and the back ofthe chair, like an excited baby.

"Wait now!" admonished Johnnie. Hetook off his apron and wadded it into aball. Then with force and fervor he sentthe ball whizzing under the sink. "Where'llwe go?" he cried. The bottoms of histrouser legs hung about his knees in afringe. Now as he did another hop-skipinto the air, not so much because of animalspirits as through sheer mental relief, allthat fringe whipped and snapped. "Pickout a place, Grandpa!" he bade. "Wheredo y' want t' go?"

"Go! go! go!" chanted the old man. Notso long ago he had been able to call up ascore of destinations—most of themnames that had to do with the Civil Warcampaigns which, in the end, had impairedhis brain and cost him the use of his legs.

Johnnie proceeded to prompt."Gettysburg?" he asked; "Shiloh?Chick'mauga? City of Washingt'n?Niaggery Falls?"

"Niaggery Falls!" cried Grandpa,catching, as he always did, at whateverpoint was named last. "Where's my hat?Where's my hat?"

He never remembered how to find hishat, though it always hung conveniently onthe back of the wheel chair. It was the

dark, broad-brimmed, cord-encircledhead covering of the Grand Army man. Ashe turned his head in a worried search forit, Johnnie set the hat atop the white hair.

Johnnie had named Niagara lastbecause he liked best to visit that Wonderof Nature. He did not know why—exceptthat the name seemed curiously familiar tohim. It was familiar to Grandpa, too, in adim way, for he had visited "the Falls" onhis wedding trip. And every repetition ofthe imaginary journey thrilled him.

"Chug! chug! chug!" he began, themoment he felt the hat. His imitation of astarting engine was so genuine that itshook his spare frame from his head to hisslippered feet. "Chug! chug! chug!"

But Johnnie was not ready to set off.The little, old soldier had not yet eaten hisbreakfast, and if he did not eat he wouldnot go to sleep promptly at the conclusionof the trip, nor stay asleep.

"Oh, Grandpa," began the boycoaxingly, as he hastily dished up a saucerof oatmeal, another saucer of prunes, andpoured a glass of milk, "before we startwe got t' eat our grand banquet! It's a longway to Niaggery, y' know. So here weboth are at the Grand Central Station!"(The Station was situated on or about thecenter of the kitchen.)

"Station!" echoed Grandpa. "Chug!chug! chug!"

"No, Grandpa,"—Johnnie's manner of

handling the old man was comicallymature, almost motherly; his tone, whilesoothing, was quietly firm, as if he werespeaking to a younger child. "See! Here'sthe fine table!"

Up to this table, still strewn withunwashed dishes and whatever remainedof breakfast, the pair of travelers drew.Then Johnnie, with the air and thelavishness of a millionaire, ordered anelaborate and tasty breakfast from awaiter the like of whom was not to befound anywhere save in his ownimagination.

This waiter's name was Buckle, and hehad served Johnnie faithfully for the pastseveral years. In all ways he was anextraordinary person of his kind, being

able to furnish anything that Grandpa andJohnnie might call for, whether meat,vegetable or fruit, at any time of the year,this without regard to such small mattersas seasons, the difficulties of importing,adverse hunting laws, and the like. Whichmeant that Grandpa could always have hisvenison, and Johnnie his choice of fruits—all from the deft hand of a man quick andsoft-footed, and full of low bows, whowore a suit of red velvet fairly loadedwith gold bands and brass buttons.

"Mister Buckle," began Johnnie (forsuch an august creature in red velvet couldnot be addressed save with a courteoustitle), "a turkey, please, an' some lemonpie, an' some strawberry ice cream an'fifteen pounds of your best candy."

"Candy! candy! candy!" clamoredGrandpa, impatiently beating on the tablewith his spoon like a baby.

Buckle was wonderful. As Johnnie'sorders swept him hither and thither, howhe transformed the place, laying down thearticles called for upon a crisp redtablecloth that was a glorious full brotherto one that belonged to the little Jewishlady who lived upstairs. But Grandpa tooklittle interest in Buckle, though he pickedeagerly enough at the viands whichJohnnie urged upon him.

"Here's your turkey," pointed out theboy, giving the old man his first spoonfulof cereal. "My goodness, did y' ever seesuch a drumstick! Now another!—'cause,gee! you'll be starved 'fore ever we git t'

Niaggery! Mm! but ain't that turkey fine?"

"Mm! Mm!" agreed the veteran.

"Mister Buckle, I'll take some soda andsome popcorn," went on Johnnie,spooning out his own saucer of oatmeal."And some apples and oranges, andbananas and cherries and grapes."

Fruit was what he always ordered.How almost terribly at times he yearnedfor it! For the only fruit that ever Barberbrought home was prunes. Johnnie washedthem and put them over the fire to boilwith a regularity due to his fear of thestrap. But he hated them. (Likewise hepitied them—because they seemed suchlittle, old creatures, and grew in thatshriveled way which reminded him

somehow of Grandpa.) What he longed forwas fresh fruit, which he got only at longintervals, this when Cis carried home tohim a few cherries in the bottom of apaper bag, or part of an apple which wasgenerously specked, and so well on itsway to ruin, or shared the half of a lemon,which the two sucked, turn about, all suchbeing the gifts of a certain old gentlemanwith a wooden leg who carried on athriving trade in the vicinity of the nearestpublic school. But the periods between thecontributions were so long, and theamount of fruit consumed was so small,that Johnnie was never even a quartersatisfied—except at one of his Barmecidefeasts.

Grandpa's oatmeal and milk finished,

Johnnie urged the prunes upon him. "Oo,lookee at the watermelon!" he cried. "Thedandy, big watermelon!—on ice!"

The mere word "watermelon" alwaysstirred a memory in old Grandpa's brain,as if he could almost recall when he, ayoung soldier of the North, had taken hisfill of sweet, black-seeded, carnation-tinted pulp at some plantation in theharried South. And now he ate greedilytill the last prune was gone, when Johnniehad Buckle throw all of the green rindsinto the sink. (It was this attention to detailwhich invested his games with reality.)Then, the repast finished, Grandpa frettedto be away, whirling his chair andwhimpering.

Johnnie had eaten through a perfect

menu only as an unfillable boy can. So hedismissed Buckle with a thousand-dollarbill, and the two travelers were off,Johnnie making a great deal of jolly noiseas he fulfilled the duties of engineer,engine and conductor, Grandpa havingnothing to do but be an appreciativepassenger.

To the old man the dish cupboard,which was Carthage, in "York State,"never lost its interest, he having lived inthat town long years ago, before hemarched out of it with a company of menwho were bound for the War. But themorris chair with its greasy cushions,which was the capital, Albany, and thecookstove, which was very properlyPittsburgh (though the surface of the earth

had to be wrenched about in order to putPittsburgh after Albany on the way to "theFalls"), both of these estimable cities alsowon their share of attention, the specialtrain bearing the pair making a stop ateach, though the passengers, boy and man,longed quite naturally for a sight of theMarvel of Waters which awaited them atthe end of the line.

But Pittsburgh left behind, and Buffalo(the woodbox) all but grinding under theirwheels, neither Grandpa nor Johnniecould withstand longer the temptation topush forward to wonderful Niagara itself.With loud hissings, toot-toots, and gutturalannouncements on the part of theconductor, the wheel chair drew up with atwisting flourish—at the sink.

And now came the most excitingmoment of all. For here imagination had tobe called upon least. This Niagara wasliquid. And held back its vast flood—orpoured it—just as Johnnie chose. Heproceeded to have it pour. With Grandpa'scane, he rapped peremptorily twice—thenonce—on the big lead pipe which, leadingthrough the ceiling as a vent to Mrs.Kukor's sink, debouched in turn into theBarber sink.

A moment's wait. Then some one beganto cross the floor overhead with anastonishing sound of rocking yet with littleadvance—in the way that a walking dollgoes forward. This was Mrs. Kukorherself, who was motherhood incarnate toJohnnie; motherhood boiled down into an

unalloyed lump; the pure essence of it in afat, round package. The little Jewish ladynever objected to this regular morninginterruption of her work. And so the nextmoment, the miracle happened. Lake Eriebegan to empty itself; and with splashes,gurgles and spurts, the cataract descendedupon the pots and pans heaped in theBarber sink.

The downpour was greeted by a treblechorus of delight from the tourists. "Oh,Grandpa!" cried Johnnie, jumping up anddown. "Ain't it fine! Ain't it fine!" And"Fine!" chimed in the old man, swayinghimself against his breast rope. "Fine!Fine!"

One long half-minute Niagara poured—before the admiring gaze of the two in

the special. Then the great stream becamedammed, the rush of its waters ceased,except for a weak trickle, and the ceilinggave down the sound of a rocking stepbound away, followed by the squeaking ofa chair. Mrs. Kukor was back at work.

The train returned silently toPittsburgh, the Grand Army hat was takenoff and hung in its place, the blanket waspulled up about Grandpa's shoulders, andthis one of the pair of travelers was left totake his rest. Comfortable and swift as thewhole journey was, nevertheless thefeeble, old soldier was tired. His paleblue eyes were roving wearily; the chairat a standstill, down came their lids, andhis head tipped sidewise.

He looked as much like a small, gray

monkey as his strapping son resembled agorilla. As Johnnie tucked the blanketabout the thin old neck, Grandpa wasalready breathing regularly, the while hemade the facial grimaces of a new-bornchild.

J

CHAPTER IV

THE FOURMILLIONAIRES

OHNNIE always started his own dailyprogram with a taste of fresh air. Hecared less for this way of spending his

first fifteen free minutes than for manyanother. But as Cis, with her riperwisdom, had pointed out, a short airingwas necessary to a boy who had no red inhis cheeks, and too much blue at histemples—not to mention a pinched lookabout the nose. Johnnie regularly took aquarter of an hour out of doors.

He took it from the sill of the kitchenwindow—which was the only window inthe Barber flat.

This sill was breast-high from thekitchen floor, Johnnie not being tall for hisage. But having shoved up the lower sashwith the aid of the broom handle, he didnot climb to seat himself upon the ledge.For there was no iron fire escape outside;the nearest one came down the wall of thebuilding to the kitchen window of theGamboni family, to the left. And soJohnnie denied himself a perch on his sill—a dangerous position, as both Mrs.Kukor and Cis pointed out to him.

Their warnings were unnecessary. Hecould easily realize what a slip of thehand might mean: a plunge through space

to the brick paving far below; and there aninstant and horrible end. His picture of itwas enough to guard him against accident.He contented himself with laying his bodyacross the sill, with the longer and heavierportion of his small anatomy balancedsecurely against a shorter and lighterupper portion.

He achieved this position and held ituntiringly by the aid of the old rope coil.This coil was a relic of those distant timeswhen there was no fire escape evenoutside the kitchen window of theGambonis, and the landlord providedevery tenant with this cruder means offlying the building. The rope hung on alarge hook just under the Barber window,and was like a hard, smudged wheel, so

completely had the years and the climateof the kitchen colored and stiffened it. AndJohnnie's weight was not enough toelongate its set curves.

It was a handy affair. Using it as astepping-place, and pulling himself up byhis hands, he brought the lower end of hisbreastbone into contact with the sill.Resting thus, upon his midriff, he wasthoroughly comfortable, due to the fact thatBig Tom's shirt and trousers thoroughlypadded his ribby front. Then he swelledhis nostrils with his intaking of air, and hisback heaved and fell, so that he was forall the world like some sort of a giantlizard, sunning itself on a rock.

Against the dingy black-red of the oldwall, his yellow head stood forth as

gaudily as a flower. The flower nodded,too, as if moved by the breeze that waswreathing the smoke over all the roofs.For Johnnie was taking a general surveyof the scenery.

The Barber window looked north, andin front of it were the rear windows oftenements that faced on a street. Therewas a fire escape at every other one ofthese windows—the usual spidery affairof black-painted iron, clinging vinelike tothe bricks. And over each escape weredraped garments of every hue and kind,some freshly washed, and drying; othersairing. Mingling with the apparel wereblankets, quilts, mattresses, pillows andbabies.

Somehow Johnnie did not like the

view. He glanced down into the gloomyarea, where a lean and untidy cat wasprowling, and where there sounded,echoing, the undistinguishable harangue ofthe fretful Italian janitress.

Now Johnnie's general survey wasdone. He always made it short, wastingless than one minute in looking down oraround. It was beauty that drew him—beauty and whatever else could start up inhis mind the experiences he most liked.His face upturned, one hand flung acrosshis brows to shield his eyes, for the lightoutside the sill seemed dazzling after thesemidark of the flat, he scanned first theopposite roof edges, a whole story higherthan he, where sparrows were alighting,and where smoke plumes curled like veils

of gossamer; next he scanned the sky.

Above the roofline of the tenementswas a great, changing patch which hecalled his own, and which he foundfascinating. And not only for what itactually showed him, which was splendidenough, but for the eternal promise of it.At any moment, what might not comeslipping into sight!

What he longed most to catch sight ofwas—a stork. Those babies across on thefire escapes, storks had brought them(which was the main reason why all thefamilies kept bedclothes out on the barredshelves; a quilt or a pillow made a softplace on which to leave a new baby). Astork had brought Cis—she had had herown mother's word for it many times

before that mother died. A stork hadbrought Johnnie, too—and Grandpa, Mrs.Kukor, the Prince of Wales, the janitress;in fact, every one.

"I wonder what kind of a stork was itthat fetched Big Tom!" Johnnie once hadexclaimed, straightway visioning a blackand forbidding bird.

Storks, according to Cis, were asbashful as they were clever, and did notcome into sight if any one was watching.They were big enough to be seen easily,however, as proven by this: frequently oneof them came floating down with twins!

"Down from where?" Johnnie hadwanted to know, liking to have hisknowledge definite.

"From their nests, silly," Cis hadreturned. But had been forced to confessthat she did not know where storks builttheir nests. "In Central Park, I guess," shehad added. (Central Park was as good aplace as any.)

"Oh, you guess!" Johnnie had returned,disgusted.

He had never given up his watching,nor his hope of some day seeing a bigbaby-bringer. He searched his sky patchnow. But could see only the dartingsparrows and, farther away, some largerbirds that wheeled gracefully above thecity. Many of these were seagulls. Theothers were pigeons, and Cis had told himthat people ate them. This fact hurt him,and he tried not to think about it, but only

of their flight. He envied them theirfreedom in the vast milkiness, their powerto penetrate it. Beyond the large birds, andsurely as far away as the sun ever was,some great, puffy clouds of a blindingwhite were shouldering one another asthey sailed northward.

Out of the wisdom possessed by one ofher advanced age, Cis had told himseveral astonishing things about this fieldof sky. What Barber considered atroublesome, meddlesome, wastefulschool law was, at bottom, responsiblefor her knowing much that was true andconsiderable which Johnnie held was not.And one of her unbelievable statements(this from his standpoint) was to the effectthat his sky patch was constantly changing,

—yes, as frequently as every minute—because the earth was steadily moving.And she had added the horrifyingdeclaration that this movement was in thenature of a spin, so that, at night, thewhole of New York City, includingskyscrapers, bridges, water, streets,vehicles and population, was upside downin the air!

"Aw, it ain't so!" he cried, though Cisreminded him (and rather sternly, for her)that in doing so he was questioning ateacher who drew a magnificent salary forspreading just such statements. "And ifthey pay her all that money, they're crazy!Don't y' know that if we was t' comeupside down, the chimnies'd fall off all thebuildin's? and East River'd spill?"

Cis countered with a demonstration.She filled Big Tom's lunch pail with waterand whirled it, losing not a drop.

But he went further, and proved herwrong—that is so far as the upside-downof it was concerned. He did this by stayingawake the whole of the following nightand noting that the city stayed right-side upthroughout the long hours. Cis, poor girl,had been pitifully misinformed.

But the changing of the sky he believed.He believed it because at night there wasthe kind of sky overhead that had stars init; also, sometimes, a moon. But by dawn,the starred sky was gone—been leftbehind, or got slipped to one side; in itsplace was a plain, unpatterned stretch ofHeaven which, in due time, was once

more succeeded by a firmament adornedand a-twinkle.

When Cis returned home one eveningand declared that the forewoman at thefactory had asserted that there were starseverywhere in the sky by day as well asby night, and no plain spots at allanywhere; and, further, that if anybodywere at the bottom of a deep well he—orshe—could see stars in the sky in thedaytime, Johnnie had fairly hooted at thetale. And had finally won Cis over to hisside.

Her last doubt fled when, having gonedown into a dark corner of the area theSunday following, she found, as did he,that no stars were to be seen anywhere.After that she believed in his theory of

starless sky-spots; starless, but not plain.For in addition to the sun, many otherthings lent interest to that field of blue—clouds, rain, sleet, snow, and fog, all intheir time or season. Also, besides thebirds, he occasionally glimpsed wholesheets of newspapers as they ambitiouslyvoyaged above the house tops. And howhe longed for them to blow against hisown window, so that he might read themthrough and through!

Sometimes he saw a flying machine.The first one that had floated across hissky had very nearly been the death of him.Because, forgetting danger in his rapturousexcitement, he had leaned out dangerously,and might have fallen if he had notsuddenly thought of Grandpa, and thrown

himself backward into the kitchen to fetchthe wheel chair. The little old soldier hadonly been mildly diverted by the sight.Johnnie, however, had viewed the passingof the biplane in amaze, though later on hecame to accept the conquest of the air asjust one more marvel in a world ofmarvels.

But his wonder in the sky itself neverlessened. About its width he did notponder, never having seen more than anarrow portion of it since he was bigenough to do much thinking. But, oh, thedepth of it! He could see no sign of a limitto that, and Mrs. Kukor declared therewas none, but that it reached on and onand on and on! To what? Just to more ofthe on and on. It never stopped.

One night Cis and he, bent over the lipof the window, she upholstered on acertain excelsior-filled pillow which wasvery dear to her, and he padded by BigTom's cast-offs, had attempted to realizewhat Mrs. Kukor had said. "On—and on—and on—and on," they had murmured.Until finally just the trying to comprehendit had become overpowering, terrible. Cisdeclared that if they kept at it she wouldcertainly become dizzy and fall out. Andso they had stopped.

But Johnnie was not afraid to thinkabout it, awful as it was. It was at night,mostly, that he did his thinking. At nightthe birds he loved were all asleep. But sowas Barber; and Johnnie, with no fear ofinterruption, could separate himself from

the world, could mentally kick it awayfrom under him, and lightly project his thinlittle body up to the stars.

Whenever fog or clouds screened thesky patch, hiding the stars, a radiance wasthrown upon the heavens by the combinedlights of the city—a radiance which,Johnnie thought, came from above; and hewas always half expecting a strange moonto come pushing through the cloud screen,or a new sun, or a premature dawn!

Now looking up into the deep blue hemurmured, "On—and—on—and on," tohimself. And he wondered if the gulls orthe pigeons ever went so far into the bluethat they lost their way, and never cameback—but just flew, and flew, and flew,till weariness overcame them, when they

dropped, and dropped, and dropped, anddropped!

A window went up in front of him,across the area, and a voice began to callat him mockingly: "Girl's hair! Girl's hair!All he's got is girl's hair! All he's got isgirl's hair!"

He started back as if from a blow.Then reaching a quick hand to the sash, heclosed the window and stepped down.

The voice belonged to a boy who hadonce charged Mrs. Kukor with going tochurch on a Saturday. But even as Johnnieleft the sill he felt no anger toward the boysave on Mrs. Kukor's account. Because heknew that his hair was like a girl's. If theboy criticized it, that was no more than

Johnnie constantly did himself.

The second his feet touched thesplintery floor he made toward the table,caught up the teapot, went to lean his headover the sink, and poured upon hisoffending locks the whole remainingcontents of the pot—leaves and all. ForCis (that mine of wisdom) had told himthat tea was darkening in its effect, notonly upon the lining of the tummy, whichwas an interesting thought, but upon hair.And while he did not care what color hewas inside, darker hair he longed topossess. So, his bright tangles a-drip, heset the teapot in among the unwashed pansand fell to rubbing the tea into his scalp.

And now at last he was ready to beginthe really important matters of the day.

But just which of many should hechoose for his start? He stood still for amoment, considering, and a look came intohis face that was all pure radiance.

High in the old crumbling building, ascut off from the world about him as if hewere stranded with Grandpa on somemountain top, he did not fret about beingshut in and away; he was glad of it. Hewas spared the taunts of boys who did notlike his hair or his clothes; but also he hadthe whole flat to himself. Day after daythere was no one to make him do this, orstop his doing that. He could handle whathe liked, dig around in any corner or box,eat when he wished. Most important ofall, he could think what he pleased!

He never dwelt for any length of time

upon unhappy pictures—those which hadin them hate or revenge. His brain busieditself usually with places and people andevents which brought him happiness.

For instance, how he could travel! Andall for nothing! His calloused feet tuckedround the legs of the kitchen chair, hisbody relaxed, his expression as rapt asany Buddhist priest's, his big hands lockedabout his knees, and his eyes fastenedupon a spot on the wall, he could forsakethe Barber flat, could go forth, as if out ofhis own body, to visit any number ofwonderful lands which lay so near that hecould cross their borders in a moment. Hecould sail vast East Rivers in marveloustugs. He could fly superbly over greatcities in his own aeroplane.

And all this travel brought him intocontact with just the sort of men andwomen he wanted to know, so politelykind, so interesting. They never tired ofhim, nor he of them. He was with themwhen he wanted to be—instantly. Or theycame to the flat in the friendliest way. Andwhen its unpleasant duties claimed him—the Monday wash, the Tuesday ironing, theSaturday scrubbing, or the regulareveryday jobs such as dishes, beds,cooking, bead-stringing, and violet-making—frequently they helped him,lightening his work with their charmingcompanionship, stimulating him with theirexample and praise.

Oh, they were just perfect!

And how quiet, every one of them! So

often when the longshoreman returned ofan evening, his bloodshot eyes rovingsuspiciously, a crowd of handsomelydressed people filled the kitchen, and hethreaded that crowd, yet never guessed!When Big Tom spoke, the room usuallycleared; but later on Johnnie could againsummon all with no trouble whatever,whether they were great soldiers orpresidents, kings or millionaires.

Of the latter he was especially fond; inparticular, of a certain four. And as hepaused now to decide upon his program,he thought of that quartet. Why not givethem a call on the telephone this morning?

He headed for the morris chair. Underits soiled seat-cushion was a ragged copyof the New York telephone directory,

which just nicely filled in the sag betweenthe cushion and the bottom of the chair. Hetook the directory out—as carefully as if itwere some volume not possible ofduplication.

It was his only book. Once, while Ciswas still attending school, he had sharedher speller and her arithmetic, and madethem forever his own (though he did notrealize it yet) by the simple method ofphotographing each on his brain—page bypage. And it was lucky that he did; forwhen Cis's brief schooldays came to anend, Big Tom took the two textbooks outwith him one morning and sold them.

The directory was the prized gift ofMrs. Kukor's daughter, Mrs.Reisenberger, who was married to a

pawnbroker, very rich, and who occupiedan apartment (not a flat)—very fine, veryexpensive—in a great Lexington Avenuebuilding that had an elevator, and auniformed black elevator man, verystylish. The directory meant more toJohnnie than ever had Cis's books. Heknew its small-typed pages from end toend. Among the splendid things itadvertised, front, back, and at the bottomof its pages, were many he admired. Andhe owned these whenever he felt like it,whether automobiles or animals, cashregisters or eyeglasses. But suchpossessions, fine as they were, tooksecond place in his interest. What thrilledhim was the list of subscribers—theliving, breathing thousands that waited hiscall at the other end of a wire! And what

people they were!—the world-celebrated,the fabulously wealthy, the famouslybeautiful (as Cis herself declared), and thesocially elect!

Of course there was still others whowere prominent, such as storekeepers,prize fighters, hotel owners and the like(again it was Cis who furnished the data).But Johnnie, as has been seen, aimed highalways; and he was particular in thematter of his telephonic associations.Except when shopping, he made a strictrule to ring up only the most superior.

There was a clothesline strung downthe whole length of the kitchen. ThisJohnnie lowered on a washday to his owneasy reach. At other times it was raisedout of the way of Big Tom's head.

He let the line down. Then pushing thekitchen chair to that end of the rope whichwas farthest from the stove and thesleeping old man, he stood upon it; andhaving considered a moment whether hewould first call up Mr. Astor, or Mr.Vanderbilt, or Mr. Carnegie, or Mr.Rockefeller, decided upon Mr. Astor, andgave a number to a priceless Central whowas promptness itself, who never rang thewrong bell, or reported a busy wire, orcut him off in the midst of an engrossingconversation.

This morning, as usual, he got hisnumber at once. "Good-mornin', MisterAstor!" he hailed breezily. "This isJohnnie Smith.—'Oh, good-mornin',Mister Smith! How are y'?'—I'm fine!

—'That's fine!'—How are you, MisterAstor?—'Oh, I'm fine.'—That's fine!—'Iwas just wonderin', Mister Smith, if youwould like to go out ridin' with me.'—Yes, I would, Mister Astor. I think it'd befine!—'Y' would? Well, that's fine! And,Mister Smith, I'll come by for y' in aboutten minutes. And if ye'd like to take afriend along——'"

There now followed, despite theappointment set for so early a moment, along and confidential exchange of viewson a variety of subjects. When this wasfinished, Johnnie rang, in turn, Messrs.Vanderbilt, Carnegie and Rockefeller,sparing these gentlemen all the time in theworld. (When any one of them did indeedcall for him, fulfilling an appointment,

what a gorgeous blue plush hat themillionaire wore! and what a royally fur-collared coat!)

Now Johnnie put aside the importantengagement he had made with Mr. Astor,and, being careful first to find the rightnumbers in the book, got in touch withnumerous large concerns, and orderedjewelry, bicycles, limousines, steamboilers and paper drinking cups withmagnificent lavishness.

He had finished ordering his tenthautomobile, which was to be done up inred velvet to match the faithful Buckle,when there fell upon his quick ear thesound of a step. In the next instant he let goof the clothesline, sent the telephone bookslipping from the chair at his feet, and

plunged like a swimmer toward that looseball of gingham under the sink.

And not a moment too soon; forscarcely had he tossed the tied stringsover his tea-leaf-sprinkled hair, when thedoor opened, and there, coat on arm, greatchest heaving from his climb, bulgy eyesdarting to mark the condition of the flat,stood—Barber!

I

CHAPTER V

NEW FRIENDS

T WAS an awful moment.

During that moment there was deadsilence. Johnnie's heart stopped beating,his ears sang, his throat knotted as ifparalyzed, and the skin on the back of hishead crinkled; while in all those uneventhickets of his tawny, tea-stained hair,small, dreadful winds stirred, and heseemed to lift—horribly—away from thefloor.

Also, a sickish, sinking feeling at the

lower end of his breastbone made himcertain that he was about to break in two;and a sudden wobbling of the kneesthreatened to bring him down upon them.

Barber closed the hall door at his back—gently, so as not to waken his father.His eyes were still roving the kitchenappraisingly. It was plain that the full sinkand the littered table were having theireffect upon him; for he had begun thatchewing on nothing which betokened arising temper.

Johnnie saw, but he was too stunnedand scared to think of any way out of hisdifficulty. He might have caught up the bigcooking spoon and rapped on that leadpipe—five times in rapid succession, as ifhe were trying to clear the spoon of the

cereal clinging to its bowl. The five rapswas a signal that he had not used for along time. It belonged to that dreadful erato which Cis and he referred as "beforethe saloons shut up." Preceding themiracle that had brought the closing ofthese, Barber, returning home from hisday's work, had needed no excuse forusing the strap or his boot upon either ofthe children. And once he had struckhelpless old Grandpa—a happeningremembered by Cis and Johnnie withawesome horror, so that they spoke of itas they spoke of the Great War, or of amurder in the next block.

It had not been possible in those daysfor Big Tom to overlook the temptation ofdrink. To arrive at his own door from any

direction he had to pass saloons. At bothof the nearest street crossings northward,three of the four corners had beenoccupied by drinking places. There weretwo at each of the street crossings to thesouth. In those now distant times, thesignal, and Mrs. Kukor's promptanswering of it, had often saved Cis andJohnnie from drunken beatings.

But now the boy sent no signal. Thosebig-girl's hands were shaking in spite ofall effort to control. His upturned face wasa ghastly sallow. The gray eyes were set.

Barber's survey of the room finished,he stepped across the sagging telephoneline, placed the cargo hook and his lunchpail on the untidy table, and squared roundupon Johnnie.

"Now, say!"

"Yes?" It was a whisper.

"What y' done in here since I left twohours ago?"

Johnnie drew a quick breath. He wasnot given to falsehood, but he did at timesdepend upon evasion—at such times asthis. And not unnaturally. For he was inthe absolute power of a bully five timeshis own size—a bully who was none theless cruel because he argued that he wasdisciplining the boy properly, bringinghim up "right." Discipline or not, Big Tomdid not know the meaning of mercy; and toJohnnie the blow of one of those greatgorillalike fists was like some cataclysmof nature.

"What y' done?" persisted Barber, butspeaking low, so as not to disturb thesleeper in the wheel chair. He leaneddown toward Johnnie, and thrust out thatlower lip.

The boy's own lips began to move,stiffly. But he spoke as if he were out ofbreath. "Grandpa f-f-fretted," hestammered. "He—he wanted to be run upand down—with his hat on. And—and soI filled the m-m-mush-kettle t' soak it, andthen we—we——"

His lips went on moving; but his wordsbecame inaudible. A smile was twistingBarber's mouth, and carrying that crooked,cavernous nose sidewise. Johnnieunderstood the smile. The fringe about histhin arms and legs began to tremble. He

raised both hands toward thelongshoreman, the palms outward, in agesture that was like a silent prayer.

With a muttered curse, Barberstraightened, turned on his heel, strode tothe door of his bedroom, threw it wide,noted the unmade beds, and came about,pushing at the sleeve of his right arm."Come here," he bade, and the quiet of histone was more terrible to the boy than ifhe had shouted.

Johnnie did not obey. He could not.His legs would not move. His feet wererooted. "Oh, Mister Barber," he pleaded."Oh, don't lick me! I won't never do itagain! Oh, don't! Oh, don't! Oh, don't!"

"Come here." The great arm was bared

now. The voice was lower than before. Inone bulging, bloodshot eye that castshowed and went, then showed again. "Dowhat I say—come here."

"Oh! oh! oh!" Again Johnnie wasgasping.

Barber burst out at him like somefierce storm. "Don't y' try t' fool me!" hecried. He came on. When he was withinreach, that great, naked, iron arm shot out,seized the boy at his middle, swept him upfrom the floor with a violence that sent thetea leaves flying from the yellow hair,held him for a second in mid-air, the smallbody slouched in the big clothes as in thebottom of a sack, then shook him till hefairly rattled, like a pea in a pod.

In a terror that was uncontrollable,Johnnie began to thrash about and scream.And as Barber half dropped, half flunghim to the floor, old Grandpa roused, andcame round in his chair, tap-tapping withthe cane. "Captain!" he shrilled. "Theright's falling back! They're giving usgrape and canister!—Oh, our boys! Ourpoor boys!" Frightened by any trouble, hismind always reverted to old scenes ofbattle, when his broken sentences werelike a halting, squeaky record in sometalking machine that is out of order andrunning down.

As Grandpa rolled near to Johnnie, thelatter caught at a wheel, seeking help, inhis extremity, of the helpless, and thrusthis hands through the spokes to lock them.

So that as Barber once more bent anddragged at him, the chair and the old manfollowed about the kitchen.

"Let go!" commanded thelongshoreman. He tried to shake Johnniefree of the wheel.

But Johnnie held on, and his criesredoubled. The kitchen was in a tumultnow, for old Grandpa was also weeping—not only in fear for Johnnie, but in terrorlest he himself be overturned. And BigTom was alternately cursing and ordering.

The trouble was heard elsewhere. Toright and left there was movement, and thesound of windows being raised. Voicescalled out questioningly. Some onepounded on a wall in protest. And

overhead Mrs. Kukor left her chair andwent rocking across her floor.

Muttering a savage exclamation, BigTom let go of the boy and flung himselfinto the morris chair, not wanting to go sofar with his punishment as to invite thecomplaints of his neighbors and theinterference of the police. "Git up out ofthat!" he commanded, giving Johnnie arough nudge with a foot; then to quiet hisfather, "Now, Pa! That'll do. Sh! sh! It'sall right. The battle's over, and theYanks've beat."

But Johnnie was still prone, with thewheel in his embrace, and the old veteranwas sobbing, his wrinkled face glisteningwith tears, when Mrs. Kukor opened thedoor and came doll-walking in.

She was a short little lady, with acompact, inflexible figure that was, so tospeak, square, with rounded-off corners—square, and solid, and heavy. She had eyesthat were as black and round and bright asa sparrow's, a full, red mouth, and grayinghair, abundant and crinkly, which stoodout around her countenance as if chargedwith electricity. It escaped the hairpins.Even a knitted brown cap of some weightdid not adequately confine it. Every hairseemed vividly alive.

Her olive face was a trifle pale now.Her birdlike eyes darted from one toanother of the trio, quickly taking in thesituation. Too concerned to make anyapology for her unannounced entrance, sheteetered hastily to Big Tom's side.

"Oy! oy!" she breathed anxiously. "Votiss?"

"Tommie home," faltered old Grandpa."Tommie home. And the color sergeant'sdead!" He reached his arms out to her likea frightened child who welcomescompany.

Like her eyes, Mrs. Kukor's lips neverrested, going even when she listened, forshe had the habit of silently repeatingwhatever was said. Thus, with lips andeyes busy, head alternately wagging andnodding eloquently, and both handswaving, she was constantly in motion.Now, "The color sergeant's dead!" hermouth framed, and she gave a swift glancearound almost as if she expected to see afallen flag bearer.

"It's this lazy little rascal again,"declared Barber, working his jaws inbaffled wrath.

"So-o-o-o!" She stooped and laid agentle hand on Johnnie's shoulder."Come," she said. "Better Chonnie, hegoes in a liddle by Cis's room. No?" Andas the boy, still trembling, got to his kneesbeside the chair, she helped him to rise,and half led, half carried him past thestove.

Barber began his defense. "I go out o'here of a mornin'," he complained, "to doa hard day's work, so's I can pay rent andthe grocer. I leave that kid t' do a few littlethings 'round the place. And the minute myback's turned, what does he do? Nothin'! Icome back, and look!"

Mrs. Kukor, having seen Johnnie out ofthe room, turned about. Then, smoothingher checked apron with her plump hands,she glanced at Barber with a deprecatingsmile. "I haf look," she answered. "Und Iknow. But—he wass yust a poy, und youknow poys."

"I know boys have t' work," came backBarber, righteously. "If they don't, theygrow up into no-account men. When hisAunt Sophie died, I promised her I'd raisehim right. The work here don't amount tonothin',—anyhow not if you compare itwith what I done when I was a boy. Why,on my father's farm, up-state, I was out ofmy bed before sunup, winter and summer,doin' chores, milkin', waterin' the stock,hoein', and so on. What's a few dishes to

that? What's a bed or two? and a littlesweepin'? And look! He ain't even washedthe old man yet! And I like to see myfather clean and neat. That's what makesme so red-hot, Mrs. Kukor—the way heneglects my father."

"Chonnie wass shut up so much,"argued Mrs. Kukor.

That cast whitened Big Tom's eyeanxiously. He did not want Johnnie to hearany talk about going out. He hastened toreply, and his tone was more righteousthan ever. "No kid out of this flat is goin'to run the streets," he declared, "and learnall kinds of bad, and bring it home to thatnice, little stepdaughter o' mine! No, Mrs.Kukor, her mother'd haunt me if I didn'tbring her up nice, and you can bet I'll do

that. That kid, long's he stays under myroof, is goin' t' be fit t' stay. And hewouldn't be if he gadded the streets withthe gangs in this part of town." While thisexcuse for keeping Johnnie indoors wasanything but the correct one, Big Tom wasable to make his voice fervent.

"But Chonnie wass tired mit alwaysseeink the kitchen," persisted the littleJewish lady. "He did-ent go out now for alo-ong times. I got surprises he ain'tcrazy!"

"That's just what he is!" cried BigTom, triumphantly. "He's crazy! Of all thefoolishness in the world, he can think itup! And the things he does!—but nothin'that'll ever git him anywheres, or do himany good! And lazy? Anything t' kill time

—t' git out of honest work! Now what d'y'suppose he was doin' with this clothesline down? and talkin' out loud tohimself?"

"Niaggery! Niaggery!" piped oldGrandpa, smiling through his tears, andswaying against the rope that crossed hischest. "Niaggery! Niaggery! Chug! chug!chug!"

Mrs. Kukor spread out both hands in acomprehensive gesture. "See?" she asked."Oh, I haf listen. The chair goes roundtand roundt, und much water wass runninkin the sink. It wass for Grandpa, und—ittakes time."

Barber's dark face relaxed a little. Itcould not truthfully be said of him that he

was a bad son; and any excuse that offeredhis father as its reason invariably softenedhim. He pulled himself to his feet andpicked up the lunch pail and the cargohook. "Well—all right," he conceded."But I said t' myself, 'I'll bet that kid ain'tworkin'.' So havin' a' hour, I come home t'see. And how'd he git on yesterday, makin'vi'lets for y'?"

"Ach!"—this, an exclamation ofimpatience, was aimed at herself. "I wassforgettink!" Under her apron hung a long,slender, black bag. Out of it she took atwenty-five-cent piece and offered thecoin to Barber. "For yesttady," she added.

"Thank y'." He took the quarter. "Gladthe kid done his work."

"Oh, sure he do!" protested Mrs.Kukor. "Pos-i-tiv-vle!" (Mrs. Kukor couldalso be guilty of self-deception.)

Now, Barber raised his voice a little:"Johnnie, let's see how quick you canstraighten this place up."

At that, Mrs. Kukor waved both handsin eloquent signals, urging Big Tom to go;tapped her chest, winked, and made littleclicking noises with her tongue—all todenote the fact that she would seeeverything straightened up to perfection,but that for old Grandpa's sake furtherconversation with Johnnie might be amistake, since weeping all around wouldsurely break out again. So Barber,muttering something about leaving her aclear coast, scuffed his way out.

As the hall door closed, Johnnie buriedhis small nose in Cis's pillow. He waswounded in pride rather than in body. Hehated to be found on the floor at the toe ofBig Tom's boot. He had listened to theconversation while lying face downwardon Cis's bed but with his head raised likea turtle's. However, it seemed best,somehow, not to be found in that positionby Mrs. Kukor. He must not take his ill-treatment lightly, nor recover from hishurts too quick. He decided to be proneand prostrated. When the little Jewishlady came swaying in to him, therefore, hewas stretched flat, his yellow headmotionless.

The sight smote Mrs. Kukor. In all thefive years he had lived at the Barber flat,

she had continually watched over him,plying him with medicine, pulling his babyteeth, mending his ragged clothes, teachinghim to cook and do housework, feedinghim kosher dainties, and—for reasonsbetter hinted at than made plain—keepinga sharp lookout in the matter of his brighthair.

In the beginning, when trouble hadassailed him, her lap had received himlike the mother's lap he could notremember; her arms had cradled himtenderly, her kisses had comforted, and hehad often wept out his rage andmortification on her bosom.

However, long since he had felthimself too big to be held or kissed. Andas for his hair, she understood what a

delicate subject it had come to be withhim. She would have liked to stroke itnow; but she contented herself with pattinggently one thin arm. Behind her was oldGrandpa, peering into the dim closet.

"Oy! oy! oy!" mourned Mrs. Kukor,wagging her round head. "Ev'rytink goesbat if some peoples lives by oder peoplesw'ich did-ent belonk mit. Und how to do?I can't to say, except yust live alonk, undsee if sometink nice happens maype."

Johnnie moved, with a long, dry sob,and very tenderly she leaned down to turnhis face toward her. "Ach, poor Chonnie!"she cried. "Come! We will wash him, undmakes him all fresh und clean. Und next—how do you t'ink? Mrs. Kukor hass for youa big surprises!"

He sat up then, wearily, but forbore toseem curious, and she coaxed him into thekitchen, to bathe the dust and tears fromhis countenance, and stitch up some rentsin the big shirt, where Big Tom had torn it.All the while she talked to himcomfortingly. "Ach, mine heart it bleetsover you!" she declared. "But nefer mind.Because, oh, such swell surprises!"

Now Johnnie felt he could properlyshow interest in things outside themorning's trouble. "What, Mrs. Kukor?"he wanted to know. "Is it—is it noodlesoup?"

And now both burst out laughing, for itwas always a great joke between them, hisliking for her noodle soup. Old Grandpalaughed loudest of all, circling them, and

pounding the floor with his cane. "Whatsay?" he demanded. "What say?"Altogether the restoration to the flat ofpeace and happiness was made so evidentthat, to right, left, and below, windowsnow began to go down with a bang, as, theBarber row over, the neighbors went backto their own affairs.

"It wass not noodle soup," declaredMrs. Kukor. "It wass sometink a t'ousandtimes so goot. But not for eatink. No.Much better as. Und! Sooner your workwass finished, make a signals to me alonkof the sink, und see how it happens!"

More she would not say, but rocked outand up.

Johnnie went at his dishes hard. The

table cleared, the sink empty, and thecupboard full, he tied the clothesline outof the way, then with broom and dustpaninvaded Big Tom's bedroom, whichGrandpa shared with his hulking son. Herewere two narrow, iron bedsteads.Between them was barely room for thewheel chair when it rolled the little oldman in to his night's rest. To right and leftof the door, high up, several nailssupported a few dusty garments. That wasall.

If Johnnie stooped in the doorway ofthis room, he could see every square footof its floor, and every article in it. Yetfrom the very first he had feared the place,into which no light and air came direct.Whenever he swept it and made the beds,

his heart beat fast, and he felt nervousconcerning his ankles, as if Somethingwere on the point of seizing them! For thisreason he always put off his bedroomwork as long as he could; then finished itup quickly, keeping the door wide whilehe worked. At other times, he kept it tightshut. Often when old Grandpa was asleepby the stove, Johnnie would tiptoe to thatdoor, lean against the jamb of it, andlisten. And he told Cis that he couldplainly hear creakings!

But this morning he felt none of hisusual nervousness, so taken up was hismind with Mrs. Kukor's mystery. Swiftlybut carefully he made the two beds. As arule, he contented himself withstraightening each out, but so artfully that

Barber would think the sheets had beenturned. Sometimes Barber threw a bit ofpaper or a sock into one bed or the other,in order to trap Johnnie, who found it wisealways to search for evidence.

Now he pulled each bed apart, turnedthe old mattresses with the loudest thumps,snapped the sheets professionally (Cis hadtaught him that!), whacked the pillowswith might and main, and tucked in theworn blankets like a trained nurse. Thenwith puffs and grunts he swept under aswell as around the beds, searching out thedeep cracks with the cornstraw, andraising a prodigious cloud.

When he came out of the bedroom itwas to empty his garnerings into the stoveand repeat the dust-gathering process in

Cis's room, that cubby-hole, four-by-seven, which had no window, anddoubtless had been intended for a storageplace, or a bathroom free from draughts. Itheld no furniture at all—only a long, lowshelf and a dry-goods box. Cis slept on anarrow mattress which upholstered theshelf, and used the box both as a dressing-table and a wardrobe. Johnnie was notexpected to make up the shelf; and wasstrictly forbidden to touch the box. Hescratched the floor successfully, nothaving attended to it for some days.

By the time he was ready to do thekitchen, his face was streaked again, andglistening with perspiration. And he couldnot help but wish, as he planted the wheelchair at the open window, that Barber, if

he intended to make another unexpectedreturn, would come at such a time as this,when things that he liked were happening.

The kitchen floor lay in greatsplintering hummocks and hollows. Itswide cracks were solid with theaccumulations of time, while lint andfrayings, and bits of cloth and string, werefairly woven into its rough surfaceeverywhere, and tenaciously held. It waslastingly greasy in the neighborhood of thetable, as steadily wet in the region of thesink, and sooty in an ever-widening circleabout the stove.

Sprinkling it thoroughly, he swept eventhe two squares on which were set the fuelboxes; gave the stove what amounted to afeverish rubbing, then turned his attention

to old Grandpa.

The morning routine of caring for theaged veteran included the bathing of thewizened face and hands and the brushingof the thin, straggling hair. Johnniehastened to collect the wash basin, the barof soap (it was of the laundry variety), anda square of once-white cloth, which itmust be confessed was used variouslyabout the flat, serving at one time to polishthe lamp chimney, and again for anyparticular dusting.

Grandpa had all of a small boy'sdislike for water. The moment he spiedJohnnie's preparations, he began toprotest. "No! no!" he objected. "It's cold!It's cold!" He whirled his chair in anattempt to escape.

But Johnnie had a fine device for justthis problem. "Oh, Grandpa!" he remindedcoaxingly as he filled the wash basin withwarm water out of the teakettle, "don't youremember that you jus' was in a big battle?And there's mud on your face!"

Grandpa capitulated at once, andallowed himself to be washed andcombed. The old man clean, Johnnie gavehim a glass of warm milk, wheeled him asfar away from the window as possible,then trundled him gently back and forth, asif he were a baby in a carriage. And allthe while the boy sang softly, improvisinga lullaby:

"Oh, Grandpa, now go tos'eepy-s'eep,

'Cause you're awful

tired.And Johnnie wants t'

see what Mrs. KukorIs goin' to s'prise him

about——"

Grandpa dozing, Johnnie did not pauseto eat the cold potato and bread spreadwith the grease of bacon trimmings whichmade his usual noon meal. Curiositydulled his hunger. Gently he tapped uponthat convenient pipe—once, then twice,then once again.

As he leaned at the window to wait,his small nose curled in a grin. There wasno movement up above. He half suspecteda joke. But he had got off easy with BigTom. Also, the housework was done, andin fine style. Except for a little violet-

making—not too much—more than awhole half-day still lay ahead of him. Andwhat an automobile trip he could take withMr. Astor! Idly he followed the changingcontours of a cloud in an otherwise emptysky.

Then of a sudden something camedropping between him and the cloud. Hestarted back. It was a shallow basket,suspended from each of its four corners bya string. As it lowered inch by inch, hestood up in the rope coils; and what hesaw in it fairly took his breath. For thereon the bottom of the basket was—a book!

"Gee!" he gasped.

He brought the basket to a safe landing.Then, forgetting that some one was at the

other end of the four strings, he slipped tothe floor, turned on the water in the sink,and, like a Moslem holy man who is aboutto touch his Koran, washed both grimyhands.

To look at, it was not much of a book.In the first place, it had not the length,width or thickness of the telephonedirectory, while its corners were fully asdog-eared. Yet he took it from the basketwith something like reverence. It had onecloth cover—the back. This was wine-red, and shiny. The front one had been tornout of its binding. However, this seemedto him no flaw. Also, there were severalpictures—in colors! And as he looked thevolume over still more closely, he made awonderful discovery: on the front page

was written a name—J. J. Hunter.

It was a man's book!

"Oh, my goodness!" he whispered."Oh, Mrs. Kukor!"

The basket danced inquiringly, tipped,and began to heave upward. A voicebegan to whisper to him, coming downalong those four strings: "I finds him by asecont-hant store-mans. I gets him almostfor notink. He wass olt, und very fine. Hafyou open him? Reat, Chonnie!"

He opened the book at the first page;and knew how different this one was fromthe directory, with its solid lines ofnames; from the speller, printed incolumns of words, or the arithmetic,

which was all hit-or-miss. Here was apage divided into paragraphs, as in thenewspapers which Cis sometimessmuggled in. Before and after many of theparagraphs were those strange littlemarks, larger at one end than at the other,which showed that some one wasspeaking.

"It's a story!" he whispered back.

Indeed, as he read that first page, it soinformed him. Across its top, in capitalletters, ran those words: THE STORY OFALADDIN; OR, THE WONDERFULLAMP. All his life he had had to make uphis own stories, get acquainted with thepeople in them, dress them, and even givethem speech. But here was a storybelonging to some one else—a story as

important as that one about his friendsDavid and Goliath, this proven by the factthat it had been written down, letter forletter.

He began it: In the capital of one ofthe large and rich provinces of theKingdom of China, the name of which Ido not recollect, there lived a tailor,named Mustapha, who was so poor, thathe could hardly, by his daily labor,maintain himself and his family, whichconsisted of a wife and son.

His son, who was called Aladdin——

Something came into Johnnie's throatwhen he got that far. He gulped. And hecould not read any further just thenbecause something had come into his eyes.

He laid the book against his breast, andcrossed both arms upon it. He did notknow how to pray. Mrs. Kukor had neverdared teach him, fearing the wrath of BigTom. As for Cis, she knew how from hermother; but she had all of a child's naturalshyness regarding sacred subjects.

To Johnnie, Sunday was not a day setapart for sacred matters. It was a day to bedreaded. And not only because on that dayBarber was likely to be about at any hour,but because for Johnnie it meantuninterrupted work. The noon meal had tobe put on the table instead of into lunchpails. And when dinner was cleared awaythere was always bead-stringing or violet-making to do—Cis helping when shereturned from church. On account of his

clothes, Johnnie never went to churchhimself. What he knew about churches,therefore, was only what Cis told him; andof her information the most striking bitwas this: red carpets led into them undergay awnings whenever people weregetting married.

But as he stood with the book claspedto his breast, what he felt wasthanksgiving—to his very toes."Aladdin,"—he spoke aloud to that otherboy, who was so poor; "you're goin' t' be adandy friend of mine! Yes, and your Paand Ma, too! And I'll introduce you toBuckle, and Mr. Rockefeller, and a lot ofnice folks!"

Presently he brought the book up towhere, by lowering his head, he could lay

a thin cheek against that front page. Then,"Oh, Mister J. J. Hunter," he addedhuskily, "I hope you ain't never goin' towant this back!"

H

CHAPTER VI

THE DEAREST WISH

E read—and the shining Orient burstupon him!

It was as if the most delicate ofgossamer curtains had been brushed asideso that he could look at a new world.What he saw there rooted him to his chair,holding him spellbound. Yet not so muchbecause it contrasted sharply with his ownlittle world, this bare flat of Barber's inthe lower East Side, as that it seemed tofit in perfectly with his own experiences.

Aladdin was a boy like himself, whowas scolded, and cuffed on the ears. TheAfrican magician was just another aswicked and cruel as the longshoreman. Asfor that Slave of the Ring, Johnnieconsidered him no more wonderful thanBuckle. In fact, there was nothingimpossible, or even improbable, about thestory. It held him by its sheer reality. Itsdrama enthralled him, too. And he gloriedin all its beauty of golden dishes, gorgeousdress, fountain-fed gardens, jewel-fruitedtrees and prancing steeds.

He read carefully, one forefingertraveling to and fro across the wide pages,while his lips moved silently, and hedragged at his hair. Sometimes he came towords he did not understand

—chastisement, incorrigible,physiognomist, handicraft, equipped,mosques, liberality. He went over themand pressed on, just as he might haveclimbed one wall after the other if thesebarred his way. He could come back tothe hard words later—and he would. Butfirst he must know how things fared withthis other boy.

When Grandpa wakened, Johnnie fairlywrenched his look from beautiful Cathayto face the demands which the Borough ofManhattan made upon him. Tucking hisbook under the wide neckband of the bigshirt, he let it slip down to rest at his belt.The old soldier was hungry. He wassupplied with milk toast so speedily that itwas the next thing to magic. Then Johnnie

discovered a hollow feeling whichcentered in his own anatomy, whereuponhe ate several, cold boiled potatoes wellspiced with mustard.

Their late lunch over, Grandpa wasstrong in his appeals for a journey as farsouth as Island Number 10. But nowJohnnie had no heart for any trip intodistant country. The realm of China wasabout him. He wheeled the chair up anddown, but he sang to soothe Grandpa tosleep. And this time his song was all ofhis great new happiness:

"Oh, I got a book! I got abook! I got a book!Oh, Mrs. Kukor, she giveit t' me!And it's awful grand!

Once it was a man's, andhis name was Hunter—I wonder if he lost it, ormaybe somebody sold iton him.I'm goin' t' read it till Iknow ev'ry word!I'm goin' t' read it ev'ryday—ev'ry day!Go t' sleep, 'cause I wantt' read some more!Go t' sleep! Go t' sleep!Go t' sleep!"

On and on he caroled, like a bird on abranch. At last Grandpa, after some mildprotesting, was lulled by the rhapsody,and dozed once more; when Johnnieadroitly tapered off his song, brought the

chair to a cautious stop, drew the bookfrom its warm hiding place, sank into themorris chair, and again there swept intothe kitchen, as on the crest of a stream, theglorious, the enchanting East.

He saw the dull, old lamp rubbed forthe first time, and the genie come. And herejoiced with Aladdin as the poor Chineseboy attained the knowledge of the lamp'speculiar virtue. Only once did he emergefrom the thralldom of the tale by his ownwill. That was when he read of thewonderful Buddir al Buddoor: "Theprincess was the most beautiful brunettein the world; her eyes were large, lively,and sparkling; her looks sweet andmodest; her nose was of a justproportion and without a fault, her

mouth small, her lips of a vermilion redand charmingly agreeablesymmetry——"

Here he paused, lifting farseeing,shining eyes. Many a time he had spied aslim little girl who came out upon one ofthe fire escapes opposite. The little girl'shair was black and wavy, and the windtossed it upon her shoulders as she lookedaround. She seldom glanced over atJohnnie, and to gain her attention he had toHoo-hoo to her. Once he had shown herthat pillow so cherished by Cis, whichwas covered with bright cretonne. He hadseen the little girl's white teeth flash then,and knew that she was smiling.

She was like the Princess Buddir alBuddoor, dark, and red-lipped. And how

kind she was! For she had never seemedto notice anything wrong with either hishair or his clothes. He could understandhow Aladdin felt about the sultan'sdaughter, who was so lovely—all but hername!

He was deep in the story again when aplump hand interrupted by covering hispage. So shut were his ears against everysound, inside and out, that he had notheard Mrs. Kukor enter. Now she held upsomething before his face. It was thealarm clock.

Next after Big Tom and his own hair hehated the clock most. It was foreverrousing him of a morning when he longedto sleep. Also, the clock acted as a sort ofvicar to Barber. Its round, flat, bald face

stared hard at Johnnie as its raspingstaccato warned him boldly. More thanonce he had gone up to the noisytimepiece, taken it from its place on thecupboard shelf, and given it a goodshaking.

"So!" exclaimed Mrs. Kukor. She setthe clock down and reached for the book."I keeps him by me. To-morrow, sooneryou wass finish mit your work, he comesdown again by the basket."

"Oh, but I can hide it!" urged Johnnie,illustrating his argument at the same time."And, oh, gee, Mrs. Kukor! I'm theluckiest kid in N'York!"

"Supper," pronounced Mrs. Kukor,seeing that the book was indeed well

hidden and would bring no fresh troublesupon that yellow head that day.

And it did not. For at suppertime, whenBarber loomed in the doorway once more,the teakettle was on the stove, andwaddling from side to side very much inthe manner of Mrs. Kukor, the kitchen wasfilled with the fruity aroma of stewingprunes, and Johnnie, with several saucersof bright-hued beads before him, was busyat his stringing—a task which, beingmechanical, could be performed withoutconscious effort. And he was so engrossedover his saucers that Barber had to speakto him twice before the boy started upfrom his chair, letting the beads impaledon his long needle slip off and patter uponthe floor like so much gay-colored sleet.

Barber gave a satisfied look around."All right—set your table," hecommanded.

Johnnie obeyed. But this was a taskwhich was not mechanical. And with histhoughts still on the high hopes and plansof that other boy, he put two knives at oneplate, two forks at another. But it was alldone with such promptness, with such aquick, light step and eager, smiling eye,that Barber, remarking the swiftness andthe spirit Johnnie showed, for onceomitted to harangue him for his mistakes.

Cis was more discerning than herstepfather. When she came slipping in, theboy's rapt expression told her that histhoughts were on something outside theflat. She was not curious, being used to

seeing him look so detached. However,supper done with, and Barber out of thekitchen, putting his father to bed, shegleaned that something unusual hadhappened. For as they were washing andsetting away the dishes, he leaned close toask her the strangest question.

"Cis," he whispered, "what's p-h-y-s-i-o-g-n-o-m-i-s-t?"

She turned her head to stare; and knither young brows, wondering and puzzled,not at the question itself, but at what laybehind it. The bedroom door was open.She dared not venture a counter question."Start it again," she whispered back.

He named the letters through a secondtime. "It's a long word," he conceded. "It

takes all of my fingers, and then one thumband two fingers over. What does it spell?"

Cis's lips were pressed tight. Theytwitched a bit, to keep back with someeffort what she had on her mind. Whenthey parted at last, she nodded wisely."You never got that word out of myspeller," she declared; "nor off of anypaper bag from the grocer's." Which wasto say that she did not know what all thoseletters spelled, but that she was fullyaware he had a good deal to tell her.

Johnnie had already made up his mindthat he would not share his precious secretwith her. He feared to. Barber had neverallowed Cis to bring home books,regarding all printed matter as a waste oftime. And Cis had a way of obeying

Barber strictly; also she often pleadedconscience and duty in matters of thiskind. And to Johnnie any consideration forBarber's wishes or opinions, except thelittle that was forced by fear of the strap,was silly, girlish, and terribly trying.

He admired Mrs. Kukor's stand.Backed by her, he meant to keep the bookand read it every minute he could. So withBig Tom once more in the kitchen, havingan after-supper pipe in the morris chair,Johnnie ignored Cis's silent invitation tojoin her in the window, and brought hisbedding from her room, spreading it outostentatiously beside the stove. Thenhaving filled the teakettle and stirred thebreakfast cereal into the big, black pot, heflung himself down upon his mattress with

a weary grunt.

Barber smiled. The boy was tired. Foronce some real work had been donearound the place. "You better git t' bedearly, too," he remarked to Cis. As advicefrom him always amounted to a command,she disappeared at once. Presently BigTom got up, stretched his gorilla arms,yawned with a descending scale of Oh's,and went lumbering to bed.

A wait—which to Johnnie seemedinterminable, while dusk thickened todarkness; then snores. The snoringcontinued all the while he was counting upto four hundred. Also it achieved aregularity and loudness that guaranteed itto be genuine. Still Johnnie did not openhis eyes. There were little movements in

Cis's room, and he felt sure she was notasleep. Soon he had proof of it. Forpeering up carefully from under loweredlids, he saw her door slowly open; next,she came to stand in it, dimly outlined inher faded cotton kimono.

She had something white in one hand.This she waved up and down in anoiseless signal. He did not stir. She stoleforward, bent down, and touched him. Hewent on breathing deep and steadily. Shetiptoed back to her bed.

As patiently as possible he waited tillthe sound of her regular breathing couldbe heard between Barber's rasping snores.Then he sat up. So long as he had beenable to read, he had thought of nothing butreading. But with the book put away there

had come to him a wonderful plan—a planthat made his bony little spine gooseflesh:He would rub Barber's old kitchen lamp!

Seldom used, it stood on a cupboardshelf beside the clock. Fairly holding hisbreath, he got to his feet and crept acrossthe floor. Inch by inch, cautiously, hishand felt its way to the right shelf, foundthe lamp, grasped the glass standard. Butthe table was the only proper place for theexperiment. He carried the lamp there andset it down, his heart beating hard underthe pleats of his shirt.

Then he considered what his course ofaction should be. If Big Tom's old lampchanced to possess even a scrap of thatpower peculiar to the lamp of Aladdin: if,when he rubbed the none too clean glass

base, some genie were to appear, askingfor orders—what should he command?

It came to him then that what he wantedmost in all the world was not bags ofmoney, not dishes of massy gold, or richrobes, or slaves, but only freedom. Hewanted to get away from the flat; to leavebehind him forever the hatedlongshoreman.

"If the great big feller comes when Irub," he told himself, "I'll say t' him, 'TakeGrandpa and Cis and me as far away as—as Central Park'" (this a region of delightinto which he had peeped when he wasthree or four years old, under escort of hisAunt Sophie). "'And leave us in a flat asgood as this one.'"

With Big Tom out of his life, oh, howhe would work!—violet-making, bead-stringing, and, yes, boarders! He couldfetch Grandpa's bed out into the newkitchen, and put three roomers into thelittle bedroom, just as several tenants inthis building did. And what he could earn,added to Cis's wages at some factory, andGrandpa's pension (this a princely incomewhich was now regularly drawn and spentby Big Tom) would take care of the threesplendidly.

Having settled upon the supreme wish,and fairly holding his breath, he reachedout in the darkness and rubbed the lamp.

Nothing happened.

He waited a little. In this lamp

business perhaps time figuredprominently; though his own friends—Buckle, the four millionaires, David,Goliath, the Prince, and any number ofothers always appeared in the kitchenpromptly.

But no genie of the lamp arrived. Tomake sure that his test was fair, he rubbedthe lamp a second time, all the wayaround. Still no huge, hideous, helpfulfigure loomed out of the dark.

He grinned sheepishly, tugged at hishair a few times, then went back to hismattress and sat down. He was notdisappointed, for though he had beenhopeful, he had not been over-sure. And,anyhow, he had his book. He lifted it out,placed it upon his knees, and rested his

forehead upon it. And the next moment, asif whisked to him by a genie all his own,Cathay was about him; and he was withthe boy, Aladdin, plunging down a flightof steps on his way to a garden thatyielded fruit which was all diamonds andrubies and pearls.

H

CHAPTER VII

A SERIOUS STEP

E awoke with such a feeling ofhappiness—a fluttery feeling, whichwas in his throat, and also just at the

lower end of his breastbone, where heseemed to have so many kinds ofsensations. For a moment he did notremember what made him so happy. Butas he moved, something hard pressedagainst his ribs, whereupon the flutteryfeeling suddenly spread over the whole ofhim, so that the calves of those lead-pipelegs got creepy, and his shoulder-blades

tingled. Then he knew it was all becauseof the book.

The process of getting up of a morningwas always a simple one. As he slept inhis big clothes, all he had to do wasscramble to his feet, roll up his bedding,splash a little water upon the centralportion of his countenance, dry it awaywith the apron, and put the apron on.

As a rule he never so much as stirredtill Barber or the alarm clock sounded anorder. But on this happy morning he didnot wait for orders, but rose promptly,though it still wanted more than half anhour to getting-up time. He did yet anotherunusual thing; noiselessly, so as not towake any one, he set his bedding roll onend just outside the door of Cis's room,

then returned to the table, drew out thedrawer, chose a saucer of rose-coloredbeads, and fell to threading them swiftly.He had two ideas in mind: first, afteryesterday's unpleasant experience, he wasanxious to make a good impression uponBig Tom; second, and principally, he wasstringing now, when he dared not read, inorder that, later on, he might be free toenjoy his book.

He held the long needle in his righthand. He poked the beads to the needle'stip with the forefinger of his left. He usedhis tongue, too, after a fashion, for if abead was obstinate his tongue tipsometimes helped—by curling itselfnoseward over his upper lip. Before nowhe had always thought of rose-colored

beads as future rose-colored roses in thebeautiful purses that Mrs. Kukor made.But now the beads reminded him ofnothing less than that strange garden layingunder the horizontal stone in China.

He took out all of his saucers—thepink, the green, the brown, the gold, theblue, the burgundy, the white, the black,the yellow—and found that they gave hima new pleasure. They were the fruit ofAladdin's garden, and he planned to offerthem in a yellow bowl to that certain dark-haired little girl. "'What wouldst thouhave?'" he quoted. "'I am ready to obeythee as thy slave,'"—a statement that heconsidered highly appropriate. Hiswhispering was accompanied bygesticulations that bore no relation to

bead-stringing, and by tossings of hisyellow head.

"Now what y' mumblin' about?"demanded Big Tom. He was watchingfrom the bedroom door, and his lookdenied that Johnnie, though at work, wasmaking anything like a good impression;quite the contrary—for Barber's bloodshoteyes were full of suspicion. Should a boywho always had to be watched and drivensuddenly show a desire to keep busy?"Breakfast on?" he asked.

Johnnie sprang up. "I didn't want tomake no noise," he explained. The nextmoment lids were rattling and coal wastumbling upon some blazing kindling as hestarted the morning fire.

"A-a-a-ah! What y' got this lamp downfor?"—it was the next question, and therewas triumph in Big Tom's voice. "Beenwastin' oil, have y'? Come! When did y'light it? Answer up!"

"I didn't light it," replied Johnnie,calmly glancing round, his chin on hisshoulders.

"No? Then what did y' do? Hey?What?"

"Just took it down 'n' rubbed it."

"M-m-m!—Well, y' made a poor job ofyour rubbin'. I'll say that!"

"I'll rub it again," said Johnnie. Hecaught up the dish towel with which hehad dried his own face and set to work on

the lamp. There was a faint smile on hislips as he worked. There was a smile inhis eyes, too, but he kept his lidsdiscreetly lowered.

His whole manner irritated Barber,who sauntered to the table, took a carefulsurvey of it, drew out the drawer, lookedit over, then dropped into the morris chairto pull on his socks. Now he sensed, ashad Cis the day before, that the air of theflat was charged with something—something that was strange to it. He didnot guess it was happiness. But as Johnniemoved quickly between sink and stove,between cupboard and table, Big Tomwatched him, and thrust out that lower lip.

While the business of breakfast wason, instead of standing up to the table for

his bowl of oats, Johnnie madesandwiches for the two lunches. Hot tea,well sugared, went into Barber's pail.Another tin compartment Johnnie packedwith the cooked prunes. A third held slabsof corned-beef between bread. Sourpickles were added to these when hefilled Cis's lunchbox, which closelyresembled a camera. And now the wide-open, fixed look of his eyes, the uplift atthe corners of his mouth, his swellednostrils and his buoyant step told Cis thathe was engaged in some adventure, highand stirring.

But Barber, still watching the boysharply, made up his mind that thepunishment of the day before had done alot of good. In fact, it seemed to have

brought about a complete transformation.For during the two or three minutes thatBig Tom allowed himself after eating forthe filling of his pipe, Johnnie swept thetable clear, washed, dried and put awaythe dishes, and was so far along with hismorning's work that he was wiping off thestove.

Leaving, Barber omitted his usualwarnings and directions; and did not evenwait outside the door for a final lookback, but went promptly down, as thecreaking stairs testified, and out, as toldby the sucking move and gentle rattle ofthe hall door.

It was Cis who lingered. When the flatwas clear of her stepfather, she fairlyburst from her tiny room, and halted face

to face with Johnnie, from whose strongright hand the stove rag was even thenfalling. Her eyes both questioned andchallenged him. And the sudden breakingof his countenance into a radiant grin, atone and at the same time, answered her—and confessed.

"Johnnie!" she whispered.

He stretched up to her pink ear toanswer, for Grandpa was at the table, stillbusy over his bowl. "A book," hewhispered back, his air that of one whohas seen the dream of a lifetime realized.

"What? What kind of a book? Andwhere'd you get it? Show it to me."

He went into the little closet. When he

came out, she went in. And presently, asshe sauntered into the kitchen once more,he plunged past her and the tiny roomreceived him a second time—all of whichwas according to a method they hadworked out long ago. He was up-headed,and his eyes sparkled as he unpinned atowel from under Grandpa's chin andtrundled the wheel chair back from thetable. His look said that he defied allcriticism.

She reached for the camera-box. Hermanner wholly lacked enthusiasm. "Iguess it's a good story," she concededkindly. "I heard about it lots when I was inschool. But, my! It's so raggy!"

"Raggy!" scoffed Johnnie. "Huh! I don'tcare what it looks like!"

When she, too, was gone, he omittedhis usual taking of the air at the window.He even denied himself the pleasure ofcalling up his four millionaires and tellingthem of his good fortune. The mainbusiness of the day was the book. WouldAladdin's order for a palace, complete, becarried out? Would that ambitiousCelestial marry the Princess of hischoice? Johnnie could scarcely wait toknow.

Following a course that he had foundgood these several years past, he woundthe alarm clock a few times and set it toring sharp at four in the afternoon—whichwould give him more than a full hour inwhich to wash Grandpa, make the bedsand sweep before Big Tom's return. This

done, he opened the book on the table, duga hand into his tousled mop, and began toread—to read as he might have drunk ifthirst were torturing him, and a cool, deepcup were at his lips. For the book was tohim really a draught which quenched alonging akin to thirst; it was a potion thatgave him new life.

As the story of stories unfolded itself,step by step, the ragged street urchinwhose father had been a poor tailor,attained to great heights—to wealth andsuccess and power. Johnnie gloried in itall, seeing such results as futurepossibilities of his own, and not forgettingto remark how kind, through all theupward trending of fortune, Aladdin hadbeen to his mother (though he, himself, did

not pause in his enjoyment of the tale totake the regular train trip with Grandpa).

Twice during the morning the oldsoldier, by whimpering insistently,brought himself to Johnnie's attention. Butthe moment Grandpa was waited upon,back Johnnie went to his book, and pagewas turned upon page as the black magicof the hateful African wafted that mostperfect of palaces many a league from itsoriginal site, and separated for his ownwicked purposes the loving Aladdin andhis devoted Buddir al Buddoor.

And then—all of a sudden—and for noreason that Johnnie could name, but as ifsome good genie of his own werewatching over him, and had whispered awarning, he cast off the enthrallment of

Asia, stopped dragging at his hair, startedto his feet, slid the book under his collar-band, and took stock of the time.

It was twelve. Indeed, the noonwhistles were just beginning to blow. Butthey and the clock did not reassure him.He had been dimly aware, the past hour orso, of a strange state of quiet overhead.That awareness now resolved itself into ahorrible fear—the fear that, in spite oflunches put up and a clock wound to clangat four in the afternoon, the day was—Saturday!

"Gee!" breathed Johnnie, and paled toa sickly white.

His first thought was to make sure oneway or another. Scurrying to the window,

he pushed it up, hung out of it toward theGamboni casement, and called to a sleekhead that at this time of the day wasalmost certain to be bobbing in sight.There it was, and "What day is this, Mrs.Gamboni?" he demanded. "Quick! Is itSaturday?"

"Si!"

Saturday! A half-day! Barber!

He threw himself backward, then stoodfor a moment, panic-stricken. Of course itwas Saturday. Which explained why Mrs.Kukor was out. Oh, why had she notstopped by on her way to church? Oh, whyhad he left any of his work undone? Oh,for some genie to finish it all up in asecond! Oh, for some Slave of a Ring or a

Lamp!

"Gee!" he breathed again. "This wasthe shortest Saturday mornin' in theworld!"

There now came to the fore thepractical side of his nature. He knew hemust do one of two things: stay, and takethe whipping that Big Tom would surelygive him, or—go.

What had heretofore kept him fromgoing was the fact that he had no clothes.By the end of his first year in the flat, thelittle suit he had been wearing when hecame was in utter rags. Big Tom hadbought him no new suit, declaring that hecould not afford it. So Johnnie had had todecide between putting on some of Cis's

old garments or Barber's mammoth cast-offs. He chose the latter, which Mrs.Kukor offered to alter, but Barber refusedher help. And she knew at once whatJohnnie did not guess: the longshoremanwanted the boy to appear ridiculous.

The plan worked. The first timeJohnnie had ventured into the areawearing his baggy breeches and avoluminous shirt, the boys who had fromthe first called "Girl's hair!" at himchanged their taunt to "Old clothes!" It hadsent him scurrying back into the flat, and ithad kept him there, so that Big Tom hadsome one to look after Grandpa steadily,and bring in a small wage besides.

But now not even the likelihood ofbeing mocked for his ragged misfits could

keep Johnnie back. Darting into the hall,he crouched in the dark passage a momentto listen, his heart pounding so hard that hecould hear it; then certain that the way wasyet clear, he straddled the banisters and,with his two strong hands to steady himand act as a brake to his speed, took thethree flights to the ground floor.

As Big Tom usually entered the area bythe tunnel-like hall that led in from themain street to the south, Johnnie headednorth, first taking care to glance out intothe area before he charged across it,blinded by its glare after the semidark ofthe Barber rooms. He was hatless. Hishair and his fringe flew. His feet flew,too, as if the longshoreman were at theirhorny little heels.

The north tunnel gained, he scamperedalong it. As he dodged out of it, andwestward, again the glare of the outdoorsblinded him, so that he did not see acrowd that was ahead of him—a crowdmade up wholly of boys.

He plunged among the lot. Instantly ajoyous wrangle of cries went up: "Girl'shair! Girl's hair! Old clothes! Oldclothes!" A water-pistol discharged achill stream into his face. Hands seizedhim, tearing at his rags.

Savagely he battled at the center of themob, hitting, kicking, biting. His sightcleared, and he made the blows of his bighands tell. "Leave me alone!" hescreamed. "Leave me alone!"

The crowd doubled as men and womenrushed up to see what the excitement wasall about. Then hands laid hold ofJohnnie's tormentors, hauling them back,and suddenly he found himself free. Oncemore he took to his heels, and panting,dripping, scarlet and more ragged thanbefore, he fled ignominiously.

W

CHAPTER VIII

MORE TREASURES

HEN he had put half a dozen blocksbehind him, he slackened his pace,took a quick look into several

doorways, chose one that promisedseclusion, dove into it, got his breathback, made sure that the precious bookwas safe, and then indulged himself in agrin that was all relief.

The grin narrowed as he rememberedthat Grandpa was alone in the flat. "Oh,but Big Tom or Mrs. Kukor'll be homesoon," he reflected; and comforted his

conscience further by vowing that, givengood luck, he would in no time be in aposition to return for the purpose ofenticing away both Cis and the old soldier(men are men, and in the stress of themoment he did not give a thought to thatslim, little, dark-haired girl). He could nothelp but feel hopeful regarding his plans.Had not just such adventuring as thisaccomplished wonderful results for hisnew friend, Aladdin, a boy as poor ashimself?

He did not stay long in the doorway.He felt sure that the moment Barberreturned a search of the neighborhoodwould be made, during which peoplewould be questioned. Discretion urgedthat more blocks be put between the flat

and that small back which so dreaded thestrap. So off he went once more—at alively trot.

Though during the last five years hehad not once been so far away from thearea as this, he was not frightened. A city-bred boy, he felt as much at ease, scuttlingalong, as a fish in its native waters, or arabbit in its own warren. He had taken awestward direction because he knew thatthe other way East River lay close,shutting off flight. Now he began to readthe street signs. Cis had often talked of agreat thoroughfare which cut the city intotwo unequal parts—a one-time road, shesaid it was, and so long that it ran throughother cities. This was the street Johnniewanted—being the one he had heard most

about. It was a street called Broadway.

As he traveled, he passed other dirty,ragged, little boys. His head was theyellowest of them all, his clothes were thepoorest. But he was scarcely noticed. Theoccasional patrolman did not more thanglance at him. And he was fully asindifferent. At his Aunt Sophie's, apoliceman—by name Mike Callaghan—had been a frequent visitor, when he waswont to lay off not only his cap but hiscoat as well, and sit around bareheaded inhis shirt-sleeves, smoking. This glimpseof an officer of the law, shorn, as it were,of his dignity, had made Johnnie realize,even as a babe, that policemen are butmortals after all, as ready to be pleasedwith a wedge of pie as any youngster, and

given to the wearing of ordinary stripedpercale shirts under their majestic blue.So Johnnie was neither in awe of, norfeared, them.

What he did keep a fearsome eye outfor was any man who might be an Africanmagician. That he would know such a manhe felt sure, having a fair idea from apicture in his book of the robe, headdress,sandals and beard proper to magicians ingeneral. But though he was alert enough ashe traveled, the only unusual-lookingperson he met up with was a man with apeg leg and a tray of shoelaces.

That peg leg frightened him. For amoment he was inclined to take to hisheels, certain that this was the samewooden-legged man who gave Cis fruit.

Then the tray reassured him. Shoelaceswere one thing; fruit was another. Andeven if this one-legged man were fullbrother to the one-legged man of thefruitstand (Johnnie took for granted awhole one-legged family), he himselfwould be far away before any member ofthat family could get in touch with Barber.

It was while he was boldly inspectingthe shoe-lace man's peg leg that hediscovered he was in Broadway, this byreading the name of the street on the frontof a passing car. "Gee!" he exclaimed,taking a good look up and down thethoroughfare.

Now he began really to enjoy himself.He pattered leisurely along, stopping atthis window and that, or leaned against a

convenient water plug to watch the trafficstream by.

He was resting, and gazing about him,when the wagon driver came up. Thedriver was a colored youth in a khaki shirtand an overseas cap, and his wagon was ahorseless affair, huge and covered. Thecolored man, halting his truck to let across current of vehicles pass, dazzledJohnnie with a good-natured smile.

Johnnie grinned back. "You goin' upBroadway?" he asked, with a jerk of hishead toward the north.

"All the way up t' Haa'lem," answeredthe black man, cordially. "Climb aboa'd!"

There was a loop of chain hanging

down from the end-board of the truck.Johnnie guided a foot through it stirrup-wise and reared himself into an emptywagonbed. Then as the wheels began toturn, he faced round, knelt comfortably,and let Broadway swiftly drop behind.

He could not see all the new andengrossing sights that offered themselvesin the wake of the truck and to both sides.His ears were packed with strange noises.Yet entertained as he was, from time totime he took note of the cross streets—Eighth, then Tenth, next, busy Fourteenth.

From time to time the colored man tooknote of him. "You-all thay yit?" he wouldsing out over a shoulder; or, "Have Ahdone los' you, kid?" Upon beingreassured, he would return to his problem

of nosing a way along with other vehicles,large and small, and Johnnie would oncemore be left to his fascinating survey.

At Twentieth, he very nearly fell out onthat shining head, this at catching sight of amounted patrolman. No figure in hisbeloved book seemed more splendid tohim than this one, so noble and martial andproud. Here was a guardian of the peacewho was obviously no common mortal.Then and there, as the mounted droppedgradually into the background, Johnniedetermined that should he ever be richenough, or if hard work and study couldaccomplish it, he would be a mountedpoliceman.

At Twenty-third Street, Broadwaysuddenly took a sharp turn—toward the

right. Also, it got wider, and noticeablycleaner. More: suddenly confronted withthe gigantic, three-cornered buildingstanding there, a structure with somethingof the height and beauty of his own dreamedifices, he realized that he was nowentering the true New York. This wasmore like it! Here was space and wealthand grandeur. Oh, how different was thisfamous street from either of those whichgave to the building in the area!

Then he discovered that he was nottraveling a street at all! He was skimmingalong an avenue. And it was none otherthan Fifth Avenue, for the signs at cornersplainly said so. Fifth Avenue! Thewonderful, stylish boulevard which Cismentioned almost reverently. And he was

in it!

The next moment he was truly in it. Forat sight of a window which the truck waspassing, and without even stopping to callto the driver, Johnnie dropped himselfover the end-board to the smooth concrete.The window was no larger than many aone he had glimpsed during the long drivenorthward. What drew him toward it, as ifit were a powerful magnet, was the factthat it was full of books.

"My!" he whispered as he gained thesidewalk in front of the window. Therewere books standing on end in curvingrows. There were others in great piles. Afew lay flat. It had never occurred to him,shut up so long in a flat without any booksave the telephone directory, that there

could be so many books in the whole ofNew York. And all were so new! and hadsuch fresh, untorn covers!

He had stood before the window quitesome time, his eyes going from book tobook thoughtfully, while one hand tuggedat his hair, and the other, thrust into hisshirt front, caressed his own dear volume,when he became conscious of the nearpresence of two people, a man and awoman. The woman was the nearer of thetwo. On glancing up at her, he found herlooking down. That embarrassed him, andhe stopped pulling at his hair.

She smiled. "Do you like books, littleboy?" she asked.

He nodded. "More'n anything!" he

declared fervently.

A pause; then, "Would you like to havea book?" she asked next.

At that, pride and covetousnessstruggled for first place in him. Pride won.He straddled both feet a bit wider andthrust a thumb into his belt. "I've got abook," he answered.

So far as he was concerned, he thoughthis remark commonplace, ordinary—certainly not at all amusing. But there wasnever any telling how this thing or thatwould strike a grown-up. The man's mouthpopped open and he exploded a loudlaugh, followed by a second and louder.

"Sh! sh!" admonished the woman,

glancing at Johnnie.

"It's old, but it's always good,"protested the man, half apologetically.

Along with his boasting, Johnnie haddrawn Aladdin forward to the opening inhis shirt. Evidently the man had caught aglimpse of that torn cover. Now the boyhastily poked the book to a place underone arm. "It is old," he conceded. "But thatdon't hurt it—I don't mind."

"Of course, you don't!" chimed in thewoman, heartily. "A book's a book as longas it holds together. Besides some booksare more valuable as they get older."

"Sure!" agreed Johnnie.

She left them and went inside. And

Johnnie found himself being stared at bythe man.

The man was a millionaire. Johnnienoted this with a start. He had a way ofrecognizing millionaires. When he livedwith his Aunt Sophie, his Uncle Albertwas the chauffeur of one. On the twooccasions when that wealthy gentlemanshowed himself at his red-brick garage inFifty-fifth Street, he wore a plush hat, darkblue in color, and an overcoat with a furcollar. This short, stout stranger before thewindow wore the same.

But he was as friendly as possible, forhe continued the conversation. "Nicelooking lot of books," he observed. "Don'tyou think so?"

Johnnie nodded again. "What kind of aplace would y' call this?" he inquired.

"A store," informed the other. Now hestared harder than ever, so that Johnniegrew uneasy under the scrutiny, and beganto consider rounding the nearest corner toget away. "Never seen a bookstore before,eh?"

Johnnie shook his head. "Don't have'em where I live," he explained.

"No? And where do you live?"

Johnnie felt more uneasy than ever. Hedetermined to be vague. "Me? Oh, justover that way," he answered, with a swingof the arm that took in a full quarter of thehorizon—including all territory from

Beekman Place to the Aquarium.

The woman rejoined them. In one handshe carried a book. It was a blue book, notquite so large as the story of Aladdin, butin every way handsomer. She held it out toJohnnie. "Here's another book for you,"she said. "You'll love it. All boys do. It'scalled Robinson Crusoe."

Afterwards he liked to remember thathe had said "Thank you" when she placedthe book in his hands. He was tooovercome to look up at her, however, orsmile, or exclaim over the gift. He stoodthere, thrilled and gaping, and holding hisbreath, while the ends of his red fingerswent white with holding the new book sotight, and his pale face turned red withemotions of several kinds, all of them

pleasant. At last, when he raised his eyesfrom the book to her face, that face wasgone. The millionaire was gone, too.

Johnnie opened the book. It did notopen easily, being so new. But how goodit smelled! And, oh, what a lot of it therewas, even though it was smaller than theother! For the letters were tiny, and setclose together on every page. Twenty tothirty pages Johnnie turned at a time, andfound that there were six hundred in all.Also, there was one picture—of a manwearing a curious, peaked cap, funnyshoes that tied, and knee trousers thatseemed to be made of skins.

It was while he was turning the pagesfor a second time that he chanced upon thedollar bill. It was between two pages

toward the back of the book, and hethought for a moment that it was not there,really, but that he was just thinking so. Butit was there, and looked as crisply new asthe book. He ran to the corner and staredin every direction, searching for themillionaire and the woman.

Then he felt sure that she had notknown the money was in the book. Instead,it belonged to the store, and had somehowgot tucked between the leaves by mistake.A revolving door gave to the bookshop.He entered one section of it and halfcircled his way in.

Never in his boldest imaginings had hethought of such a place as he saw now. Itwas lofty and long, with glisteningcounters of glass to one side. But

elsewhere there were just books! books!books!—great partitions of them, wallssolidly faced with them, the floor piledwith them man-high. He forgot why he hadcome in, forgot his big clothes, his barefeet, his girl's hair, the new blue book, andthe dollar.

"Yes? Well? What d' you want?"

It was a man speaking, and rathersharply. He was a red-headed man, and hewore spectacles. He came to stand in frontof Johnnie, as if to keep the latter fromgoing farther into the shop.

Johnnie held up the new book. "A ladybought me this," he explained; "and when Iopened it I found all this money." Now heheld out the dollar.

There were many people in the store.Some of them had on their hats, otherswere bareheaded, as if they belongedthere. A number quietly gathered aboutJohnnie and the red-haired man, lookingand listening. Johnnie gave each a swiftexamination. They were all so well-dressed, so different from the tenants inthe area building.

"The lady slipped the dollar into thebook for you," declared the red-headedman. "Wasn't that mighty nice of her?"

Johnnie silently agreed. A dozen pairsof eyes were watching him, and so manystrange people were embarrassing. Hebegan slowly to back toward therevolving door.

"What're you going to buy with yourdollar, little boy?" asked a man in thegroup—a tall man whose smile discloseda large, gold tooth.

The question halted Johnnie. Such awonderful idea occurred to him. Thedollar was his own, to do with as heliked. And what he wanted most——

"I'm goin' to buy some more books withit," he answered. And turned aside to oneof the great piles.

There was more laughter at that, and aburst of low conversation. Johnnie paid noattention to it, but appealed to the red-headed man. "What's the best book y'got?" he inquired, with quite the air of aseasoned shopper.

Again there was laughter. But itseemed to be not only kind butcomplimentary—as if once more he hadsaid something clever or amusing.However, Johnnie kept his attention on thered-headed man.

"Well, I'm afraid no two people wouldever agree as to which is our best book,"said the latter. "But if you'll tell me whatyou like, I'll do my best to find somethingthat'll suit you."

Johnnie, glancing about, reflected that,without question, Cis's speller had comefrom this very room! The arithmetic, too!

"Got any spellers to-day?" he inquiredcasually—just to show them all that heknew a thing or two about books.

"In several languages," returned theman, quite calmly.

"I like Aladdin better," announcedJohnnie. Then trying not to sound tooproud, "I got it here with me right now."Whereupon he reached into the baggy shirtand drew forth Mrs. Kukor's gift.

"Bless his heart!" cried a woman. "Hedoes love them!"

To Johnnie this seemed a foolishremark. Love them? Who did not? "If yougot another as good as this one," he wenton, "I'd like t' buy it."

The red-headed man took Aladdin.Then he shook his head. The group wasmoving away now, and he and Johnnie

were to themselves. "I'm afraid this bookwould be hard to equal," he saidearnestly. "They aren't writing any morejust like it—which is a pity. But you stayhere and I'll see what I can find." He gaveAladdin back, and hurried off.

There was a chair behind Johnnie. Hesat down, his two precious books and thedollar on his knees. Then once more helooked up and around, marveling.

He was aware that several of thosewho had been in the group were nowtalking together at a little distance. Theyseemed a trifle excited. The red-headedman joined them for a moment, listened towhat they had to say, and took somemoney from each of them (Johnnieconcluded that all were bookbuyers like

himself) before hurrying on between twohigh walls of books. In anticipation ofmore literary possessions, Johnnie nowslipped his two volumes inside the shirt,one to the right, one to the left, so that theywould not meet and mar each other.

When the red-headed man came back,he brought three books, all new andhandsome. "I think you'll like these," hedeclared. "See—this one's called TheLegends of King Arthur and his Knights,and this one is The Last of the Mohicans,and here's Treasure Island."

"Much obliged," said Johnnie, heartily.His eyes shone as he gathered the books tohim. His one thought now was to get awayand read, read, read. Quickly he profferedthe dollar bill.

"Oh, you keep the money," said thered-headed man "You'll need it forsomething else. Take the books—compliments of the house!"

"No!" Johnnie was aghast. He wasused to paying for what he got—his food,his bed, his rent. "Oh, gee! I want to pay,Mister. I want 'em to be all mine.—But isthere any change comin' back t' me?"

Once more he heard laughter—frombehind the pile of books nearest him; thenthat woman's voice again: "Oh, thedarling! The darling!" Even as she spoke,she moved into sight.

Johnnie had heard ladies speak abouthim in just that way before. He knew thatif they came near to him it was to lay

hands on his yellow mop. He wanted noneof that sort of thing here, in this glorioushouse full of books, before all these men.

"Your books came out just a dollareven," replied the red-headed man.

"Thank y', Mister!" Johnnie, his newpurchases clasped tight, sidled quicklytoward the street.

"Sha'n't I wrap 'em up for you?" calledthe other.

Johnnie was already revolving in hisquarter-section of the remarkable door.He shook his head. Going sidewise, hecould see that quite a few of those insidewere still watching him. He flashed atthem one of his radiant smiles. Then the

door disgorged him upon a step, the greatAvenue received him, and he trotted off,dropping his books into his shirt, one byone, as he went, precisely as Aladdin hadstuffed his clothes with amethysts,sapphires and rubies.

Before he reached the next block hewas fairly belted with books; he wasarmored with them, and looked as if hewere wearing a life preserver under hisfolds and pleats.

The sun was still high, the air warmenough for him—if not for a fur-collaredmillionaire. And Johnnie did not feel toohungry. His one wish was to absorb thosefive books. He began to keep an eye outfor a vacant building.

"My goodness!" he exclaimed. "Thinkof me runnin' into the place where all thebooks come from!"

H

CHAPTER IX

ONE-EYE

E left the Avenue, turning east. Nowall plans concerning Broadway weregiven up; also, he felt no anxiety

about getting lost. For he went at random.

Yet he was businesslike, and walkedrapidly. No window, however beautiful,lured him to pause. He did not waste asingle minute. And soon he was gazing upat a really imposing and colossal structurewhich, big as it looked (for it seemed tooccupy a whole block), was plainly not inuse. At one corner the building mounted to

a peak. On going all the way around it, hediscovered smaller peaks at each of theother corners. There were any number ofentrances, too; and, of course, fireescapes.

It suited him finely. On one side of thisold palace—for he was sure it could benothing short of a palace—was a flight ofsteps which led up to a small door. Thisentrance was an inconspicuous one, whichcould not be said of the several porticoedentrances. Beside the steps, in the anglemade by the meeting of the wall withthem, was conveniently set a small, pinebox. Johnnie had hunted a vacant buildingwith the intention of entering it. But nowhe decided to read first, and steal into thepalace later, under cover of the dark.

Down he sat upon the box, out of the wayof a breeze that was wafting a trifle toofreshly through the street.

One by one he took out the three bookshe had just bought, this in order to givethem a closer scrutiny than the store hadafforded him; and to start with he met that"glorious company, the flower of men,"who made up the Table Round, and who,if the colored pictures of them were to bebelieved, made his mounted policeman ofan hour before seem a sorry figure. Andtheir names were as splendid as theirphotographs—Launcelot, and Gawain,Gareth and Tristram and Galahad.Remembering that he was called Johnnie,he felt quite sick.

When, after poring over the half-dozen

illustrations, he was forced to theconclusion that nothing could surpass theknights of King Arthur, he opened TheLast of the Mohicans and found himselfcaptured, heart and soul, by the even moreenticing Uncas and his fellows, superbbronze creatures, painted and feathered,and waving tomahawks that far outshoneany blunt lance.

He had to change his mind again. Forbringing himself to tuck away his Indiansand fetch forth Treasure Island , he wasrewarded by the sight of a piratical crewwho easily surpassed even the redmen.The fiercest of these pirates, a gentlemanby the name of Long John Silver, waswithout question the pick of the lot. Tobegin with, Mr. Silver undoubtedly

belonged to the New York family of peglegs, which, of course, brought him nearerthan his brother pirates. However, whatespecially recommended him was apistol-filled belt.

"Gee! I'm glad I got mine!" Johnniedeclared, since the chief-pirate's belt wasstrikingly like the one binding in BigTom's cast-off clothes; and he willinglyforgot what the strap of leather had doneto him in the past in realizing itswonderful possibilities for the future.

Finally he was ready to begin reading.He was loyal to his friend Aladdin then,whom he had left, on the fatal stroke oftwelve, in rather dire straits. The Orientalwonder book on his knees, he resumed theenthralling story, his lips and fingers

moving, and—in the excitement of it all—his misty eyebrows twisting like twocaterpillars.

Pedestrians hurried past him, motorvehicles and surface-cars sped by—forFourth Avenue lay in front; but what hesaw was Aladdin in chains; Aladdinbefore the executioner; Aladdin pardoned,yet aghast over the loss of his palace andthe beloved Buddir al Buddoor, and readyto take his own life.

The afternoon went swiftly. Eveningcame. But the nearest street lamp waslighted in advance of the dark. Engrossedby the awful drama transpiring in Africa,where Aladdin and his Princess wereplotting to rid themselves of the magician,Johnnie did not know when lamplight took

the place of daylight.

The Princess, who began to be tiredwith this impertinent declaration of theAfrican magician, interrupted him andsaid, "Let us drink first, and then saywhat you will afterwards;" at the sametime she set the cup to her lips, while theAfrican magician, who was eager to gethis wine off first, drank up the very lastdrop. In finishing it, he had reclined hishead back to show his eagerness, andremained some time in that state. ThePrincess kept the cup at her lips, till shesaw his eyes turn in his head——

"Hurrah!" cried Johnnie, relieved atthis fortunate end of the crisis, for his veryhair was damp with anxiety. "His eyes'veturned in his head!"

"Wal, by the Great Horn Spoon!"

This strange exclamation, drawled in anasal tone, came from the steps at hisback. He started up, jerking sidewise toget out of reach of the hands that belongedto the voice, and clutching his book tohim. But as he faced the speaker, who waspeering down at him from the top of thesteps, wonder took the place ofapprehension.

For to his astonished and enrapturedgaze was vouchsafed a most interestingman—a man far and beyond and aboveanybody he had ever before beheld in theflesh. This person was tall and slender,and wore a blue shirt, a plaid vest hangingopen but kept together with a leatherwatchchain, a wide, high, gray hat, and—

most wonderful of all—a pair of breecheswhich, all down the front, were as hairyas any dog!

It was the breeches that gave thestranger his startling and admirableappearance—the breeches and his face.For directly under the hat, which wasworn askew, was one round, greenish eye,set at the upper end of a nose that was likea triangle of leather. The eye held thegeographical center of the wholecountenance, this because its owner kepthis head tipped, precisely as if he had astiff neck. Under the leathery nose, whichseemed to have been cut from the samewelt as the watchchain, was a drooping,palish mustache, hiding a mouth that hadlost too many teeth. As for the other eye, it

was brushed aside under the band of thehat.

"Gee!" breathed Johnnie. Wearing furtrousers instead of a fur collar, here,without doubt, was a new kind ofmillionaire!

The latter took a cigar out of an uppervest pocket and worried one end of it witha tooth. "It's half-pas' seven, sonny," hesaid.

Johnnie backed another step. Half-pastseven gave him a swift vision of the flat—Grandpa asleep, Barber pacing thesplintery floor in a rage, Cis weeping atthe window, Mrs. Kukor waddling about,talking with tongue and hands. He had nomind to be made a part of that picture. He

resolved to answer no questions, whilewith a dexterous movement he slippedAladdin into his shirt and got ready to run.

The other now sat down, scratched amatch nonchalantly on a step, and let thelight shine into that single green eye as heset an end of the cigar afire; after which heproceeded to blow smoke through his nosein a masterly fashion, following up thatfeat with a series of perfect smoke rings.

Still on his guard, Johnnie studied thesmoker. The big gray hat came to a peak—like the highest corner of the emptypalace. Below the hairy trousers the lowerparts of a pair of black boots shone sobrightly that they carried reflections evenat that late hour. The boots were taperedoff by spurs.

What was there about this man thatmade him seem somehow familiar?Johnnie puzzled over it. And decided atlast, correctly enough, as it turned out, thatthe explanation lay in those shaggytrousers.

He was not afraid to make an inquiry."Mister," he began politely, "where did y'buy your pants?"

The effect of this question wasstartling. The man pushed back his hat,threw up his head, rescued the burningcigar, then emitted an almost catlike yowl.For some minutes several people had beenwatching him from a respectful distance.Now, hearing the yowl, these onlookersdrew near. He rose then, instantly sober,set the hat forward, descended the steps,

and held out a friendly left hand toJohnnie.

"Come on, sonny," he coaxed. "Ain't iteatin' time? Let's go and pur-chase somegrub."

Johnnie, for all that he had beenpractically a recluse these past severalyears, had, nevertheless, the metropolite'sinborn indifference to the passerby. Hehad scarcely noticed the steadilyincreasing group before the steps. Now heignored them all. He was hungry. Thatinvitation to partake of food waswelcome.

He advanced and held out a hand. Theone-eyed man grasped it, descended thelast step or two, pushed his way through

the crowd without looking to right or left,and led Johnnie down the street at such apace that the bare feet were put to the trot—which was not too fast, seeing thatsupper lay somewhere ahead.

Johnnie felt proud and flattered. Hemade up his mind to be seen talking to histall companion as they fared along. "Guessyou're not a longshoreman," he said, tobegin the conversation.

"Me?" drawled the other; then,mysteriously, "Wal, sonny, I'll tell y': if Iam, I ain't never yet found it out!"

Then silence for half a block. Johnniestudied his next remark. The direct waywas the most natural to him. He triedanother query. "And—and what do y' do?"

he asked.

"Do?"—this stranger seemed to haveGrandpa's habit of repeating the last word."Oh, I val-lay a hoss."

Johnnie was no wiser than before, buthe felt it good manners to appearenlightened. "You—you do that backthere?" he ventured next.

"Yeppie. In the Garden."

Now Johnnie was hopelessly lost. Val-lay meant nothing, hoss even less; as for agarden, he vaguely understood what thatwas: a place where beans grew, andpotatoes; yes, and wizen-faced prunes. Butthough he had circled about theneighborhood considerably since leaving

the bookstore, he had caught no glimpse ofany garden—except that one belonging toAladdin. Ah, that was it! This strangeman's garden was down a flight of steps!

"Do you grow cabbages in yourgarden?" he asked, "or—or diamonds?"

"How's that?" demanded the other; thenas if he had recovered from a momentarysurprise, "Oh, a little of both."

"Both!"

"But—but this ain't what you'd call agood year for diamonds. Nope. Too manycutworms."

Johnnie wanted to ask if all gardenerswore hairy trousers. Then thought of asubject even more interesting. "Mister,"—

he put a note of genuine sympathy into hisvoice—"how'd you come t' lose youreye?"

"My eye?"—Grandpa's habit again."Wal, this is how"— He frowned with theeye he had left, and pursed his lips till hismustache stood out fearsomely.

"Yes?" encouraged Johnnie, whosemind was picturing all sorts of excitingevents in which the tall man, as the hero,fought and was injured, yet conquered hisenemies.

"Sonny," the other went on sadly, "Ijes' natu'lly got my eye pinched in thedoor."

Pinched in the door! Johnnie stared.

Pinched in the door? How could thathappen? What might a man be doing thatsuch an accident should come to pass? Heput his free hand to one of his own eyes,fingering it inquiringly.

Before he could come to anyconclusion, the one-eyed man had haltedbefore the blazing, glassed-in front of arestaurant that fairly dazzled the sight. Itwas, as Johnnie saw, such a place as onlymillionaires could afford to frequent. Inthe very front of it, behind that platewindow, stood men in white, wearingspotless caps, who were cooking things inplain view of the street. And inside—forthe one-eyed man now boldly opened adoor and entered, drawing Johnnie afterhim—were more men in white, and

women similarly garbed. The high wallsof the great room were white too, like thehall of a sultan's palace. And seated atlong tables were splendidly attired menand women, enjoying their supper ascalmly as if all this magnificence werenothing to them—nothing, though thetables were of marble!

However, every man and woman in thewonderful place showed markedexcitement on the appearance of Johnnieand his escort. They stopped eating. Andhow they stared! They bent to all sides,whispering. For a moment, Johnnie feltsure that, ragged as he was, the palace didnot want him, and that he was about to beordered out. He hung back, wishing withall his heart that he had done his hanging

back earlier, outside the door, forinstance.

Then, relief; for he recognized that allthe interest was kindly. One of the ladiesin white—a beautiful, stately person—showed them grandly to chairs at eitherside of a table; a second lady brought themeach a glass of ice water, andcondescended to listen to their wants inthe supper line. About them people smiledcordially.

The one-eyed man was nowbareheaded. And Johnnie, just as he wasleaning back, prepared to enjoy himself tothe full, suddenly noted, and with a pang,that his host, shorn of his headgear, wasfar less attractive in appearance than whencovered; did not seem the strange, rakish,

picturesque, almost wild figure of amoment before, but civilized, slick, andmild.

For one thing, that shut eye was in fullview, which subtracted from thebrigandish look of his countenance; foranother, the shaggy trousers were—naturally—in total eclipse. Then he hadmouse-colored hair which matched hismustache, whereas it should have beenblack—or bright red. To make mattersworse, the hair had recently been wet-combed. It was also fine and thin,especially over the top of the head, fromwhere it had been brought straight downupon the forehead in a long, smooth,shining bang which (and this not a quarter-inch too soon) turned to sweep left.

Contrasting with the oily appearance ofthe bang were some hairs at the verycrown of the head. These—a few—leanedthis way and that, making a wild tuft.

Johnnie wished with his whole heartthat the stranger would again put on hishat.

Another feature thrust itself uponJohnnie's notice. Out from the front of hishost's throat, to the ruination of such scantgood looks as he had, protruded anAdam's apple that was as large and tannedand tough-looking as his nose. On thatbrown prominence a number of long palehairs had their roots. These traveled nowhigh, now low, as the one-eyed man drankdeep of the ice water. And Johnnie feltthat he understood the sad quiet of this

queer, tall person. In his case the stork hadbeen indeed cruel.

The hat was swinging from a near-byhook—one of a double line of hooks downthe long room. Under the hat was a sign.Johnnie read it; then centered his stare onthe hat. At any moment he expected towitness something extraordinary. Thatwas because across the placard, in neat,black letters, were the words: Watch yourHat and Coat.

He reached to touch the one-eyed man."Say, Mister!" he whispered, "Y' see whatit says? Well, what'll happen if wewatch?"

"Huh!" ejaculated the other, slewingthat one green eye round to glance

upward. "That's jes' it! If y' watch,nuthin'll happen!"

It was a good thing to know at themoment. For the second lady was back,bringing supper with her—a smoking dishof mingled meat and vegetables, anotherof pork and beans, a cup of coffee, a glassof milk, an orange, and bread and butter.

Butter! Johnnie could scarcely believehis eyes. He almost thought this was oneof Buckle's meals, and that the butterwould melt, figuratively speaking, beforehis longing look. But it stayed, a brightpat, as yellow as his own hair, on a doll'sdish of a plate. And as Johnnie had nottasted butter for a very long time, heproceeded now, after the manner of themale, to clear that cunning little dish by

eating the choicest thing first.

As for the one-eyed man, his knife,held in his left hand, was going up anddown between the dish of beans and hismouth with mechanical regularity. At thebean dish, he covered the long blade witha ruddy heap. Then balancing it all nicely,he swung it ceiling-ward, met it half-wayby a quick duck of the mouse-coveredhead, and swept it clean with a dextrous,all-enveloping movement.

Johnnie was hungry too. The buttergone, along with its complement of bread,he attacked his share of the meat andvegetables, using, however (which was toCis's credit), a fork. The dish wasdelicious. He forgot even the placard.

So far the one-eyed man had proven tobe anything but a talkative person. Underthe circumstances this was just as well.Johnnie could not have shared just then ina conservation. Twice during the meal hereached down and let out the strap a holeor two. And for the first time in his life hewas grateful for the roominess of Barber'sold clothes.

Half an hour, and Johnnie was, as hehimself expressed it, "stuffed like asausage." The orange, he dropped into hisshirt-band to find a place with the books,there being no space for it internally.

"Full up, eh?" demanded the one-eyedman, mopping at his mustache so hardwith a paper napkin that Johnnie expectedto see the hairy growth come away from

its moorings under the leathery nose.

"It was a feast!" pronounced Johnnie,borrowing from the language of his friendAladdin. A moment later he gasped as hesaw his host carelessly ring a fifty-centpiece upon the gorgeous marble of thetable top. Then the meal had cost so muchas that! As he trotted doorward in thewake of the spurred heels, his boy'sconscience faintly smote him. He almostfelt that he had eaten too much.

"My goodness!" he murmured, hisglance missing the variegated mosaic ofthe floor.

But still another moment, and the one-eyed man had halted at a desk which stoodclose to the front door, and was throwing

down a one-dollar bill, together withsome silver.

Johnnie knew something was wrong.His host was forgetful, absent-minded. Herealized that he must interfere. "You jus'paid the lady!" he warned in a hastywhisper.

The other nodded sadly as he settledthe big hat. "Yeppie," he returned. "But y'see, sonny, it's this-away: if you got jes'one eye, w'y, they make y' pay twicet!"

Another gasp. It was so grossly unfair!

However it had all proved to himbeyond a doubt that here was a man ofunlimited wealth. On several occasionsUncle Albert's millionaire had treated

Johnnie to candy and apples. But now theriches of that person seemed pitifullytrivial.

They fared forth and away in the sameorder as they had come.

But not so silently. Food, it seemed,was what could rouse the one-eyed man tocontinued speech. He began to askquestions, all of them to the point, most ofthem embarrassing.

"Say, what in the name o' Sam Hill y'got cached inside that shirt?"—this wasthe first one.

"Books," returned Johnnie, promptly,"and the orange."

"Y' kinda cotton t' books, eh?" the other

next observed.

"Not cotton," replied Johnnie, politely."They're made of paper."

"Y' don't tell me?—And what y' wantme t' call y'?"

"My—my—my," began Johnnie, tryingto think and speak at the same time, withsmall success in either direction. Thenfeeling himself pressed for time, andhelpless, he fell back upon the bestcourse, which was the simple truth. "Myname's Johnnie Smith," he added.

The truth was too simple to bebelieved, "Aw, git out!" laughed the one-eyed man, with a comical lift of themustache. "And I s'pose y' live with the

Vanderbilt fambly, eh?"

Johnnie's eyes sparkled. There was inthe question a certain something—anignoring of bare facts—which made himbelieve that this man and he were kindredsouls.

"No, I don't live with 'em," he hastenedto say. "But I talk to Mister Vanderbiltev'ry day on the tel'phone."

The stranger seemed neither doubtfulnor amazed. Johnnie liked him better andbetter. Taking a fresh hold of the other'shorny hand, he chattered on: "I talked toMister Astor yesterday. He asked me t' goridin' with him, but I had t' take a trip t'Niagarry."

"Hope y' didn't hurt his feelin'snone,"—the tone was grave: that onegreen eye looked anxious.

Johnnie only shook his head. He didnot care to go further with the discussionof the Astor-Smith friendship.

However, the one-eyed man himselfturned the conversation, "Goin' back homet'night?" he wanted to know.

Johnnie raised startled eyes. "N-n-no,"he returned. "I-i-if I was to, I'd have totake a terrible lickin'."

"Mm." The one-eyed man seemed tounderstand; then, presently, "Your paw?—or your maw?"

"No relation at all," protested Johnnie.

"Just the man where I live."

"He feeds y' O. K.," put in the other. "Iwas noticin' back yonder in the chuck-house how plump y' are."

Johnnie said nothing. There werethings he could tell, if he wanted to, whichhad to do with comparisons between AuntSophie's table and Big Tom's. But thesethings would contradict the one-eyed man;and Johnnie knew from experience thatgrown-ups do not like to be contradicted.

Just ahead was that great palace, liftingdark towers against the glowing night sky.If the one-eyed man lived there, if thepalace actually contained a garden (and itseemed large enough to contain anynumber of gardens), Johnnie wanted, if

possible, to spend some time under thatvast roof. So it was wise not to sayanything that might bring him intodisfavor; especially when what he wantedmost now was shelter and a reading light.

He grasped the other's hand firmly andflashed up what was intended for abeguiling smile. "He don't ever feed melike you do," he declared, with dazzlingdiplomacy.

The compliment was grandly passedover. "But he shore dresses y' tiptop!" wasthe next assertion.

At that, some inkling of the other's realmeaning came to Johnnie. He tried, but invain, to catch that single eye. But even inthe half light it was busy taking in every

detail of Big Tom's shirt and trousers."Y'—y' think so?" Johnnie ventured, readyto laugh.

"Think so!" cried the one-eyed man,spiritedly. "W'y, he must jes' about gobroke at it! Lookee! Twicet as much shirtas y' need, and at least five times as muchpants!"

Certainly there was no denying thestatement. However, there was anotherside to Barber's generosity that Johnnielonged to discuss. Yet once more hedecided to invite no argument. "It'll beworse if I had t' wear girl's clothes," waswhat he returned, philosophically.

The street was dark just there. He wasnot able to mark the facial expression

which now accompanied a curious soundfrom the region of the Adam's apple. Butwhen the light at the palace corner wasreached, a quick glance showed a sternvisage, with mouth set hard and that greeneye burning. And Johnnie's heart went outof him, for now he doubted again.

They paused at the foot of those steps."Do y' go t' school?" asked the one-eyedman.

Johnnie shook his head. "He don't letme," he declared. But he was as careful asever to speak with no bitterness. Withoutquestion, in this tall stranger Big Tom hadan ally.

"He don't let y'," drawled the other."Don't let y' go t' school. Hm!—Say, y'

know, I think I'd like that feller!"

He must get away! Suddenly throwingall the weight of himself and his booksinto the effort, Johnnie tried to pull free ofhis companion, using both hands.

The one-eyed man held on. His graspwas like steel—yes, even like Big Tom'sgrasp. "Aw, sonny!" he cried, as ifsuddenly repentant. Then seizing Johnnieunder both arms, he swung him to the topof those steps.

That same moment wide doors openedbefore them, and a vast, dim place wasdisclosed to the boy's astonished view."Why—! What—! Oh—!" he marveled.

The one-eyed man shut the doors by

retreating and giving them a push with hisback. Then he thrust Johnnie toward asecond flight of steps. These led down toa basement only partly lighted, full ofvoices, tramplings, and strange smells.Frightened, Johnnie made out the upraisedheads of horses—lines of them! He couldsee a group of men too, each as big-hattedand shaggy-trousered as this one who stillhad him about his middle.

A great cry went up from that group—"Yip! yip! yip! yip! yee-e-e-e-eow!One-Eye!"

"Oh, Mister," breathed Johnnie, "is itthe circus?"

"G

CHAPTER X

THE SURPRISE

IT on t' the size of it! . . . . Oh, myAunt Sally! . . . . Lookee what thecat brung in! . . . . Boys, ketch me

whilst I faint! . . . . Am I seein' it, or ain't I—w'ich? . . . . Say! they's more downcellar in a teacup!"

Johnnie understood that it was allabout himself, and even guessed that helooked a little queer to these men whoappeared so strange to him. They weregathered around in a boisterous circle,exclaiming and laughing. He revolved

slowly, examining each. Some werestocky and some spindling. Two or threewere almost boyish; the others, as old asOne-Eye. But in the matter of dress, onewas exactly like every other one—at leastso far as could be judged by a small boyin a moment so charged with excitement.

He felt no resentment at their banter,sensing that it was kindly. He liked them.He liked the great, mysterious basement.He felt precisely like another Aladdin. Nomagical smoke had gone up, and no stonehad been lifted. Yet here he was in a newand entrancing world!

He would have liked to stay right thereat the foot of the stairs for a long time, inorder to give adequate study to every oneof the shaggy men. But One-Eye suddenly

grasped him by the hand again and led himaway—down a long, curving alley thattook them past a score of horses. Eachhorse was in a stall of its own, and undereach was straw as yellow as Johnnie'sown hair. Electric bulbs lit the wholeplace grandly, disclosing saddles andstraps and other horse gear, hung atintervals along the alley.

In one of his swift visions, he now sawhimself as a member of this fascinatingcrew, wearing, like them, long, hairybreeches, a wide hat, spurs, and aneckerchief, and setting gaily forth in acavalcade to be admired by a marvelingcity!

Far along, where the alley swervedsharply, One-Eye halted him. Here was a

vacant stall, except that it was half-filledwith straw. A coat hung in it, and in theiron feed box in one corner nested a pairof boots. Plainly this was a campingplace, and Johnnie thrilled as they turnedinto it, and he stood almost waist deep inclean bedding.

"Have a chair," insisted One-Eye, witha gentle shoulder pat.

Johnnie sat. Even as he went down hefelt that he really was coming tounderstand this new friend better. Ofcourse there was no chair. It was just theother's way of saying things—an odd,funny way. His back braced against a stallside, he grinned across at One-Eye, nowsquatted opposite him, and smoking, thisin splendid disregard of a sign which read

plainly: No Smoking.

Johnnie did not speak. His experiencewith Big Tom had taught him at least onevaluable lesson: to be sparing with histongue. So he waited the pleasure of hiscompanion, sunk in a trough of the straw,ringed round with books, his thumbs in hispalms and his fingers shut tight upon thethumbs through sheer emotion, which alsoshowed in two red spots on his cheeks.

"Reckon y' don't want t' go out no moret'night," observed One-Eye, after amoment.

"No." Johnnie held his breath, hopingfor an invitation.

It came. "Thought y' wouldn't. So camp

right here, and to-morra we'll powwow."

"All right." Johnnie's voice shook withrelief and delight; with pride, too, at beingthus honored. He rolled up the coat for apillow when One-Eye rose and threw itdown to him; and being offered a horseblanket, pulled it up to his brows and layback obediently, to the peril of the orange,which was under him, and so to his owndiscomfort.

"So long, sonny." The single green eyegleamed down at him almostaffectionately from under the wide brim.

"Thank y'," returned Johnnie.

For a long time he lay without moving,this for fear One-Eye might come back.

When he took his books out of his shirt, hedid not read, though the stall was brightlylighted, only watched a pair of nervousbrown ears that kept showing above thestall-side in front of him. Something wastroubling him very much. It seemed to besomething in his forehead; but it was in histhroat most of all; though that spot at theend of his breastbone felt none too well.

Whatever it was, it had a great deal todo with Cis (the mere thought of her madehis eyes smart) and with Grandpa.Freedom and new friends he had; morebooks, too, than he could read in a year—or so it seemed to him as he measured thepile under the orange. Then why, havingthe best bed he had known since the onewith the blue knobs at Aunt Sophie's, why

could he not go to sleep? or, if he was notsleepy, why did he not want to read? orsummon to him Aladdin, or David withGoliath, or Mr. Rockefeller?

He pulled hard at his hair.

The truth was, he was learningsomething about himself. He was findingout that to get away from danger was onlypart of his problem: the other part was toget away from his own thoughts, hisfeelings—in short, his conscience. For tryas he might, as he lay there, he could notkeep the wheel chair out of his sight!

It stood before him in the yellowbedding, and the little old man seated in itkept holding out trembling hands. The thin,bearded face was distorted pathetically,

and tears streamed from the faded eyes. IfJohnnie turned his head away from thechair, he met other eyes—eyes young andblue and gentle. Poor Cis, so shy always,and silent; so loving and good!

Down into One-Eye's coat wentJohnnie's small nose, and so hard that tothis unfreckled feature was instantlytransferred the pain in his forehead andthroat and breast; and his hurt was for amoment changed into the physical, whichwas easier to bear. Yes, they were leftbehind alone, those two who were so dearto him.

Even with the horse blanket over bothears he could hear the wheel chair goingfrom the stove to the window, from thewindow to the hall door, while the old

soldier whimpered and called. He couldhear Cis call, too—his name. But it wasGrandpa who hurt him the most. Cis wasquite grown-up, and had girl friends, andher work, and the freedom to go to andfrom it. But Grandpa!—his old heart waswrapped up in his Johnnie. So childishthat he was virtually a little boy, he hadfor Johnnie the respect and affection that alittle boy gives to a bigger one.

Next, bright, shining, birdlike eyeswere smiling at him—Mrs. Kukor! Thehorse blanket shook. At either side ofJohnnie's nose a damp spot came on One-Eye's coat.

But fortunately the trembling and thetears were seen by no human eyes, only bya brown pair that belonged to those brown

ears. And presently, when the nearestlights went out, leaving Johnnie's retreat ingloom, the pictures that smote himchanged to those of a sleeping dream, andhe wandered on and on through a vastwhite garden that grew hats and coats—ina double row.

When he wakened, the lights were onagain. As he rose he made up his mind towin One-Eye's consent to his remaining inthis big palace—which had turned out tobe a horse palace. "'Cause I dassn't goback!" he decided. The enormity of whathe had done in leaving the flat and stayingaway a whole night, he now realized. Acreepy feeling traveled up and down hisspine at the thought of it, and he shook tohis calloused heels.

Then with a grin, he remembered thatno one knew where he belonged.Furthermore, as One-Eye did not believethat Johnnie Smith was his real name, hehad only to hint that he was somebodyelse, which would throw his new friendcompletely off the track.

He leaned against the stall and pulledat his hair, considering that problem ofstaying on. To his way of thinking, therewas only one good scheme by which towin the approbation of anybody, and thatscheme was work. So when he had tuggedat his hair till the last straw was out of it,he pattered off down the runway,determined to find some task that neededto be done.

The great place appeared strangely

deserted as to men. So he came across noone whom he could help. As for theoccupants of the giant circle of stalls, hedid not know what service he could offerthem. He felt fairly sure that horses' faceswere not washed of a morning. And theyhad all been fed. But why not comb theirhair? Searching up and down for apossible comb, he spied a bucket. Then heknew what he could do.

The job was not without its drawbacks.For one thing, the horses were afraid ofhim. They wrenched at their hitching-chains when he came close to their heels,or blew noisily, or bunched themselvesinto the forward ends of their stalls,turning on him startled, white-rimmedeyes. He offered the dripping bucket only

to the more quiet ones.

He worked his way down the long linethat stood nearest the spigot, nowstaggering and splashing as he lugged afull pail, now scampering back happilywith an empty one. And he was beside astairway, and on the point of taking in adrink to the horse stalled closest to theentrance, when he heard several voices,the creak of doors, and footsteps. So hepaused, the bucket swinging from bothhands, until half a dozen pairs of shaggylegs appeared just above him. Then as thebig hats were bobbing into view, so thathe knew his labors could be seen andappreciated, he faced round with the pailand entered the stall.

The next moment there sounded a dull

bang, followed by the loud ring of tin, abreathless cry, and the swish of flyingwater—as Johnnie came hurtling headlongout of the stall, the bucket preceding him,a shod hoof in his immediate wake, andthe contents of the pail showering in alldirections. There was a second bang alsodull, as he landed against the bottom stepof the stairs at the very feet of thehorrified men.

A chorus of cries went up. ButJohnnie's voice was not a part of it. Hurt,winded, and thoroughly scared, he lay in alittle ragged heap, a book thrusting up thebig shirt here and there, so that he lookedto have broken not a few bones.

"That flea-bit mare!" charged One-Eye,dropping Johnnie's breakfast and picking

up the boy.

"Pore kid! . . . . And he was workin'! . .. . Is he hurt bad? . . . . That ongratefulbronc'! . . . . Totin' the blamed thing water,too!"—thus they sympathized with him ashe swayed against One-Eye, who wassteadying him on his feet.

Breath and tears came at the samemoment—the latter in spite of him. But hewept in anger, in disappointment andchagrin and resentment, rather than inpain. The books having now fallen intoplace in the pouch of the shirt, it wasevident there were no fractures.

"Shore of it," pronounced One-Eye."I've felt him all over."

Furthermore, a book had undoubtedlyreceived the full force of the implantedhoof; and save for a darkening patch onJohnnie's left arm, he was as good as ever,though slightly damp as to both spirits andclothing. For it was his feelings that werethe more injured. His proffer of a drinkhad been repaid by an ignominious kickthat had landed upon him under the veryeyes of those whom he most wanted toimpress.

"Now what'd Mister Vanderbilt say ifhe knowed!" mourned One-Eye; "orMister Astor! They'd be plumb sore onme!—My! my! my!"

These remarks shifted Johnnie's innervision to other scenes, and having alreadyguessed that he was not broken in two, he

considered One-Eye's plaint withsomething of a twinkle in his eyes, and fellonce more to dragging at his hair.

Willing hands now refilled the batteredbucket and washed his tear-wet face.After which One-Eye recovered thebreakfast—an egg sandwich and a banana—and proceeded to lay down the law.

"With that hurt arm o' your'n, sonny,"he began, "it's back to home, sweet home.And if that feller, Tom, licks y', w'y, I'lljes' nat'ally lick him."

"You couldn't lick him," informedJohnnie, turning his sandwich about insearch for a location thin enough to admitof a first bite. "He's the strongestlongshoreman in N'York. He can carry

five sacks of flour on his back, and oneunder both arms."

Disdainfully One-Eye lifted his lonebrow, and he passed over the remark."The point is," he continued, "that if y'ever figger t' go back, now's the time."

Johnnie saw the argument. And to hisown surprise he found himself willing togo. "Prob'ly Big Tom'll only pull my ear,"he said philosophically. "And he won't dothat much, even, if—if you'll go along."

"Will I!" cried One-Eye. "Wal, it'dtake a twenty-mule team t' holt me back!"

"Honest?" For this fellow was a wag,and there was no telling what he reallymeant to do.

"If I don't, I'll eat my shaps!" promisedOne-Eye.

"Then I guess you better tie up myarm," went on Johnnie, which bit ofinspired diplomacy sent the wholesympathizing group into whoops oflaughter.

"Ain't he the ticket?" demanded oneman.

One-Eye 'lowed that he was.

The tying was done. First the purplishspot was swathed in white; and as theinjury was below the raveling edge of thesleeve, the bandage was in plain sight, andcarried conviction with it. Next a slingwas made out of a blue-patterned

handkerchief of One-Eye's. ProudlyJohnnie contemplated the dressing. Herewas not only insurance against awhipping, but that which lent him apeculiar and desirable distinction.

"You'll go all the way up with me?" heasked One-Eye. (Now was the time tomake sure of the future.) "Y' see it'sSunday. He'll be home."

"Up and in," vowed the latter. "Comealong!"

There were hearty good-bys to be said,and Johnnie had his well arm thoroughlyshaken before One-Eye helped him climbthe stairs. He would gladly haveprolonged his leave-taking. For one thing,he had not half inspected that mammoth

basement—not to mention the huge, dimplace overhead. And the horse that hadkicked him merited a second look. But"Let's go whilst the goin's good,"counseled One-Eye. So Johnnie fell inbeside him, holding well to the front thatinteresting bandage.

"Y' live far?" One-Eye wanted toknow. This was when they were out bythat lamp post which had lighted Johnnie'sreading.

"Clear 'way down to the other end ofBroadway almost," boasted Johnnie. "'N'then you go over towards the ManhattanBridge."

"That so! Clear way down!—Andhow'd y' git up this far?" That green eye

was as keen as a blade.

"Rode up—in a' automobile." Johnniedid not like to spoil the picture byexplaining that the automobile was a truck,and that he had found it strewn withchicken-feathers.

"All right," returned One-Eye. "Thenwe'll ride down." Inserting a knuckle intohis mouth between two widely separatedteeth that were like lone sentinels, he blewa high, piercing summons. At the sametime, he swung his arm at a passingtaxicab, stopping it almost electrically.And the thing was done.

As the taxicab rolled to the curb,Johnnie turned his back upon it for a lastlook at the palace. How huge it was! "And

I'll bet the Afercan magician couldn't evenmove it," he decided. He promisedhimself that one day he would come backto it, and climb to its several towers.

"A-a-a-a-all aboard!" One-Eye lit alarge, magnificently banded cigar. Hehanded a second, fully as thick andsplendid, to the staring, but respectful,individual who was to drive them—ayoung, dark man, very dirty, and in hisshirt-sleeves (he was seated upon hiscoat), who seemed so impressed by theelder of his passengers as to be beyondspeech. "Over t' Broadway, and down,"instructed One-Eye. "We'll tell y' when t'whoa."

Calmly Johnnie climbed into thetaxicab, and carelessly he took his seat.

Then the car plunged westward before areeking cloud of its own smoke. Underway, he elevated that small nose of hisand drank deep of the—to him—goodsmell of gasoline. Had not his AuntSophie often pronounced it clean andhealthy?

However, despite this upward tilting,he did not appear to be at all proud of thefact that he was riding; and One-Eye fellto watching him, that green eye round withwonder. For here was this littleragamuffin seated high and dry in a firstclass taxi, and speeding through the city instyle, yet with the supreme indifference ofa young millionaire!

"City younguns shore take the bak'ry!"One-Eye observed admiringly, aiming the

remark at his driver, who sat somewhatscrewed about on his seat in such a waythat he could, from block to block, assome other car slowed his machine, regalehis astonished eyes with those fur-frontedbreeches.

"Oh, this banana'll be enough," politelyreturned Johnnie, having caught the wordbakery but missed the real meaning of thestatement. Calmly as ever, he divested thefruit of its skin and cast the long peelingsupon the floor of the cab. In his time hehad sat for hours at a stretch in the regallimousines of Uncle Albert's rich man; andhe regarded a taxicab without awe.

One-Eye chuckled.

Presently Johnnie was dragging at his

mop as he ate. Which was proof that hewas meditating. Indeed he was thinking sohard that he failed to note the large amountof attention which he and his companionwere attracting. So far he had notmentioned Grandpa to this friendlystranger—this for fear of harming his owncase, of hastening his return home. Nowthe omission somehow appeared to bealmost a denial of the truth. Nor had hespoken of Cis. All this called forcorrection before the flat was reached.

By way of clearing up the wholematter, he began with an introduction ofCis. "There's a girl lives where I do," heannounced casually.

"Y' don't say! Sister? Cousin? She must'a' missed y'."

"No relation at all. But she's awful nice—I like her. She's sixteen, goin' onseventeen, and I'm goin' t' steal her awaysoon's ever I grow up."

"I git y'.—Say, Mister, go slow withthis gasoline bronc' of your'n! Y' know I'dlike t' see little old Cheyenne oncet morebefore I check in,"—this to the chauffeur,as the taxicab shaved the flank of a streetcar going at high speed, then caromed torub axles with a brother machine.

"You'll meet her," promised Johnnie,who did not think they were going too fast,and who had completely forgotten it wasSunday, which meant that Cis would be athome without fail; "'cause once before,when I burnt my hand, she stayed awayfrom work two whole days. Big Tom

never lets Grandpa be alone." (He thoughtthat rather a neat way to bring in the oldman.)

With a sidewise tipping of the big hat,One-Eye directed a searching look to thebare head at his elbow. "Other days, youtake care of said ole man," he returned.

Johnnie nodded. "I like him."

The silence that followed wasembarrassing. He knew One-Eye waswatching him. But not liking to glance up,he was unable to judge of his companion'sattitude. So he began again, changing thesubject. "Cis is awful pretty," he confided."Once she was a May Queen in CentralPark for her class at school, only it wasn'tin May, and she had all the ice cream she

could eat. Mrs. Kukor made her a whitedress for that time, and I made someart'ficial vi'lets for 'round her hair. Oh,she looked fine! And she saw the Princeof Wales when he was in N'York and eversince she's liked just him."

One-Eye took the cigar from his mouth."It'd be a grand match for her," heconceded. His tone implied that thealliance with Royalty was by no means aremote possibility.

"A-a-a-aw!" scoffed Johnnie, flashingup at One-Eye a wise smile. "All the girlsat Cis's fac'try seen him, too, and they alllike him just the same as she does. But thePrince, he's got t' marry a Princess."

One-Eye agreed. "Pretty tough," he

observed sympathetically, and went backto his cigar.

"So Cis'll have t' marry a movin'-picture actor," concluded Johnnie; "—or acowboy."

At that the cigar fairly popped fromOne-Eye's countenance. "A cowboy!" hecried, the green eye dancing. "W'y, that'dbe better'n a Prince!"

"It would?" Johnnie considered theidea.

"Certainly would—t' my way ofthinkin'." In their brief acquaintance One-Eye had never before shown such interest,such animation.

"How d' you mean?"

"I mean," answered One-Eye, stoutly,"that cowboys is noble fellers!"

Before Johnnie could argue the matterfurther, or ask any one of the thousandquestions that he would have liked to getexplained regarding cowboys, the driverinterrupted to demand how much farthersouthward he was expected to go; and asChambers Street was even then just ahead,the eastern turn was made at once, whichset Johnnie off along a new line of thought—his coming ordeal.

And this ordeal was not the meetingwith Big Tom, which he dreaded enough,but which he believed would not have tobe endured for at least some hours; it wasthe having to face, in company with thisrich and important acquaintance, that gang

of boys who so delighted to taunt him.

Anxiously his gray eyes searchedahead of the taxicab, which was nowpicking its way too swiftly through streetscrowded with children. This ability toinvest the present with all the reality of thefuture, how wonderful it could be!—buthow terrible! For he was suffering greatlyin advance, and writhing on the leather-covered seat, and all but pulling out hisyellow hair.

"Arm ache y'?" One-Eye wanted toknow.

"Guess so," faltered Johnnie. Then hisface turned a sickly pale, and heshouldered a bit closer to his escort. Afeeling of suffocation meant that his breath

had stopped. And upon his untannedforehead oozed the perspiration ofdismay. Also, his cheeks mottled. For justbefore them were two of those boys whomhe feared!—as if they had sprung from aseam in the sidewalk! They were staringat the taxicab. They were looking atJohnnie (who stole a nervous look back).Now they were following on!

Johnnie's jaw set; his teeth clenched.He steeled himself to bear public insult.

Too many children had now broughtthe taxicab down to a crawling gait.Slowly it rolled on through shouting,Sunday-garbed youngsters. And fast grewthe crowd which kept pace with it. But itwas a silent crowd, as Johnnie's ears toldhim, for his chin was on his breast and his

eyes were fixed upon the meter—in agony,as if he, and not One-Eye, would have topay a charge which had already mountedhigh in three figures. Why was that crowdsilent? And what were those boyspreparing to do—two were now several—who held all things in scorn? who madeeven the life of the patrolman on the beat athing to be dreaded?

The uncertainty was crushing.

"Home in a jiffy," soothed One-Eye,who felt sure the ride had been too muchof a strain.

"Stop here," whispered Johnnie,catching sight, after a turn or two, of oneof those entrances which gave to the area.

The taxicab stopped. In a hush thatactually hurt, One-Eye rose anddescended, flipping a five-dollar bill tothe driver. "But don't you go," he directed."I'll want y' t' tote me back uptown."

Johnnie rose then—feebly. Once morehe held that bandaged arm to the front. Hisfaltering eyes said that the injury was aplea—a plea for courteous treatmentbefore this distinguished stranger. Oh, heknew he was a girlish-headed ragbag, butif they would only spare him this once!

One-Eye took his hand. "Step careful,sonny," he advised, almost tenderly. Thento those pressing round, "Back up, won'ty'? Give this boy room? Don't y' see he'shurt?"

This was what so emboldened Johnniethat he decided, even as a bare foot soughtthe running-board of the machine, to takeone good look around. He paused,therefore, lifted his head, and let hisglance deliberately sweep the crowd.

What he saw fairly took his breath;brought a flush to his sober little face, andstrengthened him, body and soul—butespecially spine. For before him was astaring, admiring, respectful, yes, andfascinated, even awe-struck, assemblage.There were grown people in it. Therewere more above, to both sides, leaningout of windows. And every mouth waswide!

Was it One-Eye in his startling garb?or the professional touch to his own

appearance, in the shape of that dramatic,handkerchief-slung arm? or was it both?

No matter. Instantly reacting to thissolemn reception, Johnnie managed a palesmile. "Much obliged!"—this he saidgaily as his feet touched the concrete. Hewas experiencing such pride as had beenhis before only in his "thinks."

This was a moment never to beforgotten!

"Now maybe I better lead—ha?" Whatsatisfaction there was in addressing One-Eye thus familiarly in the teeth of theenemy!

"Break trail!" said One-Eye. Then,"Gangway!" he sang out to the crowd.

Next, with a swift circular fling of an arm,he scattered a handful of small coins toright and left upon the street.

The crowd swayed, split, and scatteredlike the money. A path cleared. One-Eyeat his side, Johnnie stepped forward.

Now he would have liked to hangback, to loiter a bit, delaying theirdisappearance, and enjoying the situation.But One-Eye, ignoring every one, as ifcrowds bored him, was headed for thehall like a fox to its hole, taking long,impressive, shaggy-legged strides.

Behind, the boys Johnnie had fearedscrambled without shame for One-Eye'ssmall silver. While he, the "Old clothes,"the "Girl's hair," the mocked and

despised, was walking, as man with man,beside the wonderful One-Eye beforewhom those same boys had not dared toutter a single slur!

His satisfaction was complete!

"Home again!" he cried, feeling readyto do a hop-skip except that it would takeaway from the effect they had made.

Oh, he could stand a whipping in theprivacy of the flat if a whipping waswaiting for him at the top of those threeflights—now that this public part of thereturn had gone so magnificently!

A

CHAPTER XI

THE DISCOVERY

ND yet, after all, there was no sensein taking a strapping if it could just aswell be avoided.

In the area he halted One-Eye, and theytalked the matter over. The latter had notrouble at all in seeing Johnnie's attitude."Was a boy myself oncet," he declared."Used t' git the end of a rope ev'ry littlewhile—yeppie, the knot-end, and that'show——"

But here Johnnie interrupted the story

which seemed to be under way in order tourge some plan of action. However, it didnot take long to fix upon one, this whileOne-Eye was finishing his cigar, the lastinch of which, he asserted, was the bestpart, since in the process of smoking hehad drawn into it all "the good" of thewhole outward-extending portion. Andwhile One-Eye smoked, Johnnie, who feltmuch better, went over their plan in detail,talking gaily between giggles.

"But, say! You be solemn!" warnedOne-Eye.

"We don't want t' make 'em all feel toobad, though," argued Johnnie.

"Sonny," counseled the other, "we'llsavvy how we oughta behave after we see

how the hull proposition strikes thebunch."

Johnnie agreed. But he already knewjust how their entrance (which wasnothing short of inspired) would "strike"the flat. He foresaw it all: first, glad criesof "Johnnie!" from Cis and Grandpa, and afrightened exclamation from Big Tom,whose anger would instantly melt; next,tears would flow as those two who weredearest hastened to the prodigal, and therewould be anxious questions, and words ofsweet consolation. On the strength of thereturn perhaps Barber would even buypop!

After that, what an affecting picture!—the patient on his bed of pain—the maidenwith cooling cloth and wash basin—the

loving and much-troubled old man whodid not dare wheel about for fear ofjarring the hurt arm—a certain square-built lady, rocking this way and that (onher toes), her face all motherly solicitude—the stranger, with the gravest possiblebedside manner—and, lastly, hoveringsomewhere in the offing, the outstandingfigure of the whole composition, thehumbled bully.

When Johnnie asked for his bed (whichwas part of the plan, for those books mustbe concealed under the quilt till dark),how they would all jump to fetch it; andwhen he asked for tea what an eagerbustling, Barber rattling the stove lids, and—for once!—getting his huge fingerssmudged, and Cis filling the kettle at the

Falls of Niagara. The tea brewed, andJohnnie propped to drink it, with Mrs.Kukor to hold the cup to his lips, he wouldsmile across at One-Eye as he sipped—but smile only faintly, as befits the veryill.

And then! One-Eye, urged by all theothers, would tell his tale of the boy,weary and hungry, whom he chanced uponwandering some street (he had promisednot to say which one!), and escorted tosupper, and afterward to the great horsepalace. He would relate how he hadinsisted that Johnnie sleep in the palacethat night, though—no doubt of it!—thelatter had fretted to return home. "But I jes'couldn't leave him do it, no matter howmuch he begged," One-Eye was to

declare; "he was that tuckered. And thismornin', here he was, workin'! Say, buthe's a A-1 worker!"

What a chorus would interrupt him!—achorus of agreement. Then would follow adescription of that terrible flea-bittenmare, and of Johnnie's bravery; of thefierce kick, and the boy's quiet bearing ofhis agony, all closing with a word aboutthe wound and its seriousness.

Next, it would be Big Tom's turn. Andhe would tell of a home bereft, of an oldman's pitiful grief (oh, dear, lovingGrandpa!), and of two broken-heartedladies. Doubtless the longshoreman wouldtouch also upon the fact that he wasconsiderably out of pocket, but Johnniewould not mind that.

Cis, likely, would have nothing to say,but would look all she felt; and Grandpawould sandwich a few words in betweenother people's. But Mrs. Kukor! Herswould be the story worth hearing! Oh, thatvolume of broken-English! Johnniecounted upon it.

With such pleasing thoughts heoccupied himself as he and One-Eye stoleup the stairs. But when they were justoutside the door of the flat, the chimes ofTrinity began to ring, sounding above thegrinding of the nearest Elevated Railroad.Those clanging summons remindedJohnnie that Big Tom would surely be athome, and he suffered a sudden qualm ofapprehension. He looked longingly over ashoulder, wishing he might turn back. He

had a "gone" feeling under his belt, and atickling in his throat (it was very dry), asif his heart had traveled up there and gotwedged, and was now going like UncleAlbert's watch.

But of course there could be no turningback—not now. They must go in. Andquickly, for a few of the curious hadfollowed them up from the area and weremaking too much noise in the halls. SoOne-Eye bent and scooped Johnnie up inhis arms, holding him in a horizontalposition—yellow head hanging down toone side, both feet ditto to the other, bodylimp, the bandaged arm well forward, theeyes closed, all toes still, and—mostimportant—an expression of bravelyendured pain.

"Look as pale as ever y' can!"whispered One-Eye.

All this preparation was the work of amoment. Then One-Eye gave the door avigorous and imperative kick. At the sametime he began to talk to Johnnie,anxiously, soothingly: "It's all right, sonny!It's all right! Keep a stiff upper lip! 'Causey're home now. Pore kid! My! That was alucky 'scape!"

This last was spoken into the kitchen,for Cis had sped to answer the kick, andswung the door wide.

And now Johnnie, eyes tight closed,but with ears cocked, waited for thatexpected burst of greeting—that minglingof glad cries and so forth. But—there was

dead silence.

In astonishment up went the flaxenlashes. And Johnnie saw that while Ciswas looking with all her might, it was notat him! And Grandpa, mouse-still, was notlooking at him either! Nor was Big Tom,putting down his pipe at the table.

Furthermore there were no tears fromany quarter, and no pitying glances, andnot a sign of relief! The trio before him, inwhat seemed to be amazed fascination,were staring at One-Eye!

It was Big Tom who spoke first. Hisface, after its Sunday shave, wrinkled intoa really bright smile. "Well, by thunder!"he cried.

"Oh, my!"—this was Cis, whose handswere clasped in what to Johnnie seemed avery silly way. And she was wearing herexalted, Prince-of-Wales expression.

He was irritated, and resentful, andstung to the quick. What was the matterwith them? Oh, none of them cared! Theywere acting precisely like that crowdaround the taxi! And, oh, there would beno pop! And, oh, what—what would One-Eye think.

Johnnie burst into tears.

One-Eye was already thinking. WithJohnnie held tight in his arms, he had beenstaring at each of the trio in turn, thatsingle eye getting harder and harder, till itlooked as if it were made of glass; till it

resembled a green marble; and hismustache, as he puckered up his mouth inastonishment, had been lifting and falling,lifting and falling.

But as Johnnie's sobs came, One-Eyehalf turned, as if to go, then spied thekitchen chair, and sat heavily, in sheerdisgust. "Wal, I'll be jig- sawed!" hevowed. "The kid's right? And I might 'a'knowed it!"

But things got better. For now thereswelled forth a high, thin wail from oldGrandpa, whose pale eyes had beenroving in search for the one who wasweeping, had discovered Johnnie, andwas echoing his grief.

"Oh, shut up, Pa!" ordered Barber

harshly; while Cis, for fear the neighborswould hear, unwittingly shut the hall doorin the face of Mrs. Kukor, who had comeout of her own place at One-Eye's kick tosee what was happening.

"I'll be stop-watched and high-kaflummoxed!" continued One-Eye. Roundand round rolled that green marble,gathering fire with each revolution. In factit looked to be more fiercely glowing thanany two eyes—as single eyes have thehabit of looking.

Big Tom was beaming at the strangeragain, unaware of One-Eye's temper."Say, I never had a' idear of meetin' one ofyou," he declared heartily, "But I'm gladto, I'll say that. Yes, sir, I'm glad to! Bythunder!" His look traveled up and down

One-Eye, not missing a detail.

"Look-a-here!" returned One-Eye withinsulting coldness. "This boy's hurt! Hurtbad! Y' savvy? Weak, too—weak's a cat!And sick! Done up! Sore! Wore out!" Hepaused, glaring.

"Boo-hoo!"—Johnnie's heart waswrung by the pitiful description.

It was now that something of the effectJohnnie had pleasantly imagined wasfinally gained. With a distressful "Oh!"Cis came to him, while Grandpa began toshrill "Johnnie! Johnnie!" and tried to getaway from Big Tom, who held back thechair by a wheel as he, too, gave a thoughtto the patient.

"What happened to the kid?" he wantedto know.

One-Eye aimed his one orb at Big Tomas if it were a bullet. "What?" he repeated."Y' ask, do y'? Wal, it was a hoss. It was akick." Then to Johnnie, "Could y' shiftweight, sonny?" (One of the five bookswas stabbing One-Eye in the side.)

"I want t' know!" marveled Big Tom."Any bones broke?" He leaned to feel ofthe unwrapped part of Johnnie's hurt arm.

The indifferent tone, the hated, ungentletouch, and the nearness of thelongshoreman, all worked to unmanJohnnie, who gave way again. He did notfear a whipping any longer. It was, asMrs. Kukor might have put it, "somethink

yet again." Over him had swept therealization that soon this kind, free-handed, lovable One-Eye would be takinghis leave, and with him would go—well,about everything!

Oh, his dear millionaire! His soul ofgenerosity! The giver of the best supperever! A man who could command suchrespect that he had struck the whole of theEast Side dumb! The source of one boy'ssweet glory!

And how Johnnie hated the thought ofbeing left behind! He blamed himself forreturning. "O-o-o-o-oh!" he moanedmiserably. How mean and greedy andcruel and awful Big Tom seemed now,measured alongside this superb stranger!

Yet what Johnnie did not guess wasthat Barber was overjoyed at his return;was more relieved at having an excuse fornot whipping than Johnnie was over notbeing whipped, since punishment mightdecide the latter, on some future occasion,to stay away. Indeed, Big Tom had had ascare.

"Not a bone!" answered One-Eye,almost proudly. "Neat a kick as ever Iseen. Reckon the bucket took up most of it.But it's bad enough. Yas, ma'am. And it'llbe a week afore he oughta use it."

"I want my bed!" quavered Johnnie,remembering that part of the plan.

Cis brought the bedding, and her ownsnowy pillow, fragrant with orris root. As

she straightened out the clothes andplumped the pillow, Big Tom stayed infront of the visitor, staring as hard as ever,his great underlip hanging down, and thatbig nose taking a sidewise dart every nowand then.

"Well! well! I'm glad y' happened t'bring the kid home," he began again."Must be grand country out where youcome from. How far West d' y' live,anyhow? And I'd like your name."

"This is Mister One-Eye," introducedJohnnie, his well arm twined proudlyabout the stranger's leathery neck. It wasplain that the longshoreman waspowerfully impressed. And Johnnierealized better than ever that he hadbrought home a real personage.

"Yep, call me One-Eye and I'll come,"declared the personage. "But now thebed's ready, sonny." He rose and gentlydeposited Johnnie upon the pallet. "Nowkeep quiet," he advised kindly, "so's t' gitback some strength." And to Cis, "Reckonwe better give him a swaller o' tea."

Mrs. Kukor, who had been waiting allthe while in the hall, and could stand it nolonger, now came rocking in, her oliveface picked out with dimples, it wasworking so hard, and all her crinkly hairstanding bushily up.

"Is that you, Mother?" cried oldGrandpa. "Is that you?"—which misledOne-Eye into the belief that here wasanother member of the family, one whomJohnnie had omitted to mention. So the

green eye focused upon the mattress insorrowful reproof.

But the next instant a burst of dialectset Johnnie right in his new friend's eye."Ach, Chonnie!" cried the little Jewishlady. "Vot iss? Vot iss?"

Her concern pleased One-Eye. He satdown, crossed his knees, and swung aspur.

Mrs. Kukor had not yet seen him. Shehad stationed herself at the foot ofJohnnie's bed, from where she lookeddown, her birdlike eyes glistening withpity, her head wagging, her hands nowwaving, now resting upon a heart that wasgreatly affected by the sight of Johnnie inpain.

But Johnnie, looking up at her, knewthat his hurt arm was not the whole of hergrief; knew that she was thinking howmuch to blame she was herself for all thathad happened. Guilt was on her roundface, and remorse in her wagging. Thatbook! That Alattin! Ach, that she hadnever given him that present. Oy! oy! oy!

Big Tom was making conversation."Guess all of you work pretty hard outwhere you live," he declared, "—even ifyou do jus' set on a horse. But you betyou'd find my job harder. I tell y', I do myshare when it comes to the heavy work."His tongue pushed out one cheek, then theother, a habit of his when boasting. "Why,there ain't a man workin' with me that cando more'n two-thirds what I do! They all

know it, too. 'Barber's the guy with thecargo-hook,' is what they say. And Furmanadmits himself that I'm the only man'sthat's really earnin' that last raise. Yes,sir! 'Tom Barber's steel-constructed,' iswhat he tells the boys."

Meanwhile, Mrs. Kukor, still unawareof a strange presence, had beenwhispering excitedly with Cis, fromwhom she had got the facts concerning thewound. But even as she had listened, shehad been aware that Barber was talking,quietly, politely, good-naturedly.Surprised, she came half-about ("goin'exac'ly like a spud with tooth-pick laigs,"as One-Eye said afterwards, though notunkindly), and took a look in thelongshoreman's direction. And—saw the

visitor.

Her hands dropped, her eyes fixedthemselves upon those fur-faced breeches,her bosom stopped heaving as she heldher breath. Then, "Ach!" she cried. "CouldI believe it if so I did-ent saw it?—MisterBarber, how comes here a cowpoy?"

A cowboy?

Then it was Johnnie who experiencedsensations: Surprise—bewilderment—doubt—staggering belief—awe—joy—more joy—pride—triumph!

He sat up.

Now he understood why the shaggybreeches had struck him as somehowfamiliar. Of course! He had seen just such

a pair pictured on the billboard acrossfrom the millionaire's garage. Now herealized how he had seared the sight of hisenemies as he and the Great One arrivedside by side in a taxicab!—Yet no onemust ever know that he had been in thedark! "Why, yes, Mrs. Kukor!" he cried."My goodness! This is a reg'lar one!" (Atwhich One-Eye colored, blending hisbronze with a bashful purple.)

"A cowpoy!" whispered Mrs. Kukor,as if in a daze. "Pos-i-tivvle! Mit furs onhiss pants, und everythink!"

L

CHAPTER XII

A PRODIGAL PUFFED UP

EANING on his well elbow, Johnnierelated to Mrs. Kukor and Cis andGrandpa the whole story of what had

happened to him; and they paid such raptattention to him that at the most they didnot interrupt him more than fifteen ortwenty times. "And, oh, didn't everythingturn out just fine?" he cried in ending. "T'be found by a cowboy and fetched home ina' auto! and—all?"

Mrs. Kukor vowed that she dass-ent todeny how everytink about it wass both

stylish und grand!

Next, he had to hear what hadtranspired after his departure; how everyone had taken his going, especially BigTom—now gone out to escort One-Eye tothe taxi.

"I tells to him, 'Sure does Chonnie gofor sometink'," declared Mrs. Kukor. ButBarber had known better, and contradictedher violently. "Und so I tells to him overthat, 'Goot! Goot! if he runs away! In dishouse so much, it ain't healthy for him!'Und I shakes my fingers be-front of hissbig nose!"

Mrs. Kukor had to go then,remembering with a start that she had afilled fish cooking. She rushed out at a

thumping gallop. Then the wholeadventure was told a second time, Johnniesitting up with Grandpa's hat cocked overone eye, and drawling in fine imitation oftheir late guest.

When Barber came back, he was notable to let matters pass without a briefscolding for Johnnie, and a threat. "Y' goand git yourself laid up," he complained,coming to stand over the pallet on thefloor; "so's you can't do your work, andearn your keep. Well, a good kick was theright pay for runnin' away. And now letme tell y' this, and I mean it: if y' ever runaway again, y' won't git took back. Hearme?"

"Yes," answered Johnnie, almostcarelessly.

Barber said no more, realizing that ifJohnnie could run away once he couldagain. Even without grumbling thelongshoreman helped Cis to put the washto soak in the round, galvanized tub thatstood on its side under the dish cupboard—a Sunday night duty that was Johnnie's,and was in preparation for the hatedlaundry work which he always did sobadly of a Monday.

Late that night, in the closet-room, withthe door shut and a stub of candle lighted,Johnnie heard Cis's story of what hadhappened in the flat following her returnfrom the factory, her lunch still in its neatcamera-box.

"I—I just couldn't believe it was so!"she whispered, ready to weep at the mere

recollection of her shock and grief. "And,oh, promise me you won't ever go awayagain!" she begged, brown head on oneside and tears in her eyes; "and I'llpromise never to leave you—never,never, never, never!"

Johnnie would not promise. "I'm goin'to be a cowboy," he declared calmly; "butafter I go, why, I'll come back soon's as Ican and take you. And maybe, after thePrince is married, you'll forget him, andlike a cowboy."

Cis shook her head. Hers was anaffection not lightly bestowed nor easilywithdrawn from its dear object. "I sawHIM go into the Waldorf-Astoria by thefloor on the Thirty-third Street side," sherecalled tenderly. Recollection brought a

sweet, far-away look into those violet-blue eyes.

Johnnie took this moment to fish fromhis shirt his five books, laying them one byone on the bed-shelf at Cis's feet, fromwhere she caught up the new ones,marveling over them.

" I thought there was something funnyabout your looks," she declared. "I keptstill, though.—Oh, Johnnie Smith, haveyou been robbing somebody?"

When he had enjoyed her excitementand anxiety to the full, she was told allabout the book shop and the millionaire,and the lady, and the book with the dollarbill, after which he again showed thosebooks which he had purchased with the

money.

"Oh, you silly!" she cried. "You didn'tdo anything of the kind! They bought 'emfor you—all those nice people!"

It was hard to convince him, but at lastshe did, this by pointing out to him theprice marked in each book, a sum that tookhis breath away. Three dollars and a halfapiece they were! More than tenaltogether! ("Und in kesh-money!" Mrs.Kukor marveled afterward, when sheknew.) His eyes got a far-away expressionas he thought about the generosity of thosestrangers. Oh, how good strangers were toa person! It almost seemed that the lessyou knew somebody— But, no, that wasnot true, because Mrs. Kukor——

"Tell me more about Mr. One-Eye,"whispered Cis. "But what a name for aman! He can't be called just that! Howcould you write him a letter? Don't youknow the rest of it, Johnnie? It's One-eyeWhat?"

"Just One-Eye," returned Johnnie."That's what they all called him. Maybecowboys don't have two names likecommon men. What's the good of twonames, anyhow?"

Cis was shocked. "Everybody has tohave two names," she told him, severely."The first is yours, and is your mother'sfav'rite, and the other shows who yourfather is. Or maybe, if you're a secondchild, your mother allows your father toname you. But it's civilized to have two

names, and not a bit nice if you don't—unless you're a dog or a horse."

Johnnie lifted an inspired finger,pointing straight at her. "Everybody?" heasked. "Well, what about the Prince ofWales? His name is Eddie. Eddie What?"

"Why—why—" She was confused.

"Horse or dog!" scoffed Johnnie."Don't you b'lieve it? You mean Princesand cowboys!"

Cis had to admit herself wrong.

"When I heard One-Eye speak, thatfirst time," he informed her, "I was afraidhe was J. J. Hunter, come for Aladdin."

They laughed at that, fairly rocking.

After which they returned to the morepersonal aspects of One-Eye. "Whatmakes him keep his hat on?" she wanted toknow. "That isn't good manners at all. Ijust know the Prince wouldn't do it. Why,every time I saw the Prince he kept takinghis hat off. My!"

"Cowboys always keep their hats on,"Johnnie asserted stoutly. "Maybe if theydidn't, their horses wouldn't know 'em.Anyhow, they all do. Don't I know? I sawdozens!"

Well, if they did, then Cis thought thema strange lot. "And do all of them chewtobacco?" she persisted. "Because I'msure he does."

Johnnie was insulted. He denied

anything of the kind. He grew heated,resenting this criticism of one who heldthat cowboys were noble. One-Eyesmoked—even when signs said he mightnot. And could any man smoke and chewat the same time? He did not believe it,though he was willing to admit that if anym a n could perform these two featssimultaneously, that man was certainly theincomparable One-Eye.

"Anyhow, he's awful homely,"continued Cis, who could be as irritatingas most girls at times.

Johnnie rose then, cold and proud."Honest, Cis, you make me sick!" he toldher. "Homely! Huh!" He would have likedto cast an aspersion upon a certain Royalcountenance, just to get even, but feared

Cis might refuse to hide his books for him.However, he decided that he would neveragain be as nice as formerly to KingGeorge's son. He left the tiny room, nosein air.

She did not follow him with apologies.And presently he stole back to her doorand moved the knob softly. "Cis!" hewhispered. "What's a vallay?"

She peeped out. "What's a what?"

"A v-a-l-l-a-y?"

"Oh!—A valley's a scoopy placebetween two hills."

A scoopy place between two hills!How like a girl's was the answer! Hercandle was out, her tone sleepy. He did

not argue. Flat upon his pallet once more,with both hands under his yellow head, hesmiled into the black of the kitchen, tellinghimself that he would not change placeswith any boy in the whole of the greatsleeping city.

I

CHAPTER XIII

CHANGES

T was a blue Monday. In fact, it wasthe bluest Monday that Johnnie hadever spent in the flat. The urge of unrest

was upon him. He had been out once, andfar into the great world. And, oh, how heyearned to go out again! And just wanderup Broadway to Fifth Avenue, the morningsun on his back, and the wind in his hair,while he gave more strangers anopportunity to do those pleasant andgenerous things which it seemed theprivilege of strangers to do. A second trip,

and there was no telling but that he mightcome back to the flat fairly bowed under aload of things!

He took a peep at his books; but hecould not settle down to read. And he wasable to get through with a hasty trip toChickamauga by forcing himself to bepatient with Grandpa. Also, that morningwas a bad one for millionaires. He calledup none of the four. If a millionaire hadchanced by and offered to adopt him,Johnnie would have said a flat No.Cowboys! Rivals, these were, of thefamous quartette. And the momentGrandpa was asleep, Johnnie got on thetelephone, called up one of the largerstores, and ordered a complete cowboyoutfit—from hat to spurs. And having

received his order with lightning rapidity,he put it on at once, and began to stride toand fro, gesturing and talking bad grammarin his best possible imitation of One-Eye.He ended this fascinating game by tryingto pinch his eye in the door.

Naturally the door led to the idea oftaking a walk.

And the walk made him think of thedog. He had seen a handsome dog whilehe was riding in the truck—a black dogwith a brown spot over each eye. At oncehe determined to have one like it. "Here!Boof! Boof!" he called. And the dog cameto him across the kitchen, wagging a bushytail, and was warmly greeted, and fed. Afine, shining dog collar was then orderedand presented, after which Johnnie made a

hasty toilet by splashing his face with hiswell hand and drying it on the cup towel,and the two started off.

There was no fire in the stove, andJohnnie told himself that there was nothingto worry about in leaving Grandpa behindfor a little while. Without haste, this time,and without even a thought of Big Tom,Johnnie sallied forth, the dog at his side.

He had no misgivings as to thetreatment he would receive from the boysof the neighborhood. The question of hissocial standing had been settled. He evengot ready to whistle a tune, so that if anyboy's back was turned, and there wasdanger of Johnnie's not being seen, hecould call attention to himself—he, theintimate friend of a real cowboy.

But every one saw him. That wasbecause he took his time. On the otherhand, he saw no one; but paid the closestattention to signs, and windows, to carts,and the contents of shops, and he halted topet an occasional horse, or to shy a bit ofbrick at a water plug. Thus he traveled thefour sides of his block. Whenever he metboys, they were too impressed to besaucy. He sauntered past them, his handsin his big pockets, his chin in the air.

"Well, y' see how it is," he observed toBoof as they turned homeward. And heswaggered.

Back in his area, he found a smallgathering—several children, a fewwomen, and one old man. He blushed outof sheer happiness, believing them to be

drawn up to see the Friend of a Cowboypass in. And he climbed the stairs,whistling as he went, and smiling tohimself in the dusk of the poorly lightedhalls.

Entering the flat, he found One-Eye. Atfirst he could not trust his eyes, for hisnew dog had followed in, and waswagging a black tail, and he could see thedog as plainly as he could see his friend.But noting that Grandpa was playing witha red apple, he knew that the cowboy wasreally there.

So that was why there had been acrowd in the area!

But he did not rush to One-Eye. Forsome reason or other his feet were stone,

and he felt shame—and guilt. He said alow-spoken Hello!

There was no warmth in One-Eye'sgreeting, either. "Knocked," informed theWesterner. "Got no answer. Then I heardthe ole gent kinda whinin', and so I comein." While he talked, that single green eyewas peering out of the kitchen window.The tanned face wore a curious, sternlook.

"Yes, sir," said Johnnie, swallowing."He always is like that if I go out t' walk alittle." His heart was sorer than ever. Hefelt helpless, and forlorn. A wall had risenbetween himself and his wonderful friend.And he wished that One-Eye would burstout at him as Barber would have done,and give him a piece of his mind—oh,

anything but this manner so polite yet sofull of cool displeasure!

However, One-Eye had a secondapple, which he presented to Johnnie, andthis helped to clear the air. And the latter,hoping to win back One-Eye's goodopinion, wiped off a table knife, halvedthe apple, and scraped it, giving the juicyscrapings to the toothless old soldier.

At once One-Eye became less absent-minded. "Wal, how's the arm?" he asked."The boys tole me t' shore find out."

"Oh, it hurts a little," declared Johnnie,"but I don't mind. Say, how's the crosshorse?" One half of the apple scraped,Johnnie ate the red shell of it. "And havey' been to the rest'rant again? And I s'pose

all them white-dressed men and ladies,they can eat all they want to of ev'ry kindof de-licious things!"

One-Eye 'lowed they could. That loneorb of his was roving about the flat as ifhe was looking for some one. Andpresently, clearing his throat, "The younglady, she don't seem t' be at home," heobserved, with studied carelessness.

"Not till six," reminded Johnnie. "Sheworks."

It was then that One-Eye drew from apocket under those furry trousers a third,and a mammoth, apple. "Wal, when shecomes," he suggested, "y' might jes' giveher this."

"Oh, gee!" cried Johnnie. It was thelargest apple he had ever seen. "She'll likeit. And she thinks you're grand!"

This proved to be such a master strokeof diplomacy as Johnnie had not imagined.One-Eye glowed under the compliment,and went various shades of red, and blewsmoke from his cigar furiously. Now thelast trace of hardness went from theweathered countenance, the droopingmustache lifted to show toothy gaps, andeven the marble of that eye softened."Now, say!" exclaimed the cowboy. "Y'ain't stringin' me, are y'? She said that?Wal, this world is a shore funny place!Right funny! Jes' recent I paid a lady herein town six-bits t' read the trails in myhands. And she tole me, 'Y're going t' meet

a high-toned gal.' And now——!"

He said no more after that, onlysmoked, and stared at Johnnie's sky patch,and twiddled a spurred boot. The cigarfinished, he rose and shook handssolemnly, first with Grandpa, who giggledlike a delighted child; then with asomewhat subdued Johnnie.

"My!" breathed the latter as the clump,clump of the spurred boots died away onthe stairs. He felt more regret and sorrowover being found lacking by One-Eye thanever he had felt over a similar discoverymade by Big Tom. He realized that hewould do more to win just the smile of theone than he would to miss the punishmentof the other. And there was a sting in hislittle interior, as if some one had thrust a

needle into him, and left a sore spot; or asif he had swallowed a crust or a codfishbone, and it had lodged somewhere.

He gave over thinking about wearing acattleman's outfit, and began once more toturn his thoughts inward upon the flat. Hesought out Aladdin from the precious pileof books and opened it at the page he hadbeen reading when One-Eye's voice hadfallen for the first time upon his ears. Andat once he was again living with theChinese boy that story of stories.

The day sped. Whenever Grandpainterrupted him, Johnnie would go to lookat Cis's apple. He would take it up, andturn it, and smell it. He looked at itaffectionately, remembering who hadbought it, had had it in his hands, and

carried it. It brought that dear one close.

"Good One-Eye!" murmured Johnnie,and first making certain that even Grandpawas not watching, he laid the appleagainst one of his pale cheeks. Somehowit comforted him. He pictured Cis'ssurprise and joy when, having been told toshut her eyes and put out her hands, shewould see the crimson-skinned gift.

About this he received a cruel shock.For when Cis came slipping in, with ananxious look around, as if she fearedJohnnie might not be there, and had gonethrough the—to her—annoyingpreliminary of shut eyes and outstretchedpalms, there was plain disappointment onher face as she saw what Johnnie had togive her. And when he told her whose gift

it was, far from changing her attitude, andshowing the pride he expected, what shedid was to burst into peals of laughter!

It was like a slap in the face. He staredat her, not able to comprehend how shecould belittle a present from such asource. And all at once he felt himselfmore in sympathy with Big Tom than hedid with her, for Big Tom at least heldOne-Eye in high honor, and considered hisvisit to the flat a compliment.

Now she added insult to injury. "Whata funny thing to give a girl!" she cried.Then daintily taking a whiff of the fruit,"But then it'll scent up my box fine." Shewent to tuck it among her belongings.

Not a word of gratitude! And she was

crossness itself when, her dress changed,she sallied forth to set to work on thewash. That this task had something to dowith her lack of sweet temper neveroccurred to Johnnie, whose opinion ofgirls had received another setback. As hewatched her drag forward the tub and fallto rubbing, he half-way made up his mindto wait his chance, take the apple out ofthat old box, and eat it! He sat at thewindow, counting the stars as they cameinto his rectangle of faded blue, and wasglad that he now had a dog. A girl aroundthe house was so unsatisfactory!

Next day, with Cis's wash swingingoverhead in a long, white line, he finishedAladdin and took up Robinson Crusoe.And with the new book there opened to

him still another life. Swiftly the palacesof Cathay melted away. And Johnnie, incompany with several fighting men, waspacing the deck of a storm-tossed ship,with a savage-infested shore to lee. Gun inhand, he peered across the waves to a spitof sand upon which black devils danced.

By nightfall, what with fast reading,and by skipping many a paragraph whichwas pure description, the oilcloth tablewas a lonely island inhabited by no humanbeing, the morris chair was the good shipstranded, with all on board lost exceptCrusoe and Johnnie, who, while the seasdashed over them, roaring, breathlesslysalvaged for their future use (Johnnie'shurt arm was out of its sling all this time)the mixed contents of the kitchen

cupboard.

Big Tom interrupted this saving ofprovender. And Crusoe's friend was curtlyordered to wash some potatoes for supper,and lay the plates, and not leaveeverything for Cis to do. The order wasaccompanied by that warning flash ofwhite in Barber's left eye. It brought to anend Johnnie's period of convalescence.

That night he did more pondering as helay on his mattress beside the cookstove,his eyes looking far away to the three starsframed by the window sash, and the dogasleep at his side. He had always donemuch thinking, being compelled to it byloneliness. Now he took stock of himself,and came to the conclusion that he was notlike other boys.

Being the only blond-haired boy in thearea building had something to do with it.Having to do housework had more. Thenhe had none of the possessions which theother boys of his own age treasured—bats, and balls, "scooters," roller skates,yes, even water pistols.

Being different from other boys, hecould not, he decided, do as they did.They had freedom: he was shut in. Oncehe had thought that this shut-in conditionwas due to the strange views of Big Tom.But now, all at once, he realized that One-Eye agreed with the longshoreman. So didthe Chinese tailor, Mustapha!

He made up his mind that hereafter hewould stay close to home.

He spent nearly the whole of the nextday most contentedly with RobinsonCrusoe. It was ironing day, but when hehad finished the small pieces, Mrs. Kukortook the rest upstairs. Then Johnnie,dressed from head to toe in peltry, mooredat his elbow that lonely isle. And for himthe wrecked ship gave up the last of itsstores, cannibals danced, beacons werelighted, stockades built, and there swept inupon that East Side kitchen a breeze thatwas off the Southern Seas.

Shortly after the evening meal a nightor two later, One-Eye knocked, findingJohnnie up to his elbows in the dishpan,while Barber smoked and Cis dried thesupper plates. The cowboy seemed muchembarrassed just at first, and avoided

Cis's smiling look as she thanked him forthe apple. Her little speech over,however, he soon warmed into quite ajovial mood.

"Jes' had t' see sonny, here, t'night," hedeclared. "Y' know it's so seldom a fellermeets up with a kid that's worth botherin'about. Now this one strikes me as a first-class boy"—praise that instantly andcompletely wiped out that hurt somewherein Johnnie's interior.

One-Eye had not come empty-handed.He had cigars for Big Tom, a paper bag ofpears for every one, and a carefullywrapped box tied with glistening stringwhich turned out to be candy. As a chorusof delight greeted all these gifts, hebecame by turns the leathery saffron

which, for him, was paleness, and the darkreddish-purple that made onlookersalways believe that he was holding hisbreath. "Aw, shucks!" he cried to thethanks. "It ain't nuthin'. Don't mention it.It's all right. Eat!"

Then happened the almostunbelievable: Big Tom, who never madevisitors welcome, and never wastedkerosene, actually lifted down the lampand lighted it, and would not hear of One-Eye's taking an early departure. Thecowboy's importance was making himwelcome; also, his gifts. For greed wasthe keynote of Barber's character. Thelatter haw-hawed at everything One-Eyesaid. And Johnnie gazed in amazement atthe unusual spectacle of Big Tom's face

wrinkled by laughter.

He talked about himself. He had beenmoving barrels all day; doing prodigiousthings. Furman had all but fallen deadwhen he surveyed what that one pair ofhands had accomplished. "And he bet me Icouldn't take up two barrels at a time," heboasted. Then pushing out his cheeks, "Butsay! It was duck-soup!"

"Barrels of duck-soup?" One-Eyewanted to know. And the kitchenresounded with such unwonted laughterthat a window or two went up outside, toright or left, some neighbor thinking a rowwas under way.

Hearing the noise, Barber stalked tohis own window, flung it high, leaned out,

and glared about. The other windowswent down then, and Big Tom slammedhis own shut, begrudging any family in thebuilding the sound of One-Eye's voice."That Gamboni!" he growled. "Can't mindhis business t' save his life! But you bet hedidn't open his mouth when he seen melookin'! No, sir! They all shut up their sasswhen they spy yours truly! Ha-ha-a-a-a! Icould break 'em in two!"

Johnnie felt a chill travel down hisspine. He compared One-Eye to his fosterfather again. Oh, what would havehappened if these two had not met onfriendly terms? had on his account come toblows? How would it have fared with thecowboy in the grasp of those hands whichwere steel-constructed?

"Y' look consider'ble strong," admittedOne-Eye, rolling the green marble thelength of Barber appraisingly. "But I ain'tsuch a slouch myself. Can throw my steeryet, slick as that!" Which was going far forOne-Eye in the boasting line.

He came to the flat often after that—and never again found Johnnie away,though occasionally Big Tom was. Healways brought cigars for thelongshoreman, and fruit or candy, or both,for the others. He never had a great deal tosay, but being something more than acommon man, he would dry dishes if therewere dishes to dry, or help split kindlingfor the morning fire; and once he scrubbedthe sink.

If he said little, nevertheless he

inspired others to talk. For some reason hewas anxious to get from Johnnie the storyof the boy's past life, which was not socomplete as One-Eye would have liked,since Johnnie had forgotten the surname ofhis Aunt Sophie. He remembered her as atall woman with big teeth and too muchchin who wore plaid-gingham wrappersand pinched his nose when she applied ahandkerchief to him.

He remembered Aunt Sophie's livingrooms above the rich man's garage—rooms warm, clean, and brightly lighted,with pictures, and crisp curtains, and athick, rose-patterned rug in the parlor. Inher kitchen was a great cookstove called"The Black Diamond," which seemed likesome live thing, for it had four claw-

shaped feet, and seven isinglass eyesranged in a blazing row upon a flat face.Under the eyes were toothlike barsforming a grate. These seemed always tobe grinning hotly. Often when the stovewas fed with the ebony lumps that AuntSophie said it loved, its burning breathwas delicious. Then Johnnie's aunt, halfdoubled above it, drew out of it rich,brown roasts, and pies that oozed nectar;or ladled up fragrant soups and goldendoughnuts.

Johnnie described how grandly he hadlived at Aunt Sophie's. He had slept insoft, white night clothes. Always, when hewaked, Aunt Sophie had pulled him out ofthese and dropped him into a big tub ofwarm water, then rubbed him pink with a

large, shaggy towel. Sometimes UncleAlbert took him for a run in one of themillionaire's huge, glistening cars.

His last memory of the garage had todo with the clanging ambulance that tookAunt Sophie to the hospital. Johnnie neversaw her again, for she died there; and itwas after her death that Tom Barberclambered up the straight, steep flight ofstairs that led from the street door. Whenhe went down it, Johnnie was with him,clinging to one of Big Tom's thumbs.

"Then I reckon Mister Barber's arelative," said One-Eye.

"Only by marriage," declared Cis. Shewas certain of that.

"But why'd he bother takin' a kid that isno relation?" persisted the Westerner.

Cis smiled wisely. "Work," sheanswered laconically.

One-Eye understood. "And who wasthe rich gent?" he asked.

Johnnie could not remember the name."But once," he told proudly, "he left a'orange for me, and I used it like a ball tillthe skin busted."

"Y' know what street that was on, don'ty'?" inquired the cowboy.

Yes, Johnnie knew that. The street wasWest Fifty-fifth.

"And what about your mother?" One-

Eye wanted to know.

"Well, I had one—once," declaredJohnnie. "I'm sure of that. And she's dead."Also at one time he had possessed afather, who was dead, too. "My father andmy mother," he informed the cowboy,"died the same day."

That single eye opened wide at thisnews. "The same day?" One-Eyedemanded.

"Drownded," said Johnnie. Thoughhow and where he could not tell, and didnot even know his father's name, whichCis felt sure was not Smith.

"I thought as much!" remarked theirvisitor, wisely. "And what about your

Paw and Maw?" he inquired of Cis, whoknew names and dates and facts about herparents, but was completely in the dark asto the whereabouts of any livingkinspeople. She had lived in a flat in thenext block till her father died. When hermother married Tom Barber, she hadmoved out of her birthplace and into thearea building. And that was all there wasto tell, except that her own full name wasNarcissa Amy Way.

"Cute!" declared One-Eye, going abeet-red.

"Have you got a mother?" asked Cis.

"Both dead," answered One-Eye,knowing that the two would understandwhat he meant.

"Three orphans," returned Cis. Theblue eyes misted, and the pointed, pinkchin quivered. And the others knew whatshe meant.

Indeed, at the sight of her brimmingeyes One-Eye felt so keenly that, withoutwarning, he put his head back in a mostsurprising fashion, opened his mouth, shutthat one eye, and broke into a strangeplaint. The others concluded that One-Eyewas making a curious, hoarse noiseceilingward for some reason. Presently,however, Cis made out that the noise wasa tune: a tune weird but soul-stirring.Music, as Cis could see, was One-Eye'smedium of expressing his emotions. Andthen and there it became her firmconviction that he was bearing a great and

secret sorrow.

It was Johnnie who first learned thewords of the tune. And when he couldrepeat them to Cis, both realized howappropriate they had been under thecircumstances, for they ran:

"Oh, blame me not forweepin',

Oh, blame me not, I say!For I have a' angel

mother,Ten thousand miles

away!"

Having got to the end of a verse, One-Eye sat up, smiled feebly, darted a bashfulglance at Cis, and went on with hisquestions. "What was Uncle Albert's

name?" he wanted to know.

But as Johnnie could not rememberAunt Sophie's name, naturally enough hecould not remember his Uncle Albert's,both names being one and the same. HisUncle was a figure that this small nephewhad greatly admired—straight, be-cappedlike a soldier, and soldierly, too, in hissmart, dark livery.

"They's somethin' mysterious about thehull proposition!" pronounced One-Eye.

That night when One-Eye was about toleave, he asked Cis what he might buy herfor Christmas. Cis was shy aboutanswering, and declared that he need notbuy her anything: he had bought her somuch candy, and that was enough—more

than enough. But One-Eye pressed thequestion. "Aw, name somethin'!" hepleaded. "Can't y' think of a pritty that y'dlike awful?"

Cis thought. And having taken sometime to turn the suggestion over, whileOne-Eye watched her, and Johnniementally made up a long list of possiblegifts, "I'd like very much," she faltered, "ifI could have a nice doll."

What was there about the request thatseemed to stagger One-Eye? Looking athim, Johnnie saw that big Adam's-applemove convulsively, while the green eyeswam, and the lantern jaw fell. "A—adoll?" the cowboy repeated feebly.

Cis knew that somehow she had said

the wrong thing, and hastened to ease thesituation. "Oh, just a teeny, weeny one,"she compromised. "You see, Mr. One-Eye, I've never had but one, and I thoughtbefore I got too big—because I've seensmall dolls that were so sweet!—and I—and I——"

But there she stopped, blushingpainfully. To cover her embarrassment,she dashed into her closet room andbrought out Letitia, ragged dress and all,as if the sight of the poor beloved wouldspeak for her more eloquently than shecould for herself.

Which proved to be the case. For One-Eye stared at Letitia till that single eyefairly bored through her sawdust frame.Next he took her up and turned her about,

his lips shut tight. His mustache stood up,he gulped, and his hand trembled.

Then suddenly he rose. "Got t' go," heannounced.

He went. He forgot to shake hands. Hepulled the big hat far down across hisforehead. He stubbed his toe on thedoorsill.

Cis and Johnnie hung out of thewindow a long time after, talking lowtogether, so as not to be overheard by theGambonis, for the early December nightwas surprisingly warm, and the buildinghad all its windows up. They speculatedupon One-Eye's conduct. Johnnie wasdistressed—and on two scores: first, thatOne-Eye should have gone so abruptly;

second, that Cis, when given a chance toask for something, had not named a giftworth having, such as another book.

"But you've got more books now thanyou've had time to read!" she protested."And anyhow One-Eye is sure to give youa Christmas present." She was not castdown, but smiled at the sky, and talked ofthe new doll, which she intended to name—Edwarda.

"Should think you'd name her afterOne-Eye," went on Johnnie; "long's he'sgivin' her to you."

"How could I name her after him?" sheretorted. "What would I call her?—Two-Eyes? I'm not going to spoil her by givingher a crazy name." Eager to have her

dreams to herself, she forsook the windowfor her own room, and shut the door.

The next morning, while Johnnie andGrandpa were returning from the field ofGettysburg, here, ascending from the areacame the shrill voice of the Italianjanitress: "Johnnie Smith! Johnnie Smith!"

That meant the postman. And thepostman was an event, for he came notoftener than once in three months, this tofetch a long, official envelope that had todo with Grandpa's pension. But thepension was not due again for severalweeks. So what did the postman have toleave?

Bursting with curiosity, excitement andimportance, Johnnie very nearly broke his

neck between his own door and the brickpave. And here was a letter addressed tohimself: Johnnie Smith, in Mr. Thos.Barber's flat. Then the street and thenumber, the whole having been written ona typewriter.

"Why—! Why—! Who can it be from?"Johnnie muttered, turning the letter overand over, while heads popped out ofwindows, and sundry small fry gatheredabout Johnnie and the postman.

"Maybe you'd find out if you openedit," suggested the latter, who was curioushimself.

Johnnie opened; and drew forth asingle large page, white and neat, when itwas unfolded. Upon it was written a short,

polite note which read:

"Dear Johnnie, I'm going away for afew days. Cannot tell just when I shall beback. Take care of yourself. Yours veryrespectfully,—" Here One-Eye had signedhis name.

The signature was hard to make out.Not only because it was badly written butbecause there was something the matterwith Johnnie's eyes. "One-Eye's goin'away," he told the postman, not ashamedof the tears he wiped on the back of ahand. "Oh, my goodness!" He climbed thestairs with his square little chin on hisbreast.

Cis made him feel worse when shecame home. Because instead of being

equally cast down, she was full ofcriticism. "My! One-Eye never wrotethat!" she declared. "A stenographer fixedthat all up for him. Sure as you live."

This was too much. Johnnie jerked theletter out of her hand. He caught up Letitiaby one dwindling arm and cast herheadforemost into Cis's room. And thereis no telling what else might not havehappened if, at that moment, the janitresshad not begun to call again, though thistime it was Cis she wanted. And what shehad for Cis was a heavy pasteboard boxthat was nearly as long as the table. In thebox, wearing a truly gorgeous dress andhat and shoes, was—Edwarda.

"A Princess of a doll!" cried Cis,dancing with happiness.

Later on, when she had put Edwarda tobed for at least the tenth time, she came tocomfort Johnnie. "Never mind," she said,"he'll be back. And while he's gone, youcan play he's here." Then with a far-awaylook in her blue eyes, "What would I do ifI didn't pretend HE was here!"

Johnnie groaned. The idea of herbringing up the Prince in the face of suchgrief as his! It made him sick. He pinnedthe letter inside his shirt. He dragged outthe mattress and flung himself down. Hewould not let her light the lamp. Heyearned for the dark, where he could hidehis tears.

Oh, everything was swept away!Everything!

And even the dog, crowding closeagainst him comfortingly, could not lessenhis pain.

J

CHAPTER XIV

THE HEAVEN THATNEARLY HAPPENED

ANUARY came in furiously, pepperingwith sleet, bombarding with hail,storming with snow-laden winds. Day

after day the sun refused to show himself,and the kitchen was so dark that,whenever work had to be done, the lampwas lighted.

In such weather Johnnie was cut offfrom the outside world; was almost likeanother Crusoe. Having no shoes and no

overcoat, he would not venture out for awalk with his dog. Fuel was so costly thathe could not even open the window to takehis taste of the outdoors. His feet werewrapped up in bits of blanket, and his thinarms were covered by footless, oldstockings of Cis's, which he drew on of amorning, keeping them up by pinning themto the stubby sleeves of the big shirt.

Many a day Big Tom stayed at home,dozing away the time on his bed. Suchdays were trying ones for Johnnie. Seatedat the kitchen table, his large hands bluewith the cold, hour upon hour he twistedcotton petals on wire stems to makeviolets—virtually acres of them, which hefashioned in skillful imitation, though hehad never seen a violet grow. Violet-

making tired him, and often he had astabbing pain between his shoulderblades.

But when Barber was away, thegloomiest hours passed happily enough.He would finish his housework early, ifnone too well, scatter the oilcloth withpetals and stems, as if this task were goingforward, then pull the table drawer partway out, lay his open book in it, and read.It was The Last of the Mohicans whichclaimed all of his interest during the firstmonth of that year. And what the weatherwas outside mattered not a jot to him. Hewas threading the woods of spring withCora and Alice, Uncas and Heyward.

It was later on, during February, whenThe Legends of King Arthur were

uppermost in Johnnie's mind, that the flathad a mysterious caller, this a bald-headed, stocky man wearing a hard blackhat, a gray woolly storm coat, andovershoes. "You Johnnie Smith?" he askedwhen the door was opened to his knock.

"Yes, sir."

The man came in, sat without waitingto be asked, and looked around him with asevere eye. Johnnie was delighted at thisunusual interruption. But Grandpa wasscared, and got behind Johnnie. "Is that theGeneral?" he wanted to know, whispering."Is that the General?"

"Is your father home?" asked thestrange man finally.

"My father's dead," replied Johnnie.

"Ah. Then Mr. Barber's your uncle,eh?"

"He ain't no relation," declaredJohnnie, proudly.

The clock alarm announced the hour offive. Johnnie fed the fire and put thesupper over. Still the man stayed. Once hegot up and walked about, stared into theblackness of Big Tom's bedroom, and heldthe lamp so that he might have a look atCis's closet. He grumbled to himself whenhe put the lamp down.

All this made Johnnie uneasy. He couldthink of only one reason for such strangeand suspicious conduct. The books! Could

this by any chance be Mr. J. J. Hunter?

When Barber came in, it was plain toJohnnie that the longshoreman knewinstantly why the man had come. At leasthe showed no surprise at seeing him there.Also, he was indifferent—even amused.After nodding to the visitor, and flashingat him that dangerous white spot, he satand pushed at first one cheek and then theother with his tongue.

"My name's Maloney," began the man,using a severe tone. "I'm here about thisboy."

Johnnie started. The man's visitconcerned himself! He felt sure now that itwas about the book. He wondered if therewould be a search.

Barber thrust out his lip. "You're a longtime gittin' here," he returned impudently.And laughed.

At that the man seemed less sure ofhimself. "Don't know how I've missedhim," he declared, as if troubled.

"Seein' he's been right here in this flatfor five years," said the other, sneeringly.

Maloney rose, and Johnnie saw that hewas angry. "You know the law!" heasserted. "This boy ought to be in school!"

School! Johnnie caught his breath. Mr.Maloney was here to help him! Had notCis declared over and over that some dayBig Tom would be arrested for keepingJohnnie home from public school? Mrs.

Kukor had agreed. And now this wasgoing to happen! And, oh, school wouldbe Heaven!

"Sure," assented Big Tom, smoothly."But who's goin' t' send him? 'Cause Idon't have t' do anything for him."

"You'll have to appear before amagistrate," declared the other. "For I'mgoing to enter a complaint."

Barber began to swell. With a curse,he rose and faced Maloney. "Look here!"he said roughly. "This kid is nothin' t' me.I fetched him here when his aunt died. Ididn't have t'. But if I hadn't, he'd 'vestarved, and slept in the streets, or been acost t' the city. Well, he's been a cost t' me—git that, Mister Maloney? T' me! A poor

man! I've fed him, and give him a place t'sleep—instead of takin' in roomers, likethe rest of the guys do in this buildin'."

Again the man looked about him."Roomers?" he repeated. "Why, there's noventilation here, and you get no sun. Thisflat is unfit to live in!"

"You tell that t' the landlord!" criedBig Tom, his chest heaving. "He makes mepay good rent for it, even if it ain't fit t'live in!"

Maloney shook his head.

"Oh, yes, I know all about your cityrules," went on the longshoreman. "But theDagoes in this tenement pack their flatsfull. I don't. Jus' the boy sleeps in this

kitchen. And if it wasn't for me, where'dhe be right now? Out in the snow?"

Maloney shrugged, sat down, andleaned back, thinking. And in the pauseJohnnie thought of several matters. Forone thing, now he had a new way ofconsidering his being in the flat. Sureenough, if Barber had not fed and housedhim where would he have been? WithUncle Albert? But Uncle Albert had nevercome down to see him; had not—as BigTom had often taken the pains to point out—even written Johnnie a postcard. Nowthe boy suddenly found himself grateful toBarber.

Mr. Maloney's manner had lost much ofits assurance. "But the boy must be taughtsomething," he declared. "He's ignorant!"

Ignorant! Johnnie rose, scarcely able tokeep back a protest.

Barber whirled round upon him."Ignorant!" he cried. "Y' hear that,Johnnie? This gent thinks you don't knownothin'!—That's where you're off,Maloney!—Johnnie, suppose you read forhim. Ha? Just show him how ignorant y'are!"

Johnnie made an involuntary starttoward the drawer of the table,remembered, and stopped. "What—what'llI read?" he asked.

The man looked around. "Exactly!" heexclaimed. "What'll he read? What haveyou got in this flat for him to read?Where's your books? or papers? or

magazines? You haven't a scrap of printedmatter, as far as I can see."

"Give us that paper out of yourovercoat," suggested Big Tom, ignoringwhat the other had said. "Let the kid readfrom it."

As Johnnie took the paper, he wasalmost as put out at the man as wasBarber. "I've read ever since I was ababy," he declared. "Aunt Sophie, sheused to give me lessons." Then he read,easily, smoothly, pausing at commas,stopping at periods, pronouncing even thebiggest words correctly.

"All right," interrupted Maloney, aftera few paragraphs. "That'll do. You readfirst rate—first rate."

"And I know dec'mals," boastedJohnnie; "and fractions. And I can spellev'ry word that was in Cis's spellin'book." Yes, and he knew much more thathe dared not confess in the hearing ofBarber. He longed to discourse about hisfive books, and all the wonderful peoplein them, and to say something about the"thinks" he could do.

"There y' are!" exclaimed thelongshoreman, triumphant. "There y' are!D' y' call that ignorant? for a ten-year-oldboy?"

Maloney looked across at Johnnie andsmiled. "He's a mighty smart lad!" headmitted warmly.

"Knows twice as much as most boys of

his age," went on Barber. (He had come tothis conclusion, however, in the past fiveminutes.) "And all he knows is good. Hebehaves himself pretty fair, too, and Idon't have much trouble with him t' speakof. So he's welcome t' stay on far's he'sconcerned. But"—his voice hardened, hisnose darted sidewise menacingly—"if youstick your finger in this pie, and drag meup in front of a Court, I'm goin' t' tell y'what'll come of it, and I mean just what Isay: I'll set the kid outside that door,"—indicating the one leading to the hall, "andthe city can board and bed him. Jus' putthat in your pipe and smoke it!"

Evidently Mr. Maloney did not smoke,for though Johnnie watched the visitorclosely, the latter drew out no pipe.

"Wouldn't know where I could send him,"he confessed, but as if to himself ratherthan to Big Tom; "not just now, anyhow.But"—suddenly brightening—"what aboutnight school?"

"Have him chasin' out o' nights?" criedBarber, scandalized. "Comin' in all hoursoff the street? I guess not! So if you andyour Court want this kid t' go t' nightschool, out he gits from here. And that'smy last word." He sat down.

Mr. Maloney got up, a worriedexpression on his face. "I'll have to let thematter stand as it is for a while," headmitted quietly. "This year the city's gotmore public charges than it knows what todo with—so many men out of work, andso much sickness these last months. And

as you say, the boy isn't ignorant."

When he went, he left the paper behind;and that evening Johnnie read it from thefirst page to the last, advertisements andall. Big Tom saw him poring over it, butsaid nothing (the boy's reading on the slyhad proved a good thing for thelongshoreman). Johnnie, realizing that hewas seen, but that his foster father did notroar an objection, or jerk the paper fromhis hands, or blow out the light, wasgrateful, and felt suddenly lessindependent.

But what he did not realize was that, byreading as well as he had, he had hurt hisown chances of being sent to publicschool.

W

CHAPTER XV

SCOUTS

HEN, toward the latter part ofMarch, the days were so warm thatJohnnie was able once more to take

short, daily walks, he never went withoutbringing home a box to split up forkindling. The box was an excuse. And hewanted the excuse, not to ease hisconscience about leaving Grandpa alone,but to save himself should Big Tomhappen home and find him gone.

So far as Grandpa was concerned, thefeeble veteran scarcely seemed to know

any more whether he was alone or not,there being small difference between theflat without Johnnie and the flat withJohnnie if Johnnie had a book. But alsoGrandpa always had some one else withhim now—some one who comforted hisold heart greatly. This was Letitia.

Grandpa had always shown muchfondness for the old doll. And one day—soon after Cis received the new one—when Johnnie chanced to give Letitia intothe hands of the old man, the latter was sohappy that Johnnie had not taken Letitiaaway, and Cis had not. Instead, she gavethe old doll to Grandpa. And so it cameabout that Letitia shared the wheel chair,where she lay in the crook of Grandpa'sleft arm like a limp infant (she was

shedding sawdust at a dreadful rate, whatwith the neglect she was suffering of late),while her poor eyes fixed themselves ondistance.

"She don't look like she's happy,"Johnnie had declared to Cis more thanonce. "She looks like she's just standin'it."

"Why, Johnnie!" Cis had reproved,"And here you've always said that I wassilly about her!"

"Who's silly?" Johnnie had demanded,defensive, and blushing furiously.

"Grandpa's tickled to have her," Cishad continued.

There the matter was dropped.

Nevertheless, Johnnie had then formed acertain firm conviction, which hecontinued to hold. It was that Cis waslacking in loyalty to the old doll(forgetting that only recently he had hurledLetitia headfirst into the tiny room).

By the end of March Johnnie had begunto fret about One-Eye. He missed thecowboy sadly; and what made the latter'sabsence seem all the harder to bear wasthe belief that his friend was back in NewYork again, yet was not visiting the flatbecause he was, for some reason,displeased. With Cis?—about that newdoll—or what?

"He's mad about somethin',"—Johnnievowed it over and over. "He said he'd begone a few days. But that was months

ago."

Cis denied that she had anything to dowith One-Eye's staying away. She missedhim, too; or, rather, she felt the loss ofthose almost nightly gifts of fruit andsweets. As for Barber, he had no moregood cigars to smoke before his fellowlongshoremen. And his lunch pail lackedoranges and bananas at noontime, and hadto be filled with prunes. Altogether, thecowboy's failure to return worked ageneral hardship.

"Oh, why don't he write me again?"mourned Johnnie. These days he secretlyenjoyed any glimpse of Edwarda, andwould even steal into Cis's roomsometimes to peep at her. She made himfeel sure that One-Eye had really once

been there with them—as did also theletter and the blue handkerchief.

Johnnie lightened his heart with all thistestimony. For it was often difficult forhim to feel any more certain about thecowboy than he did about his fourmillionaires, or Sir Galahad, say, orUncas, or Goliath, or Crusoe. He couldrevel gloriously in make-believe, yes; butperhaps for this very reason he foundhimself terribly prone to doubt facts! Andas each day went by, he came to wondermore and more about the reality of One-Eye, though the passing time as steadilyadded romantic touches to the figure of theWesterner.

Often at night Johnnie held longconversations with him, confessing how

much he missed him, thanking him for pastfavors, begging him to return. "Oh, One-E y e , are y' mad at me?" he wouldimplore. And if there were stars framedby the window, they would dance as thegray eyes swam.

Whenever he roved hither and thither,hunting for boxes, he was really huntinghis friend. He kept close watch of the menwho passed him, always hoping earnestlythat one day he might catch sight of One-Eye.

He brought home only one box at atime. At first if some grocer gave him alarge one, so that he had more wood thanwas needed to start the morning fire, heburned his surplus, so that he would haveto go out again the following day. Later on

he gave the extra sticks to Mrs. Kukor,tying them into a Robinson Crusoe bundle,like fagots, and sending them up to thelittle Jewish lady via the kitchen windowwhen she let down a string. The two had aspecial signal for all this; they called it the"wood sign."

One morning as Johnnie was strollingalong New Bowery, alert as ever for thesight of a pair of fur-faced breeches, hisheart suddenly came at a jump into histhroat, and his head swam. For just aheadof him, going in the same direction, was atall man wearing a One-Eye hat!

Without a doubt in his mind that herewas some one who knew his dear friend,Johnnie let fall a small box he wascarrying under one arm and rushed

forward, planting himself, breathless, inthe man's way. "Oh, Mister!" he cried."Oh, where's One-Eye? Would y' tell himfor me that I want t' see him?—awful bad!I'm Johnnie—Johnnie Smith!"

The man had long hair that covered hiscollar like Grandpa's. Also he plainly hada temper much like Big Tom's. For afterstaring down at the boy for a moment, hekicked out at him. "On your way!" heordered angrily. "Ske-daddle!—you littlerat!"

Johnnie obeyed. He was stunned—thatany man having on a One-Eye hat couldact so bad. His pride was hurt, too, atbeing kicked at in public, and called a rat—he, the intimate of the famousWesterner. And his sense of justice was

outraged; he had done nothing to deserveattack and insult.

This was not a matter for one of those"think" revenges. He might never see theman again, and whatever he did must be asplain to all passersby as had been theother's performance. So when Johnnie waswell out of reach of the long-haired man,he halted to call back at him. "You ain't noreal cowboy!" he declared. "Girl's hair!Girl's hair!"

But a pleasant experience cametreading on the very heels of theunpleasant. This was under the ElevatedRailroad in Second Avenue. At themoment, Johnnie chanced to be a great,champing war horse, grandly drawing, bya harness made all of the finest silk, a

casket (that small box) filled with coinsand bars of gold from Treasure Island.Being a war horse of Camelot, and,therefore, unused to New York and traintracks on stilts, he was prancing andrearing under his gay trappings in wildstyle when——

Up the stone-paved avenue they came,two and two, two and two, two and two,and behind those twos still others, allboys of Johnnie's own age, all dressed justalike, wearing clean khaki uniforms, newflat-brimmed hats of olive-drab, leggings,and polished brown shoes. What theywere he did not know, though he guessedthem to be rich, noting how proud wastheir carriage—chins up, backs straight.Beside them walked their leader, a grown

young man, slender, and with a tannedface plentifully touched with red.

The war horse shrank into his rags. Hewould have darted out of sight so as not tobe seen; would have hid behind a pillar ofthe Elevated, dreading looks of scorn, andlaughter, and cat calls, but the sight of thatmarching column thrilled and held him.Once before he had seen a number of boyswhom he had envied. They had had onsweaters and caps, the caps being lettered.They had carried baseball masks, andbats. But were such—a noisy, clamorouscrew—worthy to be compared with theseyoung gods?

Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp!—theypassed him, their look high. But the eyesof all were kind and friendly as they

caught sight of Johnnie. Yet—could theyknow who he was? of his friendship withthe great cowboy? Hardly. And still thecolumn did not mock at him. There wasnot a taunt, not a hoot!

When they were gone, he stood staringafter them, so entranced that he was indanger of being run down by a surface car,or an automobile. Presently, however, onbeing ordered off the rails by an iratetruck driver, he made on homewardslowly, his yellow head loweredthoughtfully, the box scraping alongbehind him at the end of a piece of rope.

"Guess they're some kind of soldiers,"he told himself, and reflected that theywere small to have been sent to war.

A hand touched his shoulder, stoppinghim. He glanced up. And could scarcelybelieve his eyes. For here, as surprisingas lightning out of a sunny sky, was thatleader, that grown young man. "Say, boy!"he panted, breathing hard from a run. "Isaw you just now as we went by. Wouldyou like to be a scout?"

"A—a scout?" faltered Johnnie, anddid not know whether or not he could trusthis ears; because only recently he hadcome to know all about scouts, regardedthem as far beyond even the mostdistinguished among men (always barringcowboys), and had decided that, next afterbeing one of One-Eye's company, hewould like to be a scout. And here——

"Yes. Would you?" What had brought

the leader back was the look ofheartrending yearning in the gray eyes of atattered little boy. He smiled, seeing thatlook swiftly change to one of joy, of awe.

"A scout!" repeated Johnnie. Suddenlybeside him there was standing a figure thatwas strange to Second Avenue. The figurewas that of a sunburned, lanky individualwearing a hunting shirt of forest-green,fringed with faded yellow, and a summercap of skins which had been shorn of theirfur. Under the smock-frock were leggingslaced at the sides, and gartered above theknees. On his feet were moccasins. Therewas a knife in his girdle, and in his handsa long rifle. This was one of Johnnie'snew friends, that slayer of bad Indians,that crack shot, the brave scout of The

Last of the Mohicans. "And y' say I canbe one? One just like Hawkeye?"

"Hawkeye?"—the young man waspuzzled.

Johnnie was disappointed. "Oh, y' don'tknow him," he said. "But he's a scout."

"I mean a boy scout," explained theother, kindly. "Like my troop there"—witha jerk of the head toward the khaki-cladcolumn, now halted a block away on theedge of the sidewalk.

Now that radiant, sunlit look—theglowing eyes and the flashing teeth addingto the shine of hair and brows and lashes."Boy scout!" cried Johnnie. Hawkeye wasgone. Another vision stood in his place. It

was Johnnie himself, gloriouslytransformed. "Oh, gee! Oh, my goodness!Oh, Mister! Oh, could I? I'm crazy to!Crazy!"

The usual crowd of the curious—boysmostly—was now pressing about theleader and Johnnie, the two or threegrown people in it peeping over the headsof the younger ones. But the young manseemed not to mind; and as for Johnnie, ifhonors were coming his way on the openstreet, what could be better than to have afew onlookers?

"Of course you'll be one," declared theleader, heartily. He produced a pencil anda businesslike notebook. There was a pairof glasses hanging against his coat on around, black cord. These he adjusted.

"Name and address?" he asked; "—thenI'll drop in to see you, and we'll talk it allover with your father."

Johnnie gave the information. "Only Iain't got a father," he corrected, as thepencil traveled. "But y' can tell the boyscouts, if y' want t', that I got a cowboyfriend named One-Eye, and he lives in agarden that's down in a terrible big cellar,and wears fur all up his pants in front, anda bigger hat'n yours, and spurs. And I gotfive books—Aladdin, and The Mohicans,and Treasure Island, and King Arthur andCrusoe!"

The crowd listened, ready to laugh ifthe young man did, which was what theyoung man did not. On the contrary, whatJohnnie had said seemed to have wrought

the considerable effect Johnnie haddesired. For the young man opened hiseyes so big at Johnnie that the glasses felloff, and hit a button of his tunic with aclear ring. "You—you read?" he inquired.

"I should say so!" returned Johnnie,cheeks going red with pride. "Most all thetime! But I'm goin' t' write a lot next—goin' t' copy all my books out, 'cause Cissays that's the way I can learn t' spell thebig words. And lookee!—the handkerchiefOne-Eye give me!"

"Did you say One-Eye or Hawkeye?"asked the young man, feeling of thehandkerchief with evident respect for itsappearance and quality.

"Oh, One-Eye!" declared Johnnie.

"'Cause that's all the eyes he's got. But heowns miles and miles of land, andhunderds of cattle, and he's so rich that herides ev'rywheres he goes in the city in ataxi, all the time!"

"Well! well!" exclaimed the leader.There was just the flicker of a smile in hiseyes now (Johnnie noted that those eyeswere exactly the color of ground coffee).

"I've got a dog, too,"—talking as fastas possible in order to get a great dealsaid. "But I jus' think him, like I do MisterBuckle, and Mister Astor, and MisterRockefeller, and Mister Carnegie, and thePrince of Wales, and Mister Van——"

At that the leader laughed, but he pattedJohnnie on the shoulder. "Tell me all

about 'em when I come," he said. "I mustgo now. But I'll see you soon. Good-by!"As he backed, his hand went to the brim ofhis hat—in a salute!

"Goo-good-by!" Johnnie faltered. Hisown right hand moved uncertainly, for hewould have liked to make the salute inreturn, only he did not know how.

The other started off at a run, followingthe rails up the Avenue, while some of thatcrowd turned away, scattering. Whatremained of the group began to aimquestions at Johnnie, rooted to thepavement beside his box. "Who's 'at, kid?What's he want? What y' goin' t' do?"

To answer, Johnnie had to lowerhimself down from the skies, to which he

had been lifted by that salute. "You kidsdon't know One-Eye," he said, a trifleloftily. "Well, do y' know Aladdin? orLong John Silver? or—or Jim Hawkins?or Uncas? or King Arthur?"

The last name proved to be an error inselection. Instantly the half-dozen boysabout Johnnie set up a derisive shout: "Heknows a King! Aw, kids! He knows aKing! Whee!"

A faint smile, betokening pity, curvedJohnnie's lips. Oh, but they were ignorant!and had no stylish friends! "That gent, hecome back t' ask me t' be a scout," heexplained calmly. "Didn't y' hear what hesaid? And maybe I'll be one—that is till Igo out West t' be a cowboy."

The shouting and the laughter brokeforth again, redoubling. "And he's goin' t'be a cowboy!" they yelled. "Look at 'im!Old rags! Yaw!"

Johnnie put the rope over a shoulderand again started for home. He scarcelyheard the screeching urchins. And he didnot heed them. He was in khaki andleggings now, and had on a wide hat heldin place by a thong which came just shortof his chin. A haversack was on his back,hanging from lanyards that creased a smartcoat. He was also equipped with a numberof other things the names of which, as yet,he did not know.

Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp!—he wasas military as a major-general.

"B

CHAPTER XVI

HOPE DEFERRED

OY SCOUTS," explained Mrs.Kukor, "wass awful stylish. Sayyou wass a scout, so you go in

beautiful gangs for makink picnic undseeink birds, mit eatinks from goot foods,und such comes healthy for you."

Cis added to that when she arrivedhome that evening. "Boy scouts help thepolice sometimes," she declared, "andmarch in parades, and hunt babies that getlost, and don't let bad boys hurt cats, orgirls, and they do nice things for grown

people—just the way Sir Gawain did, andSir Kay. And I shouldn't wonder, at theTable Round, when King Arthur's knightswere little, if they weren't all boy scouts.But, oh, Johnnie, what would he say if youtold him when he gets in that you want tobe a scout?"

Johnnie laughed. "He'd have a fit!" hedeclared, the thought of Barber'sconsternation and anger amusing him farmore than it made him fearful.

He was still in this happy state of mindwhen Cis chanced to remark that therewere girl scouts as well as boy scouts. Atonce he was shocked, and wrathy, andquite disgusted. For it spoiled the wholeboy scout idea for him if girls could bescouts.

"Aw!" he cried, getting red withannoyance, "I don't believe it! How couldgirls be scouts? If knights was scoutswhen they was little, well, anyhow girlsnever could be knights!"

Cis did not know how it was, only thatit was so; and she reminded him, withappeal in the violet-blue eyes, that shewas not a particle to blame for it. "Girlscan march," she said; "and they can bekind to cats and people a lot better thanboys can."

"One thing sure," Johnnie went on,firmly, "girls can't be cowboys." Hedetermined to think twice before hebecame a scout since, apparently, theorganization was not so exclusive as hehad thought.

"Oh, but girls can be cowgirls," wenton Cis. "I've seen pictures of cowgirlslots of times. They wear divided skirts."

At that, Johnnie turned pale. "Well, Ibet girls can't be pirate-killers," heretorted angrily, "like Jim Hawkins. Or ap'liceman on horseback, or a millionaire,or own islands all by theirselves, or rideel'phants like Aladdin, or poke other girlsoff horses with spears!"

As Big Tom now came scuffing into thekitchen, nothing more could be said on thesubject. But later on Johnnie againcomplained to Cis about the intrusion ofgirls into ranks where they could not failto be both unwelcome and unsuited. "Theydon't belong," he urged, "and they ought t'keep out! They spoil ev'rything!"

"Well, men do the same things," sheargued. "Just to-day I saw a man running asewing machine."

"But he's got t' do it for some reason,"Johnnie declared, "like I have t' makevi'lets—and cook."

"But if all the boy scouts don't carebecause girls are girl scouts, why shouldyou care?" she wanted to know, hurt at hisattitude toward her sex. "You know youdon't belong yet. And if that young manthinks it's all right, why it must be, andhe'll think you're funny if you scold aboutit."

The next morning Johnnie had but onethought: The promised call of the leader.Naturally he did not take his usual trip to

search for One-Eye and bring home a box.Instead he made elaborate preparationslooking toward the arrival of his visitor.With One-Eye, somehow it had notmattered how the flat appeared. Herothough he was, style counted little with thecowboy, who dwelt in a cellar along withhorses. And anyhow One-Eye thought theflat was all right "far's it goes." Those hadbeen his very words.

But with that leader, Johnnie felt it wasdifferent. He proceeded at once, mentally,to establish the gallant young stranger in amost luxurious apartment, with bigwindows, lace curtains, a figured carpetand shining morris chairs. And thoughacross this attractive bachelor habitationhe stretched a clothesline for the drying of

expensive laundry, he was careful to thinkthis line as a brand new one which wasnever used as a telephone, since right athand was the genuine instrument.

How Johnnie went to work! When allof the duties of the flat were done, hepulled off the apron and hid it in the washboiler. He did not want that leader tocatch him wearing any garment thatbelonged to a woman. Neither did he wanthis newest friend even to guess that he(Johnnie) did any sort of girl's work—inparticular any cooking.

"My goodness!" he exclaimed tohimself. "If he was t' know what I do—well, maybe he wouldn't ask me t' be oneof his scouts!"

Now he went at himself. He washedhis face so that it glistened. He scrubbedhis neck and ears till they were scarlet.And still using the soap liberally, evencontrived to get rid of a coal smudge oflong standing, situated down along his thinleft calf.

But the morning passed, and theafternoon went by, and—no one came.

No one, that is, but Mrs. Kukor, wholooked in toward five o'clock. Inamazement she noted the neatness of thekitchen and the cleanliness of his face."Ach, Levi!" she exclaimed. "How yougits a runnink jump mit yourselluf!"

"Prob'ly that gentleman, he's beenawful busy to-day," said Johnnie, "and so

he'll be here first thing in the mornin'."

"Pos-i-tivvle!" comforted Mrs. Kukor.

But late that night, when the whole flatwas abed, he admitted to himself not onlyhis disappointment but his keen chagrin.And he said to himself, independent now,that perhaps, after all, he did not care tobe a scout!—there were so many otherwonderful things he could be.

This is how it came about that, lying inthe dark, he thought a most curious thing—one that had to do with the years ahead—the future that would find him grown-up.

The thing was this: he held himselfaway from himself to look at himself—precisely as he might have looked at Cis,

or Big Tom, or Grandpa. But this was notall. For he did not look at himself as hewas, in the big, old clothes; and he did notlook at himself singly. He looked at sixhimselves, all ranged in a wonderful row!

Remembering what Cis had said aboutgirl scouts and cowgirls, there was noJohnnie Smith either in khaki or in fur-trimmed breeches. The first Johnnie Smithof the row was a policeman (mounted!);the second, a millionaire, wearing his furon his collar; then there was a JohnnieSmith dressed like Jim Hawkins, and hehad two pistols in his belt; beside thispirate-slaying Johnnie was a Johnnie whoinhabited a lonely island with a gentlemanwho owned a parrot and had a manFriday; and not too close to the Johnnie

who was Crusoe's friend was a Johnniewho rode about with Aladdin on a greatfighting elephant covered with blankets ofsteel which could turn the arrows of allenemies; last of the six, and perhaps themost glorious, too, was Sir Johnnie Smith,helmeted, and in knightly dress, sitting acurveting gray, lance and shield in hand.

Which of them all would he be?

There was plenty of time to decide. Athin cheek cupped in a too-large hand, heslept, dreaming that the leader was at thehall door, knocking, knocking, knocking,but that for the life of him, Johnnie couldnot move to answer the knock, being fixedto the floor, and helpless. He called to theyoung man, though, with his whole might,which woke Big Tom and Cis, and Cis

woke Johnnie, by telling him to turn over,for he was having a nightmare.

Next morning, hope buoyed Johnnie upfrom the moment he opened his eyes. Herose joyously; and by nine o'clockeverything was in readiness for thecoming of the leader, and Johnnie waswaiting eagerly, ears cocked.

But when, shortly before noon, herealized that a stranger was climbing thetenement stairs, not his ears but his smallnose gave him the information. Chargingthe air from the hall was perfume sostrong and delightful that, sniffing it insurprise and pleasure, he hastened to openthe door and glance up and around in thegloom for what he felt sure would be likea smoke.

He saw nothing; but heard livelybreathing, and a swish, swish, swish; next,a weak, mewlike cry. Then here was Mrs.Kukor herself, dropping down volubly,step by step, from her floor, aided by thebanisters. "Eva?" she cried as she came;"wass it mine Eva?"

Now, coming up the stairs to Johnnie'slevel, appeared a young lady with redcheeks on a marvelously white face. Shehad on a silk dress (it was the silk whichwas doing the swishing), a great deal ofjewelry, and a heavy fur coat fairly adriparound its whole lower edge with dozensof little tails.

But this was not all. Slung under onearm, she carried a fat baby!—and what arosy, what a spotlessly clean, baby!

The baby was Mrs. Kukor's grandson,the lady was Mrs. Kukor's daughter, for"Mama!" cried the young mother; and asthey met just in front of Johnnie there wasan explosive outburst of talk in a strangetongue, and much of what Johnnieafterwards described to Cis as "doublekissin'," that is, a kissing on both cheeks,the baby coming in for his share andweeping over it forlornly.

Greeting done, Mrs. Kukor introducedJohnnie. "Eva," she beamed, "from longyou have hear Mama speakink overChonnie Schmitt. Und—here wass!"

Fortunately Johnnie's right hand wasclean. So was his smiling face. "Oh, Mrs.Reisenberger, I thank you for thetel'phone-d'rect'ry," he began gratefully, as

the two shook hands.

Mrs. Reisenberger was staring at hisrags. Also, she was now holding the babywell up and back. "Oh, I don't like it thatmy Mama should live down here," shedeclared. "She can live swell in the Bronxwith Jake and me."

Now Johnnie stared—miserably. Forher words were like a sickening blow.What if Mrs. Kukor were to leave? Whatwould he do without her?

"I like I should live always by mineown place," asserted Mrs. Kukor. And toJohnnie, as she plucked a bit of Mrs.Reisenberger's skirt between a thumb andfinger, "Look, Chonnie! All from silks!"

Then she led the way higher, whileheads popped out of doors all up anddown the house; and Mrs. Reisenbergerpuffed after her, like some sort of a sweet-smelling, red-and-white engine. "Oh,Mama," expostulated the other betweenbreaths as she toiled to that last floor,"how I wish you should come to live withJake and me!"

Mrs. Reisenberger was excitementenough for one day. But on the dayfollowing nothing happened, nor on theday after that. And gradually Johnnie'shope began to lessen, his faith to ooze.

By the end of a week, the young manwith the eyeglasses scarcely seemed real,so that when Cis gently suggested thatJohnnie had never met any leader, he was

hardly able to protest that he had. By theend of a fortnight, his newest friendmerged with that unsubstantial companymade up of David, Aladdin, Uncas and allthe rest. Then Johnnie took to telephoninghim over the clothesline. Also, when Ciswas home, the scout leader had a part inall those elaborate social functions sheenjoyed, such as dances, and calling, andshopping.

These days, Johnnie again wore theapron, and neglected the soap and thecomb and the brushing. Ah, it had all beentoo good to come true!

Two or three times, with a nubbin ofchalk, he tried to draw the face of theyoung man on that handy bit of kitchenwall where the smooth plaster showed.

But what unpracticed hand could tracesuch a splendid countenance? and what bitof white crayon could give any idea of acheek all tan and red? It was one thing,and easy, to suggest Big Tom, with hisbulging eyes, his huge, twisted nose, hissloping chin and his Saturday nightbristles. But regular features were quiteanother matter.

Then one morning as he stood writingthe big word "landscape" on the plaster,this word being out of The Last of theMohicans, which he held in his left hand,his attention was caught by a sound in thehall. Some one seemed to be walkingabout aimlessly, as if uncertain where toknock.

Johnnie dropped his book into the big

shirt, reached the door in a few longjumps, jerked it wide, and—lookedstraight into a smiling, ruddy face.

H

CHAPTER XVII

MR. PERKINS

E was real! He had come! In auniform, too, and boots, and a hat!—looking, in fact, even more

wonderful than he had under the Elevated.

"Oh!" breathed Johnnie, so glad andproud all at once that he forgot the apronand his hair, or that the table was stillstrewn with the breakfast dishes. He fellback a step. "Oh, Mister Leader!"

The young man entered, lifting his hatfrom his head as he came, and displaying

short, smooth, dark hair that glistenedeven in that poorly lighted room. "Howare you, Johnnie!" he said heartily. Theyshook hands.

"I'm fine!" answered Johnnie, smilinghis sunniest.

"Good!" The other gave a swift glanceround. And certainly he was neithershocked nor delighted with the kitchen, forhe acted as if he was seeing the sort ofplace he had expected to see—until hespied the wheel chair. Then he seemedsurprised, and greatly interested. He laidhis hat among the breakfast cups andcrossed the room softly to look down atthe little old man crumpled, sleeping, inthe folds of the moth-eaten coat, the dollon one arm.

"Grandpa Barber," explained Johnnie,speaking low. "I took him on a long tripdown the Miss'sippi this mornin', and he'sawful tired."

The young man nodded. A curiouswrinkle had come between his brows, asif some thought were troubling him. Also,even his forehead was red now. Suddenlyhe took out a handkerchief, turned, andwalked to the window, where he used thehandkerchief rather noisily, shaking hishead. When he came about once more, andemerged from behind the square of whitelinen, not only did he look as if he wereblushing violently, but even his eyes werea little red.

"Are you going to ask me to sit down?"he asked, smiling.

"Oh, I am! I do! Oh, what's the matterwith me t'day! I forgit ev'rything!"

The young man chose the morris chair.

It was then that Johnnie realized howuntidy the kitchen was, remembered thathe had not washed the old soldier's face,or his own, or got rid of that apron. Withfumbling fingers and mounting color, heslipped the apron strings over his tangledhair. "How'd I come t' have this thing on!"he exclaimed, and looked at the apron asif he had never seen it before.

The young man seemed not to noticeeither Johnnie's confusion or the soiledbadge of girlish service. "You can call meMr. Perkins, if you like," he saidpleasantly. "And tell me—what've you

been doing with yourself since I sawyou?"

Again sunlight focused upon Johnnie'sface. "Well, mostly," he replied, "—mostly, I been jus' waitin' for you." Heseated himself on the kitchen chair.

"Now, you don't mean it!" cried Mr.Perkins, blushing again. "Well, bless yourheart, old fellow! Waiting for me! I wish Icould've come sooner. But I've been,pretty busy—up to my ears!"

"Oh, that's all right," Johnnie assuredhim. "'Cause I filled in the wait good'nough. I jus' kept thinkin' you here, andev'ry mornin' Grandpa and me'd have you'long with us when we went t' Niaggery,or anywheres else; and ev'ry night, Cis'd

take you with us, callin' on the Queen, orbuyin' at the stores, or goin' t' grand balls."

After that, Mr. Perkins did not haveanything to say for as much as a wholeminute, but sat looking earnestly at hissmall host, and blinking a good deal.Then, "I see," he said finally. "That's nice.Mighty nice. I'm glad. And—and I hope Iconducted myself all right."

"Oh, you was fine! Always!" declaredJohnnie, his voice breaking, he was soemphatic. "Cis never could dance withOne-Eye, and not jus' 'cause he wearsspurs, neither. No, she thinks One-Eye'stoo homely to dance, or go callin', or taket' Wanamaker's. But, oh, she says you'rejus' fine! Maybe not as grand as the Princeof Wales, she says, but then she's awful

silly about him."

More steady looking; more blinking."Well,—er—what did you say the littlegirl's name is?"

"Her full name's Narcissa Amy Way,"answered Johnnie. "It's pretty long, ain'tit? And if Grandpa and me called her that,Big Tom'd think we was wastin' time, ortryin' t' be stylish, and he hates ev'rythingthat's stylish—I don't know why. So roundthe flat, for ev'ry day, we call her Cis—C-i-s."

"Well, Miss Narcissa is right aboutme," said Mr. Perkins. "I'm not as grandas the Prince of Wales—not by a gooddeal! But now suppose you tell me allabout yourself, and—and the others who

live here."

Johnnie did so. And since he spokelow, and evenly, Grandpa did not wake, tointerrupt. At the end of an hour, Mr.Perkins knew all that Johnnie was able totell—about himself, his parents, his Uncleand Aunt, Mike Callaghan, the policeman,and the Fifty-fifth Street millionaire; aboutCis and her mother, Barber and his father,Mrs. Kukor, One-Eye and the othercowboys, Buckle, Boof, David, Goliath(mingling the real, the historical, thevisionary and the purely fictional), youngEdward of England, that Prince'snumerous silk-hatted friends, the fourmillionaires, the janitress, Mrs.Reisenberger and her baby, the flea-bittenmare, the postman, Edwarda (he showed

the new doll), then, in quick succession,his favorite friends out of his five books.

Mr. Perkins listened, sitting on thesmall of his back, with his elbows on thearms of the morris chair, and his fingerstouching. And when Johnnie came to theend of his story (with King Arthur, andthose three Queens who kneeled aroundthe king and sorely wept and wailed), allthe visitor said was, "Good boy! And nowtell me more about your reading."

Johnnie's eyes danced. He stood up,fairly quivering with happy excitement.Enthusiastically he explained that directlyunder Mr. Perkins was his oldest book,whereat Mr. Perkins got up, lifted the oldchair cushion, and discovered thetelephone directory. However, astonishing

as it may seem, he had one just like it, soJohnnie did not lift the big book out toshow its chief points of interest. Instead,he brought forth from Cis's closet his othertreasures in binding, laying them verychoicely on the table, and handing themover one by one—the best-looking of thelot first.

The books were put away again verysoon, Johnnie explaining why. "But y' cankeep the newspaper out," he declared."Big Tom's seen it, and didn't try even t'tear it up."

"That was nice of him!" asserted Mr.Perkins, as he noted the date on the paper."But what about school?"

"Oh, gee! I forgot all about Mister

Maloney!" regretted Johnnie. He filled inthe gap promptly, including night school,and the matter of his not having suitableclothes. "But when Mister Maloney heardhow I can read," he concluded, "he seen Ididn't need t' go t' school the way otherkids do. Or anyhow"—remarking acurious light in those coffee-colored eyes—"that's what Big Tom says. And I canwrite good. Watch me, Mister Perkins! I'llwrite for you on the plaster—big words,too!"

"Oh, I'm sure you write well," Mr.Perkins agreed. "So I'd rather you'd talk.Tell me this: what do you eat?"

Johnnie answered, and as correctly aspossible, being careful all the while not togive so much as a hint of the shameful

truth that he, himself, did most of thecooking. As he talked, he kept wishing thatthe conversation would swing round toscouts and uniforms. He even tried toswing it himself. "Mrs. Kukor says thatscouts make picnics," he said, "and haveawful good things t' eat."

But Mr. Perkins passed that over, hintand all. He wanted to know whether or notJohnnie got plenty of milk.

"Oh, the milk we buy is all forGrandpa," Johnnie protested. "A big kidlike me——"

Mr. Perkins interrupted. "I take a quarta day," he said quietly, "and I'm a biggerkid than you are; I'm twenty-one. Milk'sgot everything in it that a man needs from

one end of his life to the other. Don'tforget that."

"No, sir,"—fixing upon his visitor alook that admitted he was wrong. "I wish Icould drink a lot of milk," he addedregretfully.

"And what about exercise? and baths?Out-door exercise, I mean," said Mr.Perkins.

"I hang out o' the window 'most ev'rymornin' that I don't go after boxes,"answered Johnnie, so glad that he couldgive a satisfactory account of the matter offresh air. "And bathin', well, I bathedev'ry day when I was at my Aunt Sophie's,but down here——"

"Yes?" Mr. Perkins smiledencouragement.

"We ain't got no tub," said Johnnie, "somy neck's 'bout as far as I ever git."

Then the moment for which he hadbeen waiting: "And you think you'd like tobe a scout?" inquired Mr. Perkins.

"Oh, gee!" sighed Johnnie. He relaxedfrom sheer excess of feeling. His headtipped back against his chair, and hewagged it comically. "Wouldn't I jus'! Andwear clothes like yours, and—and learn t's'lute!"

Mr. Perkins laughed, but it was apleasant, promising laugh. "We'll see whatcan be done," he said briskly. "And to

begin with, how old are you?"

Johnnie opened his mouth—but heldhis tongue. He guessed that age hadsomething to do with being a scout. Butwhat? Was he too old? But the boys whohad marched past him were as tall as he, ifnot taller. Then was he too young? Takenunaware, he was not able quickly todecide what the trouble might be. But hehad not lived five years at Tom Barber'swithout learning how to get himself out ofa tight corner. This time, all he had to dowas tell the absolute truth. "I don't 'xac'lyknow," he answered.

"Mm!" Mr. Perkins thought that over.Presently, adjusting his glasses, he lookedJohnnie up and down, while anxiousswallows undulated Johnnie's thin neck,

and about his knobs of knees the longfringe of the big trousers trembled. "Butwe can find out how old you are, can'twe?" Mr. Perkins added, with a suddensmile.

"I guess I'm ten goin' on 'leven,"capitulated Johnnie.

"Ten going on eleven! That's splendid!It's the best age to begin getting ready tobe a scout! The very best!"

"Gee! I'm glad!"

"So am I! You see, it takes some timeto be a scout. It'll take every spare minuteyou've got to get ready. It's something thatcan't be done in a hurry. But here you'vegot more than a year to prepare yourself."

"More'n a—a year?"

"All scouts are twelve."

"Oh!" A shadow clouded the gray eyes.

"But a year means that you can getyourself in dandy condition. And wouldyou mind showing me how fit you arenow?"

Johnnie spread out his handsdeprecatingly. "That's the trouble," hedeclared, looking down at his big, oldclothes. "They don't fit."

But when he understood just what Mr.Perkins meant, in a twinkling he hadslipped Barber's shirt over his head andwas standing bared to the waist, all hislittle ribs showing pitifully, and—as he

faced square about—his shoulder bladesthrusting themselves almost through a skinthat was a sickly white. "Ain't I fine?" hewanted to know. "Don't I look good'nstrong?"

The glasses came tumbling off Mr.Perkins's nose. He coughed, and pulledout the white handkerchief again, and fellto polishing the crystal discs. "Fair," hesaid slowly. "But there's room forimprovement."

Johnnie sensed a compassionate note inthe answer. "Course I ain't fat," heconceded hastily. "But when Mrs. Kukorgives me filled fish I can see a bigdiff'rence right away!"

"Fat isn't what a boy wants," returned

Mr. Perkins. "He wants good blood, andstrong muscles, and a first-class pair oflungs!"

"Oh!" Raising the big shirt on high,Johnnie disappeared into it, fixing uponMr. Perkins as he went a look that wasfull of anxiety. As he emerged, his lip wastrembling. "You—you don't think I lookall right, do you?" he asked. "Maybe youthink I can't ever—you mean I—I can't be——"

"Oh, nothing of the kind!" laughed Mr.Perkins. "Fact is, Johnnie, you're wayahead as far as your mind is concerned.I'm mighty pleased about your reading. Icertainly am, old fellow! And in no timeyou can get some blood into your cheeks,and cultivate some muscle, and straighten

out your lungs. Once there was a boy whowas in worse shape than you are, becausehe had the asthma, and could hardlybreathe. And what do you suppose hedid?"

"Et lots?" hazarded Johnnie.

"He said he would make over his ownbody, and he made it over."

"But, Mister Perkins, I'll do it, too! I'llmake mine over! Tell me how!"

"Fresh air, proper breathing, exercises—day after day, that boy never stopped.And when he grew up, he found himself astrong man even among very strong men.That was the great American, TheodoreRoosevelt."

"Oh, I know about him!" cried Johnnie."He was President once, and he was asoldier. Cis knows a girl, and the girl'sfather, he worked in a big, stylish hotel,and once he carried Mister Roosevelt'strunk on his own back! Cis could name thegirl, and prove it!"

But Mr. Perkins had no doubt as to thetruth of the account. "The motto of the BoyScouts is Be Prepared," he went on. "Thatmeans, be ready—in mind and body—tomeet anything that happens. Now, as I saida bit ago, Johnnie, you've got a goodbrain. And when your body's strong, it'llnot only be a promise of long life for you,but you can defend yourself; better still,you can protect others."

"Yes, sir!" Johnnie was bubbling with

eagerness. "Please let me start now. CanI? What'll I do first?"

"Bathe," answered Mr. Perkins. "Everyday. Scrub yourself from head to foot.Give your skin a chance to breathe. You'lleat better and sleep better. You'll pickup."

One, two, three, and the dishes werecleared from the table. Then with the halldoor locked as a precaution, Johnniespread the oiled table-cloth on the floor(though Mr. Perkins demurred a little atthis), planted the washtub at the center ofthe cloth, half filled the tub from the sinkspigot, warmed the water with more fromthe teakettle, and took a long-deferred,much-needed rub down. It was soapy, andthorough. And he proved to himself that he

really liked water very much—except,perhaps, in the region of his neck andears!

When he was rinsed and rubbed dry,and in his clothes again, Mr. Perkins tookoff his own coat. Under it was a khaki-colored shirt, smart and clean andsoldierly, that seemed to Johnnie the kindof shirt most to be desired among all theshirts of the world. Mr. Perkins pushed upthe sleeves of it, planted his feet squarely,and fell to shooting his arms up and out,and bending his solid figure this way andthat. Next, he alternately thrust out hislegs. And Johnnie followed suit—till bothwere breathless and perspiring.

"To-morrow, exercise first and batheafterward," instructed Mr. Perkins. "To-

night, be sure to sleep with that windowopen. And now I'll give you a lesson insaluting."

It was then that Grandpa wakened. Andperhaps something about the lesson stirredthose old memories of his, for he insistedupon saluting too, and tossed poor Letitiaaside in his excitement, and called Mr.Perkins "General."

When the latter was gone, with no paton the head for Johnnie, but a genuineman-to-man hand shake, and a promise ofhis return soon, the boy, for the first timein his short life, took stock of thecondition of his own body. Slipping out ofthe big shirt once more, and borrowingCis's mirror, he contrived, by skewing hishead around, chinning first one shoulder,

then the other, to get a meager look at hisback. He appraised his spindling arms andlegs. He thumped his flat chest.

"Gee! Mister Perkins is dead right!" headmitted soberly. "I'm too skinny, and toothin through, and my complexion's toogood." In the back of his head, always,was that dream of leaving the flat someday, never to return. "But like I am, why, Icouldn't work hard 'nough, or earn good,"he told himself now, and very earnestly."So I'll jus' go ahead and make my bodyover the way Mister Roosevelt did."

While he was doing his housework hestopped now and again to shoot out an armor a leg, or to bend himself from the waist.His skin was tingling pleasantly. His eyeswere bright. A new urge was upon him. A

fresh interest filled his heart. His hopeswere high.

Cis, when she was told that the leaderhad actually called, not only believed thestatement but shared Johnnie's enthusiasm.Realizing how much his training to be ascout would help him, she even tried to doaway with that certain objection of his."Maybe they don't have girl scouts anymore," she suggested.

"Aw, I don't care a snap 'bout girlscouts!" he answered. "Cis, he called me'old fellow'—I like it! And he's twenty-one. And you just ought t' see the shirt hewears!—not with little flowers on it, likeMike Callaghan's. And, oh, Cis, he nevereven s'pected that I cook, or wash, or doanything like that! And while he was here

I took a bath!"

"No!" Her enthusiasm went. She washorrified. "Oh, Johnnie! Oh, my!" Shegrew pink and pale by turns. "And you sodirty!"

"Well, I did! What's the matter with y'!I wouldn't need t' bathe if I wasn't dirty!"

"Oh,"—tears of mortification swam inthe violet-blue eyes—"but you were extradirty!"

"Oh, I don't know," returned Johnnie,refusing to get panic-stricken.

"I'd like to see your bath water," shepersisted. "Where is it?"

"Gone down the sink."

"How did it look! Pretty bad? Dark?Just how?"

"Well, it looked kind of riley if you gotunder the soap that was floatin' on top,"Johnnie admitted. "'Cause I give myself adandy one! Oh, a lot of skin come off!"

"Oh, my! And did he see under thesoap? And what did you use for a towel?"

Johnnie had used a pillowcase. "'Causewhat else could I use?" he implored.

But Cis did not answer, for she was intears. And she would not look up even tosee him salute.

Big Tom had his turn at being appalled—this at the supper table, when heobserved Johnnie's appetite. "As you git

bigger," pointed out Barber, "you eat moreand more. So, understand me, y' got t'make more—work more."

"Yes," agreed Johnnie, helping himselfto fried mush and coffee for the third time,and breaking open his second bakedpotato. But to Cis, later on, he confidedhis intention to work no harder, yet to"stuff." "I can't make myself over jus' onfresh air," he declared.

She warmly upheld his determination.Yet she flatly refused to take Mr. Perkinsshopping with them, pleading that she feltashamed.

"About what?" Johnnie asked, irritated."About your cryin'?"

"About that bath you took," sheanswered. "Oh, gracious!"

He was not in the least bothered aboutit. And when the rest of the householdwere asleep, he had a splendid think abouthimself. He was twenty-one, and tall andstrong, so that he was able to ignore BigTom. He was well-dressed, too, and didno more girl's work. Instead, he was thehead and front of some great, famousorganization which numbered among itsmembers all the millionaires in NewYork. Just what this organization was allabout, he did not pause to decide. But hehad his office in a building as large as theGrand Central Station, and was waitedupon by a man in a car-conductor's cap.

Cis had once peeped into the huge

dining rooms of the Waldorf Astoria, thiswhile walking along Fifth Avenue. Shehad described to Johnnie the lofty, ornateceilings, and the rich, heavy hangings,which description thereafter had furnishedhim with a basis whenever he transformedthe kitchen for one of his grandest thinks.Upon his new office he lavished, now, asilver ceiling, velvet curtains, a marbledesk and gold chairs.

The thing finished, he rose, shed hisclothes, and, standing on his mattress,white and stark against the black of thestove, filled his lungs from the openwindow, wielded his arms, bent his torso,and kicked up his heels.

In due time, by faithfully following Mr.Perkins's instructions, he would be plump,

well-muscled, red-faced, and rounded asto chest. Then in a beautiful uniform and abroad hat, with his right hand at salute, hewould burst, as it were, upon theneighborhood—the perfect scout!

That night the whole world seemed tohim khaki-colored. That day marked thebeginning of a new Johnnie Smith.

I

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ROOF

N the morning, he was very stiff. Whenhe discovered this, he made up hismind that he was ill enough to stay in

bed, which (it being Saturday) would lethim out of having to do the scrubbing. Butwhen, on second thought, he consultedCis, he changed his mind, instantlyscrambled up, put the scrubbing water onto heat, and started breakfast. For he darednot allow Big Tom to know the truth abouthis condition. And the truth was, hegathered, that his stiffness was due to

those exercises—also to the balefuleffects of the bath!

"Maybe I lost too much skin," hesuggested. "Y' think I'm any worse off forit, with all that skin gone?"

"Oh, you keep it up!" returned Cis."You won't be stiff as soon as you'vemoved around a little. And, oh, Johnnie,don't ever, ever, ever wait so long beforeyou bathe again! I'm just sick about whathappened yesterday! I dreamed about it!—though, of course"—catching at a straw ofcomfort—"it would've been a lot worse ifHe had been here instead of the scoutman."

Deep-breathing and exercises regularlypunctuated, or, rather, regularly

interrupted, the morning program of work.And bath water took the place of thescrubbing water in the tub directly thefloor was mopped up. Then Johnnie couldnot deny himself the pleasure of showinghimself to Mrs. Kukor while he still boreevidences of his unwonted, and unspotted,state. Blowing and excited, and lookingyellower than usual, he displayed hisfreshly washed neck, a fringe of wet hair,and a pair of soapy ears. "And ain't Ishiney as a plate?" he demanded. "It's mysecond in two days!"

She turned him round and round,marveling. "Pos-i-tivvle!" she declared.

For a very long time Johnnie had beenmaking a point of skimping the Saturdaynoon meal, this because Barber came

home to eat it. Furthermore, as hot biscuitsand gravy made a combination dish ofwhich the longshoreman was particularlyfond, Johnnie had seen to it that hotbiscuits and gravy did not appear on thetable except rarely. But this Saturday hisinner man was demanding more food thanusual. His appetite was coming up, exactlyas Mr. Perkins had said it would! SoJohnnie set about preparing a good dinner.

He used a cup of Grandpa's milk forbiscuit-dough. And when the biscuits—two dozen of them—were browningnicely in the oven, he concocted agenerous supply of bacon-grease gravy,and set it to boiling creamily. There wereboiled potatoes, too, and two quarts ofstrong tea. Not only because he was

hungry, but also because he dreaded to letBig Tom know just how hungry he was,Johnnie ate half of his dinner before theothers returned. At the regular meal, he atehis ordinary amount.

"Gee! Water and air'll fix me all right!"he boasted to Cis. "Who'd ever b'lieve it!"He was too happy even to fret about One-Eye.

"Haven't I advised you lots of times towash yourself all over?" she remindedhim. "My! I'd bathe if all I had to bathe inwas a teacup! And now I've a mind to startin on the exercises!" She was too pleasedover the change in him to bring up justthen the matter of that first bath.

There was no mistake about Johnnie's

improving. Mr. Perkins noted it themoment he stepped through the door onemorning early in the next week. He hadbrought with him a quart-bottle ofdelicious, fresh milk, and Johnnie drank it,slowly, cup by cup, as they talked. Whathad helped most, Mr. Perkins declared,was the open window at night, the freshair. And Johnnie must have even morefresh air.

"But how're we going to manage it?"Mr. Perkins wanted to know. "Becauseyou can't very well go out for long walksand leave Grandpa alone"—whichshowed that Mr. Perkins felt as One-Eyedid about it. "If there was a fire, say, whatcould the poor, old, helpless man do?"

"I never thought of that!" admitted

Johnnie. "But"—with clear logic—"whenBig Tom's home, and Grandpa's safe'sanything, why, even then I ain't ever'lowed to go for a walk. Big Tom andMustapha, they're both against me andAladdin playin' in the street."

"What about the roof?" asked Mr.Perkins.

Strangely enough, Johnnie had neverthought of that, either. "But Aunt Sophiewouldn't 'low me to go up on her roof," heremembered. "And I don't b'lieve thejan'*-tress would on this one."

He was right. Though Mr. Perkinscalled personally upon that lady, and laidbefore her the question of Johnnie's health,she was adamantine in her refusal. Even

the sight of a two-dollar bill could notsway her, offered, as Mr. Perkinsexplained, not in the hope of bribing her todo anything that was forbidden, but as payin case Johnnie proved to be any trouble;for she had explained, "Kids is fierce fort'rowin' trash 'round, and I can't swip theroof only once a year."

Mr. Perkins was keenly disappointed.But he tried to make light of their set-back,and distracted Johnnie's thoughts from theroof by producing two wonderfulpresents. One was an unframed picture ofColonel Theodore Roosevelt, lookingsplendid and soldierlike in a uniform anda broad hat turned up at one side, and asword that hung from his belt. The secondgift was a toothbrush.

Johnnie pinned the picture above Cis'sdressing-table box in the tiny room. Thetoothbrush (it had a handle of pure ivory!),he slipped inside his shirt. Mr. Perkinssuggested delicately that, when it came tothe care of the teeth, there was no timelike the present. But Johnnie begged fordelay. "I want Cis t' see it while it's sonice and new," he argued, "—before it'sall wet and spoiled."

Cis was fairly enraptured when heshowed her the brush. "Oh, I've beenwanting to own a good one for years!" shecried; "and not just the ten-cent-store kind!Oh, Johnnie—!" She tipped her sleek headto one side entreatingly.

Johnnie had foreseen all this. Hebargained with her. "I'll swop y' the

brush," he declared.

"Swop for what?—Oh, Johnnie! Oh,isn't it sweet!"

Grandpa was in the room. Johnnieraised on his toes to whisper: "For you nott' tell Mister Perkins n'r anybody elsewhen I sneak up on the roofs of nights."

"You wouldn't lean over the edge,Johnnie, and go all dizzy, and fall?"—thebrush was a sore temptation.

Johnnie belittled her fears. "Couldn't Ijus' as easy fall out of our window?" hedemanded.

The bargain was struck; the brushchanged hands.

In the face of those two gifts, Cis couldnever again doubt the existence of a realMr. Perkins. "I didn't care awfullywhether he was a truly person or not," sheconfided to Johnnie now. "But as long ashe is alive, I think I'd like to meet him. Sothe next time he comes, you get him tocome the time after that between twelveand one, and I'll run home. I can eat mylunch while I'm walking."

Johnnie considered the suggestion."You won't give 'way on me 'bout theswop, though."

"Cross my heart!"

After she had used the brush(thoroughly, too), and could not, therefore,retreat out of her bargain, he offered an

argument which he felt sure would clinchher silence. "You wouldn't want MisterPerkins t' find out that y' didn't have agood brush of your own," he remindedher, "and that y' took mine away."

"Oh, I wouldn't!"—fervently. Then,recalling how she had already beenmortified in the matter of his first bath,and returning, girl-like, to that worn-outsubject, "Johnnie, are you positive Mr.Perkins didn't see you empty the tub thatday? and did he see the bottom of it whenthe water was all out? and in the bottomwasn't there a lot of grit?"

He reassured her. "But, my goodness,Cis, you're terrible stuck-up," he declared.

Certainly she felt more comfortable.

For at once, with a haughty and preciseair, which was her idea of how thesocially elect bear themselves, with a setsmile on her quaint face, and modulatingher voice affectedly, she took Mr.Perkins's arm and went for a walk aroundSeward Park (the table), discussing theweather as she strolled, the scenery, andother impersonal subjects. And there wasmuch bowing and hand shaking to it all,while Johnnie stood by, scarcely knowingwhether to be pleased or cross.

"When you come home, and MisterPerkins is here, what'll I say?" he asked;"—just at first?"

"You introduce us," instructed Cis."You tell him what my name is, and youtell me what his name is."

"But you know his name!" arguedJohnnie. "And he knows yours."

"I can't help it," she returned. "Itsounds silly, but everybody does it thatway, and so you must, or he'll think you'refunny."

"Well, all right." It was important thatMr. Perkins should not think him funny,lest that invitation to become a scout bewithdrawn.

That night, so soon as Big Tom wasasleep, Johnnie made his first trip to theroof; and understood, the moment heemerged from the little house which wasbuilt over the top of the stairs, why Mr.Perkins had recommended it as beingmore desirable than the street. Of course it

was! The confinement of the past week ormore helped to emphasize its good points.Ah, this was a place to breathe! toexercise! Above all, what a place fromwhich to see! With the night wind in hishair, and swelling the big shirt, Johnniestood, high and lonely, like Crusoe on hisisland, looking up and around, enchanted.

How much sky there was!—joined tohis own square. The clouds, enormous andbeautiful, had plenty of space in which todrift about, by turns hiding and uncoveringthe stars. Lifted almost into those cloudswere the spars of ships, the tallest of thecity's buildings, the black lace-work oftwo bridges. Oh, how big, how strange—yes, and even how far removed—seemedthis New York of the night!

When he could say good-by to the flatfor the last time, could leave it behind himforever, oh, how many sights there wouldbe for him to see in this great city! "I'lljust go and go!" he promised himself. "Inev'ry direction! And look and look andlook!" Going had brought him One-Eye'sfriendship, and Mr. Perkins's. Somewherein all those miles of roofs were otherfriends, just waiting to be found.

The cold in the night wind cut short hisreflections. He fell to exercising, anddrinking in big draughts of the sea air; thenhastened down on soft foot to his bed. Ciswas waiting in her door to see him come,and he knew she had been anxious, andthoroughly resented it.

"I didn't hurt the old roof," he

whispered. But he felt very happy, in spiteof his irritation, and genuinely sorry forany boy who did not have a roof.

Every morning now he enjoyed hissplash in the tub; every night he glorifiedin his taste of the real outdoors. On thefollowing Sunday, he combined the twopleasures. Big Tom was in and out allday, making it impossible for Johnnie tobathe even in the seclusion of Cis's tinyroom, which she generously offered toloan him for the ceremony. He did notaccept her offer. He was as sure as everthat Barber would not only put a stop toall baths if he discovered they were beingtaken (on the ground that they used up toomuch soap), but the longshoreman mightgo further, and administer punishment

which would be particularly trying—withJohnnie in a clothesless condition.

He waited for nightfall. The day wasunseasonably warm. By sundown thepatch of sky framed by the window wassolidly overlaid with clouds, amongwhich the thunder was rolling. A showerwas brewing, and Johnnie had an idea. Hetook the soap and a wash rag to bed withhim.

The others were asleep when the stormbroke. But Johnnie was just inside thelittle house on the roof, shedding hisclothes under cover. As the rain camelashing upon the warm, painted tin, herushed forth into it, letting it whip his bareskin as he soaped and rubbed.

It was glorious! And though he darednot shout, he leaped hither and thither inan excess of joy, and did his calisthenics,the lightning flashing him into his ownsight. And he took in from the rain, throughtossing arms and legs, the electricity thathe lacked—cut off as he had been so longfrom even the touch of a pavement.

Next, naked though he was, he playedscout; and as he romped other scouts cameto romp with him, dropping over the edgeof the roof in all directions, or poppingout from behind the chimney and the littlehouse. And all were as naked as he, andas full of joy, and they danced in a circlewith him, and marched, and went throughthe exercises.

When at last his yellow hair was

streaming, and his breath was spent, hedried himself, standing on the stairs, andusing the long tails of the big shirt; then,trousered once more, he crept down andin, to sleep an unbroken, dreamless sleep,wrapped from head to toe in just nothingbut his quilt. Only his small unfrecklednose showed, drawing in the rain-washedbreeze that came swirling upon his bedthrough the open window.

"It's my beach!" he told Cis proudly thenext morning. "I waded—honest, I did!And I pretty near swimmed!"

He felt stronger, and consequently didnot hate his housework so much. As forhis appearance, Mr. Perkins was morethan ever struck with its improvementwhen he saw Johnnie again; also, the

leader was a trifle puzzled. But otherthings than breathing and bathing andexercises were helping Johnnie. He hadsomething to look forward to now—agoal. Indeed, the greater part of hisbetterment was the result of that freshinterest Mr. Perkins had given him, hispride, and his hope.

"But I'd like t' learn more things 'boutscouts," he told the leader. "Is all I have t'do jus' git strong and grow t' be twelve?"

"Steady, old man!" counseled Mr.Perkins.

He failed to see, he said, that Johnnie'steeth looked any whiter. He acted almostas if he doubted Johnnie's use of the brush.Luckily Johnnie remembered that meeting

which Cis had proposed, and this servedto change the subject. By advice from Cis,later on, he was insured against Mr.Perkins's being so disappointed again. Cisgave him some powder; and he got fairresults from her old brush.

So far as he was concerned, themeeting between Cis and Mr. Perkinsproved utterly profitless. To begin with, inhis pride and excitement, he forgot tofollow out her instructions regarding theintroduction. Instead of pronouncing thetwo names politely, he ran to Cis, and"Here he is!" he cried. "This is him!Mister Perkins!"

She stood against the hall door, smilingshyly. Mr. Perkins rose, looking more redthan brown, and gave her a soldierly bow,

though that day he was not wearing auniform, but a gray business suit.

"I'm so glad to meet you," he said."Johnnie's told me so much about you."

"I—I've got to go right back," waswhat she said. "Two of the girls 'rewaiting for me downstairs."

"Aw, Cis!" pleaded Johnnie. "Wait!Ain't y' goin' t' exercise with us?"

She went. And though she darted asmile at their visitor, to Johnnie sheseemed all indifference, and he wasstaggered by it; only to be more thangratified by her complete change ofattitude when she got home at suppertime."Oh, he's handsome!" she declared. "My!

The girls wouldn't believe how noble andsplendid he is! He just can't be as youngas you say, Johnnie, because he's been asoldier in the big war! I know it by thatlittle button-thing in his coat! Oh, Johnnie,he's nicer than you said! Thousands andthousands of times!"

Johnnie swaggered a bit over that. "Allmy friends is nice," he observed. "Only Iwish I could have One-Eye and Mr.Perkins here both at the same time!"

He had to give a minute account of Mr.Perkins's visit, and not once, but as oftenas he could manage to go over the subjectbefore Big Tom came in. After supper, asthey hung in the window together, lookingup at the night sky, he had to review allprevious visits, as well as that

memorable, history-making meeting underthe Elevated.

"He's like a young gentleman in astory!" she whispered. "And he's awfulstylish! Did you notice?—his handkerchiefto-day had a teeny brown edge to it!"

In the morning, she did anunprecedented thing: rose earlier thanusual and helped Johnnie set the flat torights. The dish cupboard came in for themost of her attention, a fact which broughtloud protests from him, for she used up thewhole of Mr. Maloney's preciousnewspapers, this in making fancifully cutcovers for the shelves.

"Oh, let's look civilized!" she cried.

She came home at noon, her girlfriends accompanying her, but waiting, asbefore, in the area. She was not so shy asshe had been the first day; instead, shewas dignified as she viewed the arm- andleg-work, praised Johnnie with sweetcondescension, and thanked Mr. Perkinsfor all his trouble with quite a grown-upair.

The noon following, she arrived alone(Mr. Perkins had remarked the dayprevious that he would be comingregularly now). As he had appeared early,and the exercising was over and done, heand Cis went down the stairs together.Johnnie stood outside the door to watchthem, and marveled as he watched. Whenhad he ever seen Cis smile so much?

chatter so freely? Now she did not seemafraid of Mr. Perkins at all!

In the hall overhead some one else waswatching—Mrs. Kukor. As he looked up,she nodded at him. "Ah-ha-a-a-a!" shewhispered, and laid one finger along hernose mysteriously. Johnnie understood thatshe was thinking of Big Tom. He noddedback, and put a finger to his lips.

All that afternoon he was so proud, justthinking of Cis threading the crowds withMr. Perkins at her side. Yet she herselfwas evidently not impressed by the greatcompliment the leader had paid her. Forthe next day she did not invite a similarexperience by coming home at noon; northe next. In fact, she never again droppedin to see the drill. She had lost interest in

it, she told Johnnie—which was naturalenough, seeing that she was a girl.

But! She seemed also to havecompletely lost all interest in Mr. Perkins!

B

CHAPTER XIX

A DIFFERENT CIS

UT for some reason which Johnniecould not fathom, Cis suddenly beganto show a great deal of interest in the

flat. Indeed, she was by way of making hislife miserable, what with her constantwarnings and instructions about keepingthe rooms neat and clean. And she provedthat her concern was genuine bycontinuing to rise early each day in orderto help him with the housework.

In her own tiny closet she broughtabout a really magnificent improvement.

This took place mainly on DecorationDay, a day which, just because of itsname, Johnnie regarded as particularlysuitable for the happy task in hand. Cis'sceiling and walls had never been papered(she explained this by pointing out thatpaper would only have made the littlecubby-hole just that much smaller, andthere was not even a mite of room tospare). By dint of extra violet-making, shebought a can of paint and a brush. Thenborrowing a ladder from the janitress, shefirst cleared her bedroom of its contents,and next wiped every inch of plaster—sides and top—by means of a rag tiedover the end of the broom. After that, inher oldest dress, with her head wrappedup, she tinted her retreat, the mop-boardsincluded, a delicate blue.

Now, however, she was far from done.The paint dry, she restored her two piecesof furniture to their rightful places. Thedressing-table box she skirted withcheesecloth dipped in blued starch; andcovered the top of it with a roll of crinkly,flower-sprinkled tissue paper. To thegeneral effect, her cretonne-encasedpillow gave the final touch. It wasJohnnie's opinion that the pillow was oneof the most beautiful things in New York.When it was stood up stiffly against thewall at the end of the narrow bed shelf;when the picture of Colonel Rooseveltwas again in its place of honor beside thebit of mirror, with the handsome Edwardaleaned negligently just beneath; and whenCis had lavished upon her bed and box thedelicious scent of a whole nickel's-worth

of orris root, Johnnie, wildly enthused,signaled the flat above.

"I'll bet there ain't any room that'snicer'n this in the whole Waldorf 'Storia!"he vowed to the little Jewish lady whenshe came rocking down to marvel over thetransformation, hands uplifted, headwagging. "Don't you think it's fine, Mrs.Kukor? and don't it smell 'zac'ly like Mrs.Reisenberger?"

"Pos-i-tivvle!" agreed Mrs. Kukor.

Next, in her housewifely zeal, Cisstarted in to improve the kitchen. Keepingthe ladder an extra day by specialpermission she climbed it to wash theeight small panes of the window, afterwhich she hung at either side of them a

strip of the blue-tinted cheesecloth. Butwhen Barber saw the curtains, he calledthem "tomfoolery," and tore them down.So nothing happened to the rest of the flat.

That rebuke of Barber's seemed todeflect Cis's interest from the rooms toherself. For now upon her own person shewrought improvements. These did notescape Johnnie, who accepted them as apart of the general upheaval—an upheavalwhich she informed him was "Springcleaning." Each night before retiring shepressed her one dress, and freshened itswashable collar; she also brushed her haira full hundred times, conscientiouslycounting the strokes. As for her teeth,Johnnie warned her that she would wearout both them and the ivory-handled brush

in no time, since, night and morning, sheused the brush tirelessly. Also she wastedvaluable hours (in his opinion) bymanicuring her fingernails when she mightbetter have been threading a kitchen jungleall beast-infested.

Next, another, and the most startlingchange in her. She came out of her blueroom one morning looking very tall, andodd. At first Johnnie did not see what waswrong, and stared, puzzled andbewildered.

But Barber saw. "What's the idea?" hewanted to know, and none too pleasantly.

"I'm almost seventeen," Cis answered.

Almost seventeen! Johnnie looked at

her closer, and discovered the thing thatmade her different. It was her hair.Usually she wore it braided, and tied atthe nape of her neck. But now that shiningbraid was pinned in a coil on the back ofher head!

"Y' look foolish!" went on Barber."And y' can't waste any more money'round here, buyin' pins and combs andsuch stuff. Y' can jus' wear it down yourback for another year or so."

"All the other girls have their hair up,"she argued. "And I've got to have mine outof the way."

She did not take that coil down. Yetshe was by no means indifferent to theattitude of Big Tom. Johnnie, who

understood so well her every expression,noticed how, when the longshoremansometimes entered unexpectedly, Ciswould go whiter than usual, as iffrightened; she would start at the meresound of his voice, and drop whateverhappened to be in her hand.

When Big Tom was out she wouldwalk about aimlessly and restlessly;would halt absentmindedly with her faceto a wall and not seem to see it. She didnot want to talk; she preferred to be letcompletely alone. She was irritable, orshe sighed a good deal. She took towatching the clock, and wishing it wereto-morrow morning. And if, giving in toJohnnie's entreaties, she consented to takepart in a think, all she cared to do was

bury the unhappy Cora, or watch lovely,and love-smitten, Elaine breathe her last.

At other times she laughed as she hadnever laughed before in all the five yearsor more that Johnnie had lived in theBarber flat; and broke out in jollychoruses. If Big Tom came in, she did notstop singing until he bade her to, and themoment he was gone, she was at it again,with a few dance steps thrown in, the blueeyes sparkling mischievously, anddimples showing in cheeks that were pink.

She also had dreamy spells; and if leftundisturbed would sit at the window bythe hour, her eyes on the sky, her slenderhands clasped, a smile, sweet and gentle,fixing her young mouth. And Johnnie knewby that smile that she was thinking thinks

—that the kitchen was occupied by peoplewhom he did not see. He guessed that oneof these was of Royal blood; and came toharbor hostile thoughts toward a certainyoung Prince, since never before had Cisfailed to share her visions with Johnnie.For the first time he found himself shutout.

Once he caught her talking out loud. "Iwish," she murmured, "I wish, I wish—"

"Who're you talkin' to?" he asked.

She started, and blushed. "Why—why,I'm talking to you," she declared.

"Well, then, what is it y' wish?" hepersisted. "Go ahead. I'm listenin'."

But it had slipped her mind, she said

crossly. Yet the next moment, in an excessof regret and affection, "Oh, Johnnie,you're so dear! So dear!" she told him, andgave him a good hug.

He worried about her not a little thosedays; and though from a natural delicacyhe did not discuss her with Mr. Perkins,he did ask the leader an anxious question:"Could a girl be hurt by pinnin' a hot wadof braid right against the back of herbrain?"

Mr. Perkins looked surprised. "Theyall do it," he pointed out. (Evidently hedid not surmise whom Johnnie had inmind.)

"But s'pose a girl ain't used to it,"pressed Johnnie.

"They get used to it," assured Mr.Perkins.

But Cis got worse and worse. One daysoon after this, Johnnie came uponEdwarda, face down on the blue-roomfloor, and in a harrowing state ofdishevelment—Edwarda, the costly, theprecious, the not-to-be-touched! Andwhen, on Cis's return, he tested heraffection for the new doll by swinging itunceremoniously by one leg in Letitiafashion, "Don't break her," Cis cautionedindifferently; "because I'm going to giveher away one of these days to some poorlittle girl."

He gasped. She was going to giveaway His namesake!

Then his eyes were opened, and hefound out the whole sad truth—this oneSunday afternoon. Big Tom was out, andCis was more restless than usual. Shewould not hunt in goat skins with Johnnieand Crusoe, nor capture the driftingHispaniola along with Jim Hawkins. Shehad no taste even for a lively massacre.And as Johnnie was equally determinedneither to bury Cora again nor float upon adeath barge with the Maid of Astolat, theycompromised upon Aladdin and thePrincess Buddir al Buddoor.

The occasion selected was that certainmomentous visit to the bath, with Aladdinand Johnnie placed behind a door in orderto catch a glimpse of the royal lady's faceas she came by. Cis was in attendance

upon the Princess, the dismantled bluecotton curtains trailing grandly behind herand getting trodden upon by the GrandVizier (in a wheel chair). A great crowdof ladies and slaves surrounded thesecelebrities as they wound through silentstreets, between shops filled with silksand jewels and luscious fruits. The airwas heavy with perfume. David, Goliathand Buckle bore aloft palms with whichthey stirred this scented breeze. Going onbefore, were the four millionaires,likewise a band dispensing music——

It happened—even as the Princesslifted the mist of her veil to display hersweet, pale beauty. Cis came shortunexpectedly. A strange, sorrowful, andalmost frightened look was in her blue

eyes. She held out helpless, tremblinghands to Johnnie. "Oh, what's the use ofmy trying to pretend?" she cried. "Johnnie,I can't see them any more! I can't see them!I can't see them!"

Then, a burst of weeping. Old Grandpaalso began to weep. At that Cis stumbledtoward the door of her room, colliding onthe way with the end of the cookstove,since one slender arm was across hereyes, and shut herself from sight. For someminutes after that the sound of her muffledsobbing came from that closet over whichshe had so recently been proudly happy.

Johnnie first quieted the little oldsoldier by rolling him to and fro betweenAlbany and Pittsburgh. Then he went tostand at Cis's door, where he listened, his

head bent, his heart full of tender concern.Very wisely he said nothing, asked noquestions. It was not till the sobbingceased that he strove to comfort her by hisloving, awkward, boyish attentions.

"Cis, can't I fetch y' a cup of nice,sugared cold tea?" he called in. "'R asaucer with some hot beans?"

"Oh, no," she quavered.

Now he knew what had brought aboutall those differences in her; he understoodwhat her grief was about. It was indeedthe hair. Yet the hair was only an outwardsign of the hidden tragedy—which wasthat, for good and all, for ever and ever,she was to be shut out from all wonderful,living, thrilling thinks.

"She's gittin' grown-up," he toldhimself sorrowfully.

O

CHAPTER XX

THE HANDBOOK

UT of a hip-pocket one morning Mr.Perkins produced a book—a small,limp, gray-colored volume upon the

cover of which were two bare-kneed boyscouts, one of whom was waving a pair offlags. Also on that cover, near its top,were the words, Boy Scouts of America."I wonder if you wouldn't like to lookthrough this," he observed.

"Oh, gee!" Up from the saggingneckband of the big shirt swept the red ofjoy, and out leaped Johnnie's hands. "Does

this tell all 'bout 'em, Mister Perkins?And, my goodness, don't I wish you couldleave it here over night!" For some timehe had been feeling that there was a lackof variety in his long program ofpreparation to be a scout; but here wassomething more definite than just thetaking of a bath or the regular working ofhis muscles.

"I'm giving it to you," explained Mr.Perkins.

"Oh!" Johnnie pinched the gray bookhard. "It's my own? Aw, thank y'! Andain't I lucky, though! This is seven I gotnow, countin' the d'rect'ry! And I'll learnev'ry word in this one, Mister Perkins!"

To emphasize this determination to be

thorough, before they started to lookthrough the handbook he had to know allthere was to tell about the picture on thefront cover. "What's this one kid standin'on?" he asked. "And what's the scragglything behind him? And what's the otherboy holdin' against his eyes? And whatcountry do the flags belong t'?"

When at last Mr. Perkins began to turnthe pages, he went too fast to suit Johnnie,who was anxious not to pass over anyscrap of scout knowledge, hated to skipeven a sentence, and wanted full time oneach engrossing picture. They touched onthe aim of the scout movement, theknowledge all scouts should have, theirdaily good turns (an interesting subject!),their characteristics, how troops are

formed and led, the scout oath, and thelaws. This brought them to merit badges,which proved so attractive a topic, yetdiscouraged Johnnie so sadly at the first,that they got no farther.

Johnnie was cast down because, onlooking into the badge question, hebelieved he could never qualify for meritin any particular line. For certainly heknew nothing about Agriculture, orAngling, Archery, Architecture, Art,Astronomy, Athletics, Automobiling, orAviation. "And so I don't see how I'll everbe a merit-badger," he told Mr. Perkinswistfully, when he had gone through thelist of the A's.

Sometimes of late, in Johnnie'sopinion, the scout leader had seemed to be

as absentminded as Cis; and now he wasevidently not thinking of the matter inhand, for he asked a question whichappeared to have nothing whatever to dowith merit badges. Also, it was a mostembarrassing question, since it concerneda fact which Johnnie had been careful, allthese past weeks, to suppress. "Can youcook?" he inquired.

For a moment Johnnie did not answer,being divided in his mind as to what tosay, but sat, his very breath suspended,searching a way out of his dilemma. Thenhe remembered the laws Mr. Perkins hadjust read to him—in particular heremembered one which deplored thetelling of lies. He understood that he mustlive up to that law if he were ever to hold

any badge he might be able to earn. "I—Ihelp out Cis sometimes," he admitted. "Y'see, she goes t' the fac'try awful early.And—and if I didn't know how t' cook,why, maybe—if I was t' go 'way from here—maybe I'd almost starve t' death."

"At the same time," reminded Mr.Perkins, "you're doing Miss Narcissa adaily good turn."

That aspect of the matter had notoccurred to Johnnie, who at once feltconsiderably better. "And also I earn mykeep," he added proudly.

"Earning your keep comes under theninth law," pointed out Mr. Perkins. "Ascout is thrifty. He pays his own way."

Now the leader seemed to be in theproper mood to hear even the worst, andthis Johnnie decided to admit. "I—Isweep, too," he confessed; "and makebeds, and—and wash dishes." Then he sethis small jaws and waited, for the otherwas again thoughtfully turning the pages ofthe book. He could hear the hard thump-thumping of his own heart. He began towish that he had not been tempted to tell.He saw himself forever barred out ofthose ranks he so yearned to join justbecause he had been guilty of doing girl'swork.

Mr. Perkins stopped turning pages andlooked up with a smile. "With some study,you might be able to get the PersonalHealth Badge," he said; "but I guess, after

all, that the easiest one for you will be themerit badge for cooking."

The merit badge for cooking? Thenwithout a doubt cooking was somethingwhich boy scouts deigned to do! And itwas not just girl's work! Nor did he haveto be ashamed because he did it! On thecontrary, he could be proud of hisknowledge! could even win honors withit! Oh, what a difference all this made!

Something began to happen to theamazed Johnnie. Relieved at the thoughtthat he was neither to be dropped nordespised for his kitchen work, happy withthe realization that he was not unlike thoseboys of the never-to-be-forgottenmarching twos, suddenly he felt a changeof attitude toward cooking. What he had

hated so long now did not seem hateful. "Ican cook mush," he boasted withsatisfaction, "and meat, and beans, andpotatoes, and cabbage, and biscuits andgravy, and tea and coffee, and—andprunes."

"Great!" said Mr. Perkins. "I don'tbelieve one of my scouts can cook as wellas you can. Why, you're sure to get yourbadge on that list of yours!" And pointingto a small and very black picture at themiddle of a page, "This is the device," heexplained. "When a boy gets it, he'sallowed to wear it on his blouse."

Johnnie looked. And looked closer.Next, to make certain that he was notmistaken, he pinned the picture with acalloused forefinger. "A—a kettle?" he

asked incredulously. "Scouts wear apitcher of a—a kettle?"

"Dandy idea, isn't it?" returned Mr.Perkins; "—the big, black, iron kettle thatsoldiers and miners and hunters have usedfor hundreds of years! Like yours overthere!"

Slowly Johnnie faced round. On theback of the stove was the bean-kettle, big,black and of iron, heavy to lift, hard towash, and for years—by Cis as well asJohnnie—cordially loathed. "Soldiers andminers and hunters," he repeated, as if tohimself; "and scout kids wear pitchers of'em." That remarkable change of attitudeof his now included the kettle. He knewthat he would never again hate it. When heturned back to the leader, he was his old

confident self. "Do boy scouts ever wearaprons?" he inquired. "And does anybodylaugh at 'em?"

"Laugh?" said Mr. Perkins. "They donot! When a scout's round the house likeyou are, helping his mother, perhaps, heputs on an apron if he's smart. Rememberthat thrifty law? Well, a boy mustn't ruinhis clothes. Out on the hike, of course,where there aren't any aprons, hegenerally uses a piece of sacking—especially when he's washing dishes."Then, opening the little book again, "Hereare directions for dish washing," headded.

As before Johnnie stared while he useda forefinger. Directions for dish washing?in the scouts' own book? Would wonders

never cease? Then without a doubt thisnewest possession of his contained manyanother unsuspected salve to his pride."My goodness!" he exclaimed happily,"what all more is there in here 'boutcookin'?"

"Well, there's a recipe for griddlecakes, and bacon, and salmon on toast,"said Mr. Perkins; "also roast potatoes, andbaked fish, and hunter's stew. But eggs andbiscuits, of course, you know."

After an hour of that kind, it was quitenatural that Johnnie, when he foundhimself alone again, should straightwaydevise a cooking think—and this for thefirst time in his life. He saw himself in thecenter of a great group of splendidlyuniformed scouts, all of whom were

nearly famished. He was uniformed, too;and he was preparing a meal whichconsisted of everything edible describedin the Scouts' book. And as he mixed andstirred and tasted, his companionsproclaimed him a marvel, while proudlyupon his breast he displayed that device ofthe kettle.

Till the clock warned him at five that itwas time to get ready for Big Tom, theHandbook was not out of his hands. To aboy who had made easy reading even ofThe Last of the Mohicans, Mr. Perkins'spresent offered few problems. There wasnot a little in what he read that, cooped upas he had been during the last five years,he did not understand. But starting at thefirst page, and eating his way through the

first chapter, not missing one of theparagraphs skipped during the morning,studying each illustration thoroughly, andabsorbing both pictures and print like asponge, he got a very real glimmering ofwhat it meant to a boy to be a scout; andnot only so far as the body, its strength andits growth, was concerned, but also inrelation to character. And just that firstchapter made him understand that therewas, indeed, something more to scoutingthan looking plump-chested, having goodblood, and cultivating strong muscles.

That evening supper achieved a dignityand a pleasure. Glad now that he knewhow to get a meal, he baked potatoes,made biscuits and gravy, and boiledcoffee. He realized that Big Tom would

enjoy such a good supper, and this, ofcourse, was a decided drawback. Yet thefact remained that if he (Johnnie) was towin a badge by his cooking, thelongshoreman must profit. It could not behelped. He set about preparing a dessert—an unheard-of climax to any previousevening meal. Fashioning small containersof some biscuit dough, he first put the pulpof some cooked prunes through the teastrainer—then filled the containers withthe sweetened fruit and baked them. Allthe while he visioned Cis's surprise anddelight over the tarts. He even anticipatedsome complimentary remark from BigTom.

"I'll get a merit badge," he vowed,"even if I have t' do a lot o' things I hate!"

Luckily Cis arrived ahead of herstepfather. Having borrowed Grandpa'sGrand Army hat, Johnnie greeted her, firstwith a snappy salute; after that he bowedand bared his head as if to the Queen orthe Princess Buddir al Buddoor—all thisas per an illustration in his book whichshowed a scout uncovering to an elderlylady in a three-cornered shawl. "A scout'salways p'lite t' women and children," heexplained as he offered her the kitchenchair. "And some day Boof is goin' t' gomad, and I'm goin' t' protect y' from him!There's a pitcher in my new book thatshows how t' do it!"

He showed her his new present.However, she gave it only a glance,exactly as if she had seen it before. She

rarely even mentioned Mr. Perkins anymore, and now only remarked that to havegiven Johnnie the book "was nice of him,"adding that sport socks which showed aboy's knees (she was referring to thecover of the Handbook) were "as stylishas Fifth Avenue."

With Johnnie bustling hither and thitherin a proud and entirely willing manner, thelongshoreman could not fail to remark anew spirit in the flat. But in spite of thewell-cooked, tasty meal, Big Tom was notmoved to speak any appreciation.

After a time, Johnnie decided to invitea comment. "I made y' biscuits and gravyagain," he pointed out.

"It's about time," returned Barber.

Biscuits and gravy, however, were anestablished combination. The desiredeffect, then, might better be gotten withsomething never before served. "And Ifixed somethin' for y' t' finish up on," heannounced. Then opening the oven door todisplay the browning prune tarts, "Lookee!Baby pies!"

"Mm!" breathed Big Tom, suspicionflashing whitely in that left eye. "You'regittin' too good t' live! What y' been doin't'-day? Breakin' somethin'?" But later heate four of the little confections with loudsmacks.

Johnnie, standing at his plate (as he hadalways stood at it since coming to the flat,for there was no chair for him), ate hisown small pie and cogitated

philosophically. Big Tom had not repaid agood turn with gratitude. But then at leasthe had been no uglier than usual; had notstormed about wasting biscuit dough andsugar, as he might easily have done. Hehad been just his ordinary self, which wassomething to be thankful for.

"Would y' bring home a can of salmonfish for t'morrow supper when y' come int'night?" Johnnie asked. (He longed to trythat scout recipe!)

To that, Barber did not commit himself.

When Johnnie and Cis were left alone,old Grandpa being already abed, Johnniedid not try to win her interest in theHandbook, or share with her the new andabsorbing thinks it inspired. Since that

unhappy ending to the procession of thebath, with its wailing protest, and its tears,with nice consideration he had not againso much as broached a pretend to her. Shesat at the window in the warm twilight,busy—or so it seemed—with herfingernails, which these days consumed agreat deal of her time. Johnnie took downthe clothesline and fell to making KnotsEvery Scout Should Know.

But that night on the roof! What a revelthere was of brave scout doings, ofgentlemanly conduct!—all witnessed by alarge, fat moon. He wigwagged messagesof great portent to phantom scouts whowere in dire need. He helped blind menacross streets that ran down the wholelength of the roof. He held back pressing

crowds while the police were renderedspeechless with admiration. He swept offhis scout headgear to scores of motherlyladies in three-cornered shawls; wrappedup the sore paws of stray dogs; soothedweeping children; straightened theblankets on numbers of storm-blownhorses standing humped against the bitterwind and rain; and pointed out the rightroad to many a laden and bewhiskeredtraveler.

But when his bed claimed him, and hewas free to do a little quiet thinking, itoccurred to him that he had not strung asingle bead that day, nor made one violet.Did this not number him among thebreakers of that first law?—"by not doingexactly a given task." There was not the

least doubt of it! "My!" he exclaimed. "I'm'fraid them laws 're goin' t' be a' awfulbother!"

Nevertheless, the following day, he didnot fail to keep them in mind. ThoughBarber had so ill repaid his efforts toplease, though no can of salmon had beenforthcoming as requested, he did notpunish the longshoreman that morning.Life seemed very full to him now, whatwith his regular duties and the freshobligations laid upon him by theHandbook.

He skimped nothing. What did thehousework amount to, now that he felt asudden liking for it? And he found that hecould memorize the laws while he wasstringing beads. When he paused, either in

one line of effort or the other, it was to doa good turn: put crumbs on the windowsill for the sparrows, feed Boof, take Mrs.Kukor up one of the small pies (lifting offGrandpa's hat to her at the door), and givethe little old veteran not one, but several,short railway journeys. And all the whilehe made sure, by the help of Cis's mirror,that his mouth was turned up at each endlike a true scout's mouth should be.

"I got t' git my lips used to it," hedeclared, "so's they'll stay put."

And the things he did not do! Forexample, he discontinued his clotheslinetelephone service; for another, he wastedno minute by introducing into the kitchenterritory either foreign or domestic. For hewas experiencing the high joy of being

excessively good. Indeed, and for the firsttime in his life, he was being so good thatit was almost painful.

Finding Johnnie in this truly angelicstate of mind when he arrived, Mr.Perkins grasped his opportunity, skippedall the chapters of the Handbook till hecame to that one touching upon chivalry,and sat down with Johnnie to review it.And what a joy it proved to the newconvert to find in those pages his oldfriends King Arthur and Sir Launcelot,together with Galahad, Gareth, Bedivereand all the others! and to make theacquaintance of Alfred the Great, thePilgrim Fathers, the pioneers, and Mr.Lincoln!—especially Mr. Lincoln, thatboy who had traveled from a log cabin to

the White House!

"And I'll tell y' what!" he vowed, whenMr. Perkins rose to take his leave, "I'vemade up my mind what I'm goin' t' bewhen I grow up. I've thought 'bout a lot ofthings, but this time I'm sure! MisterPerkins, I'm goin' t' try t' be President ofthe United States!"

Later on, he made a second vow tohimself. "Good turns for Grandpa don't'mount t' much," he declared. "He's sohandy as a good-turner. So I'm goin' t' doone that'll count. I'm goin' t' good-turn BigTom!"

He took down the bag of dried beansfrom the cupboard and searched outcertain nine small buttons. From time to

time, in the past, he had, on what he feltwas just provocation, subtracted thesenine buttons from Big Tom's shirts. Nowwith painstaking effort, pricking hisfingers many times, he sewed the buttonsback where they belonged. The taskfinished, he was in nothing short of anexalted state of mind. So that again forsupper he made biscuits and gravy.

Then came the bombshell. It was BigTom who cast it, figuratively speaking,among the supper plates. He had comescuffing his way in, his look roving andsuspicious—if not a little apprehensive.But what he had to say he had saved, aswas his habit, for meal time. "Sa-a-ay!" hebegan, helping himself to a generousportion of his favorite dish; "who's that

dude that's been hangin' 'round herelately?"

Johnnie's tongue felt numb, and histhroat dry. He thought of the laws, hopinghe might remember one that would helphim. He could remember nothing. Therewas a spy in the house—a spy as evil asMagua. And that spy deserved to bekilled. He resolved that, later on, up onthe roof, he would have a splendidexecution.

Meanwhile Cis had come to the rescue."You mean Mr. Perkins, the scoutmaster?"she asked. She was white, Johnnienoticed, and did not look at Barber.

"Scoutmaster!" repeated thelongshoreman. "So that's it, is it? I guessed

you was up to some deviltry!"—this toJohnnie. "And let me tell you somethin':none of them crazy idears 'round here! D'y' understand?" (This was how much heappreciated biscuits and gravy!)

"Yes, sir," murmured Johnnie. But hethought what a pity it was that some onehad not made a scout out of Big Tom.

"None o' that foolish business," wenton Barber; then to Cis, noticing herpaleness, perhaps. "What's eatin' you?"

"Nothing. I feel tired to-night," sheanswered weakly.

"Go t' bed."

She went, and as if she was grateful toget away, though the sun was still shining

on the roofs of the houses opposite. Shedid not even glance at Johnnie, and shutherself in.

"What time t'morrow will that guycome?" the longshoreman wanted to knowas soon as Cis was gone.

"'Bout 'leven." Johnnie could not helpbut wonder how he was ever to get on ifthe laws bound him so tight to the truth,and the truth would prove the undoing, thewrecking of all his dearest plans.

"'Leven," mused Barber. "Hm!—Well,y' needn't t' put up no lunch for me in themornin'. I'll come home for it. I jus' want t'take a look at that scout gent."

A

CHAPTER XXI

THE MEETING

TERRIBLE dread filled Johnnie'sheart—that heart which had alwaysknown so much dread. It took away

his desire to go upon the roof; it kept himawake long into the night, tugging at hishair, twisting and turning upon hismattress, sighing, even weeping a little outof sheer helplessness. Having his normalamount of the reserve, dignity and pridethat is childhood's, his dread was not thatBig Tom, when he returned to meet Mr.Perkins, would be rude to the scoutmaster

(it did not occur to him that thelongshoreman would dare to go that far); itwas that, in the presence of the new friendwhose good opinion Johnnie longed tokeep, Barber would order him around,jerk him by a sleeve, or shove him rudely—treat him, in fact, with that lack ofrespect which was usual, and thus mortifyhim.

The full moon was again lifting abovethe city and touching all the roofs withsilver. From where he lay he looked outand up, trying to forget his wretchedness,but living the coming encounter again andagain. His ears grew hot as Barber seizedone of them and wrung it, or brushed hisface with a hard, sweaty hand. Imagininginsult upon insult, his chest heaved and his

wet eyes burned.

"Oh, One-Eye!" he whispered to a dearimage that seemed to fill the morris chair," i f you was only here! Gee, Big Tomnever dast treat me bad before you!" Itwas not that he felt for a moment that thecowboy was the better friend of the twowhom he revered and loved; they heldequal places in his affections. But Mr.Perkins was too much of a gentleman to beawe-inspiring. The Westerner, in his bighat and his hairy breeches, was the man tobe feared!

At breakfast he was given no chance totalk matters over with Cis. And sheneither saw his signals nor heard them,though he arranged both the stove and thetable to warn her that something had

happened, and coughed croupily tillBarber told him roughly to shut up. Hecomforted himself with reflecting that itwould have done him no good had theythreshed the coming crisis out.

It was a shaken, hollow-eyed,miserable, unbathed little boy that greetedMr. Perkins when the scoutmaster rapped.And the sight of the latter only madeJohnnie's spirits sink lower. He had hopedwith all his heart that the leader wouldcome in all the grandeur and pride of hisuniform; and here was Mr. Perkins in alight suit, a straw hat, and white socks.The fact that he had on a lavender tie andwas carrying brown gloves made thingsjust that much worse. Steadily, during thepast fortnight, the scoutmaster had been

dressing better and better. This morning hewas finer than ever before. It was awful.

"You'll see," mourned Johnnie, hiseyes on the clock as he talked. "He'll beawful mean t' me. Here he says I can'tlisten t' scoutin' no more! N'r nothin'! Say,Mister Perkins, if he shoves at me, wouldy' ever give him biscuits and gravyagain?"

Mr. Perkins thought it over. "Well,under the same circumstances," he saidfinally, "what do you think TheodoreRoosevelt would do?"

Johnnie could not decide. He felt that alook at the picture would help. Hunting amatch, he disappeared into the blue room,struck a light, and gave the likeness a

searching look. "I don't 'xac'ly know," hedeclared when he came out; "but, MisterPerkins, I b'lieve maybe he'd just lickhim!"

A queer gleam came into those eyeswhich were a coffee-brown. "I shouldn'tbe surprised," said Mr. Perkins, "if thatisn't precisely what the Colonel woulddo."

The door opened. It was Big Tom. Hiscargo hook hung round his great neck. Hishat was pushed back, uncovering aforehead seamed and sweaty. To Johnniehe looked bigger and blacker than usual—this in comparison with Mr. Perkins, soslim, if he was fully as tall as Barber, andso immaculate, even dainty!

The older man had an insolent smile inthose prominent eyes of his, and a sneerbared his tobacco-stained teeth. Slammingthe door, he came sauntering toward thescoutmaster, who had risen; he haltedwithout speaking, then deliberately,impudently, he stared Mr. Perkins fromhead to foot.

The latter glanced back, and with muchinterest, not staring, yet seeing what sortof looking man the longshoreman was. Tojudge by the expression in the brown eyeshe did not like the kind. For suddenly hiseyelids narrowed, and the lines of hismouth set. "Introduce me, Johnnie," hesaid.

Anxious, alert, and not hopeful,Johnnie had been watching the two, this

from the farther side of the table, so thathe should not be handy in case his giantfoster father wanted to maul him. "This isMister Barber," he began, speaking thename as politely as he could, butforgetting to complete the introduction.

"Tommie's home! Tommie's home!"piped up old Grandpa, suddenly wakingfrom his morning nap, and evidently nothappy over his discovery.

"My name is Perkins," said thescoutmaster to Barber. He spokecourteously, but there was no cringing inhis manner.

"Perkins, huh?" returned Barber,grinning. He was so close to the other thatthey all but touched. "And when did the

cat bring you in?"

In very horror those lead-pipe legs ofJohnnie's almost gave way beneath him, sothat he clung to the table for support."Oh!" he breathed.

But Mr. Perkins was smiling. "The catbrought me in just before he brought youin," he answered quietly.

The reply wrought an instant andstartling change in Big Tom. The smilewent from the bloodshot eyes, givingplace to that white flash of rage. Theheavy nose gave a quick twist. Every hairin the short beard seemed to bristle. "Nowthere's somebody in this room that's gittin'fresh," he observed; "and freshness from akid is somethin' I can't stand. I don't

mention no name, but! If it happensagain"—he paused for emphasis—"I'llslap the fancy eyeglasses right off hisface!"

There was a tense pause. The two atthe center of the room were gazing straightat each other; and it seemed to Johnnie,wavering weakly against the table, that hewould die from fear.

However, Mr. Perkins was notfrightened. His hat was in his left hand. Helet it drop to the floor. But he did notmove back an inch, while those well-kepthands curled themselves into knots so hardthat their knuckles were topped withwhite. "You wanted to see me?" he said.

"Y're wrong!" declared Big Tom. "I

didn't want t' see y'. I had t' see y'."

"I note the distinction," returned Mr.Perkins.

"Y' do! Well, just listen t' me asecond," counseled Barber, "before we gitstarted on to what I've got t' say." Now hisanger flamed higher. He began to shake abig finger. "Don't you put on no fancy airswith me! Y' git that? For the good andsimple reason that I won't stand for 'em!"He chawed on nothing.

"I was not aware that I was putting onany fancy airs," answered Mr. Perkins."Airs are something that I don't—waste."

"Any high-falutin' stuff would bewasted 'round here," went on Barber.

"We're just plain, hard-workin', decentpeople.—And now we'll git down tobrass tacks." He passed in front of Mr.Perkins and settled himself heavily in themorris chair.

The scoutmaster faced about, found thekitchen chair, and sat. "I'm listening," hesaid. He was businesslike, even cordial.

"You seem t' hang 'round here abouttwo-thirds of your time," commented BigTom, hunting his pipe.

"No," contradicted Mr. Perkins, easily."Lately, I've been coming here one hour aday."

"And just what's the idear?" The bigfingers plucked blindly at the strings of a

tobacco-bag, for Big Tom did not take hiseyes from the younger man.

"I've been giving the boy setting-upexercises," explained Mr. Perkins.

"Y' have!"—sarcastically. "Ain't thatsweet of y'!" Then with an impatientgesture that scattered tobacco upon thefloor, "Exercises!" Big Tom criedwrathfully. "Exercises! As if he can't gitall the exercises he needs by doin' hiswork! I have t' feed that kid, and feedcosts money. He knows that. And he earns.Because he ain't no grafter."

In sheer amazement, Johnnie's lookstrayed to Mr. Perkins. He had expectedmistreatment and insult for himself, andhere he was receiving praise!

"There's a difference in exercising,"said Mr. Perkins. "Johnnie gets one kindwhile he's doing his work. But his work isall inside work, out of the fresh air thatevery boy needs. And certain of hismuscles are not developed. I've beencorrecting that undevelopment by givinghim the regular setting-up that we give allboy scouts."

"Shucks, your boy scouts!" sneered BigTom. "We got no time for 'em. We'repoor, and we're busy, and we got a' old,sick man on our hands. That's scoutin'enough!"

"Many men who have boys think as youdo," acknowledged Mr. Perkins, serenely."That is, at first."

"I think it first and second," returnedBig Tom, raising his voice. "And also Iknow it."

"I promise you that it won't hurtJohnnie," urged the scoutmaster.

"Yeh? But I know what would hurtJohnnie, and that's growin' up t' look likeyou!"

At that, Mr. Perkins burst out in alaugh. It was both good-natured andamused. "Well, my looks suit me," hedeclared.

"Which is more'n I can say of 'em,"retorted Barber. "They don't suit me alittle bit!"

Mr. Perkins laughed again. "Sorry," he

said, but his tone entirely contradicted hisassertion.

Barber kept on: "Your looks don't suitme, and neither does your talk. You'realtogether too slick, too pink-and-whity,too eye-glassy, and purple-shirty, andcute-socky, and girl-glovy."

"I see."

"T' put it plainer, y' don't look t' melike a real man." Out now came theunderlip, threatening, aggressive.

"Indeed?" Dire as the insult was, Mr.Perkins was still smiling, was even atrifle bored. "And what kind of a chap doyou think is a real man?"

"Somebody," answered Big Tom,

"that's ev'rything you ain't. Why, honest,you look too nice t' me t' be out in badweather. Y' know, one of these days you'llmelt, 'r git streaked."

"Mm! Perhaps I'm too clean." Thosecoffee-colored eyes were cool. With oneswift up and down they examined BigTom's apparel.

The longshoreman squirmed under thescrutiny. "Y' don't look like y've ever donea lick of honest work in your whole life!"he declared hotly. "Y' look like your pinkface was made o' dough, and the balanceof y' out o' putty! Y' look as if the calf'dlicked y'!"

Again that amused, bored smile. "No,"said Mr. Perkins, "that hasn't happened

yet."

"No? Well, y' never can tell. Y' mightgit licked by somethin' besides a calf."

Another of those pauses which seemedso terribly long to Johnnie, and so fraughtwith direful possibilities. Then, "I might,"agreed the scoutmaster, carelessly; "butagain I—might not."

Now Barber showed that he did notpossess the self-control that distinguishedthe younger man. His heavy, hair-rimmedmouth working as if with unspoken words,he rose, pocketed the pipe, and took a longstep toward the table, upon which heplanted both his huge hands. As he leanedthere, it was plain that he longed fortrouble. "I might not!" he mocked,

disgusted. "Sure, y' might! For the reasonthat you ain't the kind that's got a wallop inyour fist!"

Mr. Perkins got up, too. But only as ifit were the well-bred thing to do. Thebronze of his face was considerablydarker than usual; and his eyes wereblack, and shone like great beads. "Ah!"he exclaimed, as amused as ever. "Now Ithink I know what it is that you respectmost in men. Brute force. Am I right?Muscle! The power to give a hard blow."

"Dead right!" answered Barber,striking the table with his open hand. "Ihate a mollycoddle! a cutie! a reg'lar pill!"

Mr. Perkins nodded in the friendliestway. "So do I," he declared heartily. "And

that's just why I want to train Johnnie'smuscles, and teach him how to use hishands."

Big Tom straightened and went roundthe table. "I'll train Johnnie's muscles," hesaid; "and I'll teach him what t' do with hishands, too. And you keep your nose out ofit. Understand?" Then deliberatelyreaching out, with one finger he gave Mr.Perkins a poke in the chest.

That chest swelled under the neatlybuttoned light coat. Yet Mr. Perkinscontinued to smile. But he did not moveback by so much as an inch. Andpresently, with a low "Bah!" of anger anddisgust, the longshoreman loafed away."All right," he drawled, in a tone ofdismissal; "and now I'll ask for your

room."

"My room?" The scoutmaster did notappear to understand.

"Yes! Yes!"—loudly, and facing round."I'm askin' y' not t' bother us any more thismornin' with your ever-lastin' talk!"

"Oh. You wish me to go." Mr. Perkinstook up his hat and gloves.

"My, but you're smart!" exclaimedBarber, sarcastically. "You canunderstand plain English!—Yes, dearMister Perkins, I mean that I don't want y'round." With that he continued on to thehall door, and opened it. "This way out,"he said flippantly. The brown teethshowed again.

Mr. Perkins gave Johnnie a cheerysmile. "Good-by, old chap," he said. Hewent to the wheel chair and laid a gentlehand on Grandpa's shoulder. "Good-by,Grandpa!"

"Good-by, General!" quavered the oldman. "Good-by!" A shaking hand lifted ina salute.

Mr. Perkins gave Barber a courteousnod as he passed him. "Good-by," he saidpleasantly.

"Good-by," returned Barber. "Andgood riddance!" He slammed the door.

Then something strange happened—something that had never happened before.Without giving Johnnie a look, Barber

lifted down the lamp, lighted it, carried itinto Cis's room, and closed the door.

Rooted to the floor, alert as anyfrightened mouse, Johnnie listened. Hecould hear the longshoreman movingabout, and the scrape of the dressing-tablebox as it was lifted from its place, thenshoved back. What was Barber hunting?Fortunately the books were wound up inJohnnie's bedding, a precaution taken bytheir owner in view of Barber's spokendetermination to return and take a look atMr. Perkins. By any chance did thelongshoreman know about the Handbook?If he did, and if he found it, what wouldhappen then?

After what seemed a long time, Barberappeared. Except for the lamp, his hands

were empty. He blew into the top of thechimney and set the lamp back in its place."Tea," he ordered.

Startled, Johnnie fairly rose into theair. When he touched the floor again, hewas halfway to the stove. He set the tablefor one, mustering the food which BigTom was to have had in the lunch pail.Barber ate, occasionally growling underhis breath; or blew fiercely at the fullsaucer from which he was drinking. Hislook roved the room as if he were stillsearching. His meal finished, he found hishat, hung the cargo hook about his neck,and slouched out.

Then for the first time Johnnie relaxed,and slumped into the morris chair. He wasnot only weak, he was sick—too sick with

bitterness and hate and shame and rageeven to care to go into Cis's room to see inwhat condition Big Tom had left it. Heknew now that the rough handling that hehad feared for himself, though it wouldhave been hard enough to endure, was lessthan nothing when compared with what hehad suffered in seeing Mr. Perkinsinsulted, and ordered out.

He began to talk to himself aloud:"Good turns don't work! I'm sorry I everdone him one! I'll never do him another, y'betcher life!" Black discouragementpossessed him. What good did it do anyone to treat a man like Barber well?"Why, he's worse'n that mean Will Atkinsthat Crusoe hates!" he declared. "And thefirst time I git a chance, away I'll go,

Mister Tom Barber, and this time I won'tnever come back!"

"Sh!" whispered old Grandpa. "Sh!"The faded blue eyes were full of fear.

Johnnie fed the old soldier and got himto sleep. Then he tapped the basket signalup to Mrs. Kukor's. He had found the bedroll undisturbed, and knew that Big Tomhad not discovered his treasures. But hewould not take any further chances. Whenthe basket came swinging slowly down, hecalled a brief explanation to the littleJewish lady. When the basket went up, itswung heavily, for his six precious bookswere in it.

Now he had no time, and noinclination, for reading. And he had no

patience for any law that aimed to stand inhis way. (Big Tom had driven Mr. Perkinsfrom the flat; also, he had just about sweptthe place clean of every good result thatthe scoutmaster had worked.) WhatJohnnie felt urged to do seemed the onlything that could lessen all that rage andshame, that hate and bitterness, which waspent up in his thin little body.

"So I can't ever be a scout, eh?" hedemanded. "Well, you watch me!" Heplanted the kitchen with a trackless forestthrough which boomed a wind off LakeChamplain. The forest was dark,mysterious. Through it, stealing on soft,moccasined feet, went Johnnie and thecruel Magua, following the trail of thefleeing and terrified longshoreman.

They caught him. They bound him. Andnow the Hispaniola came into sight acrossthe Lake, her sails full spread as shehurried to receive her prisoner. Johnnieand Magua put Barber aboard. The latterpleaded earnestly, but no one listened.Again the ship set sail, bound for thatIsland which had yielded up its treasure toCaptain Smollet's crew. On this Island,Big Tom was set down. And as theHispaniola set sail once more, her prowpointed homeward, Johnnie looked backto where the longshoreman was kneeling,hands appealingly upraised, beside thosecertain three abandoned mutineers.

"And there y' stay," called Johnnie; "—for life!"

C

CHAPTER XXII

CIS TELLS A SECRET

IS was seated on her narrow pallet,her back against the prized excelsiorcushion, her knees drawn up within

the circle of her slender arms. About hershoulders tumbled her hair, its glossywaves framing a face, pale and tense, inwhich her eyes were wide pools of black.

Johnnie was just below her on thefloor, his quilt spread under him forcomfort, a bare foot nursed in either hand.The combined positions were such asinvariably made for confidences. And he

guessed that what she had to tell him nowwas something unusually important andexciting.

"Johnnie," she whispered, and he sawhimself dancing in those dark pools; "—oh, if I don't tell it to somebody, I'll justdie! Oh, Johnnie, what do you think? Whatdo you think?"

He thought; then, "New shoes?" hehazarded. "A new dress? A—a—moremoney at the fact'ry? Or"—and in anexcited rush—"another book!"

"Oh!" She lifted her face to the ceiling,wagging her head helplessly. "Shoes! or adress! or money! or a book! They'renothing, Johnnie, alongside of the truth—just nothing!"

"Well, then, what?" he asked, leaningforward encouragingly. "Go on, Cis! Tellme!"

"Johnnie Smith,"—impressively—"you're sitting beside a young lady that'sgoing to be married!"

Johnnie gasped. "Married?" He fellback from her, the better to stare. He hadexpected an important communication; buthe was not prepared for anything soastounding as this.

She nodded. "Right away."

Going to be married! So that was whyshe seemed so different, so changed! thatwas why she had been wearing her hairup, and fussing so often with her nails!

why she cared no longer for Edwarda!why she could not see the people of histhinks! It was simple enough, now that heunderstood. Of course with a wedding inview, naturally she was grown-up; and agirl, whenever she got grown-up, couldnot let her braids hang down her back.And as for fine hands— "Y' mean y'veheard from the Prince?" he demanded.

She laughed. "No-o-o-o! Oh, Johnnie,you silly!"

He knit his brows and regarded herreprovingly. "Well," he argued, "y' alwaystold me how much y' love him."

"But I didn't ever know him even! Andthat was a long time ago!—No, it's someone else, and really a Prince, because he's

so splendid! Oh, Johnnie, guess! Guess themost wonderful person ever! Guess aknight! Like Galahad! Oh, he's exactly likeGalahad!" Now she gazed past him. Therewere tears on her eyelashes. Her partedlips were trembling. "I'm too happy almostto live!" she added. Then down went herforehead to rest on her knees, and he sawthat she was trembling all over.

There was a long silence. Just at firsthe had felt inclined to taunt her a little forbeing so changeable in her affections, soflighty; and it had hurt his opinion of her,this knowledge that she could be disloyal.But now he was curious. Who was reallya Prince? and splendid? and likeGalahad?

He saw a figure, tall and dark,

majestically seated upon a great, bayhorse. A cap shaded proud, piercing eyes.A uniform set the rider wholly apart fromall the ordinary men hurrying by in bothdirections. Who in the city of New Yorkwas so like a knight as one of those brave,superb, unapproachable, almost royal,creatures, a mounted policeman? ("FineIrishers," as Mrs. Kukor called them.)

Then Johnnie was reminded ofsomething. "Cis, will y' be married with ared carpet?" he whispered.

She looked up, turning on him a smileso sweet and glowing that it was like alight. "I don't know," she whispered back."Maybe—if I want one—I think so."Down went her head again.

Now another picture. The carpet waslaid. It stretched across the smoothpavement under a long, high, gray canopy.A red carpet and a gray canopy meant justone thing: great wealth. And Johnnie sawCis following where that carpet led,beside her one of the four richest men inthe world. This man was Mr. Astor (orMr. Vanderbilt, or Mr. Rockefeller, orMr. Carnegie—any one of the quartettewould do). The mounted policeman wasstill a part of the happy scene, but only inan official capacity, since from the back ofhis prancing bay he was keeping off thevast crowd that was swarming to see thebridal couple.

And, naturally, the policeman, in spiteof his fine uniform, was not to be

compared for a moment to the bridegroom.New York had many policemen; it hadonly one Mr. Astor (or Mr. Vanderbilt, orMr. Rockefeller, or Mr. Carnegie). Also,the future surroundings of a Mrs.Policeman—what were they when putalongside what Cis would have when shewas Mrs. Any-one-of-the-Four? A houseas big as the Grand Central Station—thatwas a certainty. With it would go silkdresses and furs with dozens of little tailsto trim them; jewels of the sort Aladdinhad sent the Sultan for the Princess Buddiral Buddoor; books in as great a number asCis cared to buy, all from that store inFifth Avenue; automobiles like thoseowned by the Fifty-fifth Street rich man;dishes of massy gold.

"And I betcher I'll ride in one of hercars," he thought; "and I'll read herbooks!" And at once the future looked rosyand promising.

She began to whisper again, her chinon a knee: "He's got a place for me allpicked out! I won't have to go to thefactory any more! I'll have pretty clothes,and good things to eat every meal, and seeplays and moving-pictures every week,and just have nothing to do but keep house,and sew, and——"

The startled expression on Johnnie'sface stopped her. "Keep house?" herepeated, disgusted. "Sew?" These werenot matters which should trouble the brideof a millionaire! "What're y' goin' t' dothings like that for?"

She blinked at him, rebuffed andpuzzled. "Why not? I like to sew."

"Aw,"—the palace of his vision wasdown now, had vanished like Aladdin'sown—"what's your new name goin' t' be?"He felt unaccountably cross.

"Johnnie! What's the matter with you?And you mean you don't know? you can'tguess? You haven't noticed? And youright here all the time?"

Surprise stiffened Johnnie'scountenance. "Oh!" he cried, amazed andglad. "Oh, Cis, I know now! You're goin' t'marry One-Eye!"

Girls, as he knew, were very strange;and surely this one was not the least so. It

was a conclusion that came to him now,and forcibly. For at his solemn, heart-felt,happy question, what this girl did was tofall back against her pillow, shouting withlaughter, waving both arms, even kickingout her feet in the craziest manner. And"One-Eye!" she repeated; "One-Eye!"Then was swept into another paroxysm ofmirth.

Presently, "Well, go on! Tell me!"Johnnie said with proper masculineseverity.

"Oh, Johnnie, you are so funny!" shedeclared breathlessly. "One-Eye! That oldman! Oh, never, never, never, never!" Thelast never was only a squeak.

"When y' git done laughin'—" he

prompted; and waited, lips set, and lidslowered with displeasure.

"Somebody a thousand times nicerthan One-Eye!" she went on. "A milliontimes nicer! And, oh, Johnnie, how I lovehim!"

Johnnie's heart sank, heavy with thegreat pity that now welled up in his heart.He knew whom she meant; but he knew,too, that, sweet and pretty and lovable asshe was, and no doubt capable of winningthe affections of a mounted policeman or amillionaire, she had not the slightestchance in the world of marrying thehandsome, the good, the wise, the peerlessand high-born Mr. Perkins. "St! st! st!" hemourned. He sighed, leaned against theside of the shelf, propped his yellow head

on a big hand, and watched her sadly.

"Mrs. Algernon Godfrey Perkins!"—Cis spoke as if in an ecstatic dream. "A.G. P.! Oh, but they're lovely initials!"

He was glad when she leaned her headon her knees again, for then she could notsee his face. "Gee!" he murmured.

"It was you brought him to me!" wenton Cis. "I'll never forget that, Johnnie! Itmeans my whole life! Just think of that! Awhole, long, wonderful life with him!"

"Aw, but, Cis! Are y' sure y' got achance?"—his voice was tender withsorrowful concern.

She sat up. "Johnnie Smith, what're youtalking about?" she demanded. "A chance!

Why, he loves me! He says so! Over andover and over! And look here!" She thrusta finger under the collar of her dress anddrew out a length of white ribbon, narrowand shining. Mid-way of it, playing alongthe satin, was a ring—a gold ring set allthe way round with tiny, white, glisteningstones. "Mr. Perkins, he gave me this," sheadded, and caught the ring to her lips.

"Mrs. Perkins!" Now his eyes were bigwith the wonder of it all! That Waldorf-Astoria apartment—Cis was to live in it!There could no longer be any doubt of it.The ring was solid proof. Almostreverently he reached to take it in hisfingers. "The same as Aladdin loved thePrincess!" he said slowly.

Cis gave a toss of her brown head.

"Oh, Aladdin!" she scoffed. "This is reallyand truly, Johnnie! There's no make-believe about it!"

What all this meant to her, to Mr.Perkins, and to him, he realized then. Buthe could not be happy over it because of anew fear. "Oh, Cis!" he cried, leaningclose to speak low. "Don't y' know what'sgoin' t' happen? If y' tell Big Tom 'boutthis, he'll kill y'! And, oh! oh! He'll killhim! Mister Perkins!"

"Sh! Sh!" She put an arm about him."It's going to be all right! Who'll tell BigTom? Don't you worry. I don't. I'm not hisdaughter. Mr. Perkins is going to find me aguardian. It'll be a lady, I think. Anyhowthen I'll do just what the guardian says.You know, guardians 're awfully stylish.

Girls have them in books, and in themovies. Yesterday somebody was tellingat the factory about——"

She had caught his interest, taking itfrom that fresh worry. His arms about her,his head resting against her shoulder, theytalked on and on, in whispers. WhenBarber came stomping in, and orderedthem to be quiet, Johnnie forsook the littleblue room; but he could not sleep, andstole to the roof for a breath of fresh air.

The night was the most beautiful he hadever seen. Or was it the joy in his ownheart that made everything seem soperfect? How deeply blue were thepatches of star-sprinkled sky showingbetween clouds of dazzling white! Howsweet and live was the air driving

cityward from the sea! And the moon! Asit came slipping from cloud to cloud, asround as the washtub, and nearly as large,it seemed to Johnnie to have a face that hecould see plainly. And that face, full andfat, was laughing!

"C

CHAPTER XXIII

ROSES THAT TATTLED

IS BAR-R-BER-R-R! Cis Bar-r-r-ber-r-r! Cis Bar-r-r-ber-r!"

It was the shrill voice of the Italianjanitress, calling up from the area, and thesummons was peremptory and impatient.

The day was Sunday, so that Cis, aswell as Big Tom, was at home. At themoment the longshoreman was humpedover the sink, rinsing his bluish jowlsafter a shave. Cis was beside him,standing at the kitchen window. The day

before she had been told by a girl friendthat one side of every person's face isalways better-looking than the other side;and now she was holding up in front of herthe broken bit of mirror while, as sheturned her head delicately, now this way,now that, she tried to decide between themerits of the two views.

" C i s Bar—rber!" sounded the callagain, this time with an added note ofannoyance.

Cis transferred her attention to hernose. Recently a certain somebody hadtold her one or two things about that nose.She was considering this, aided by theglass. "My! That janitress is gettingbossier and bossier!" she remarkedsomewhat languidly.

Johnnie, bent over his violets, pausedwith a flower half done. He marveled ather lack of curiosity, envying her for it.How grandly grown-up she was! As forhim, he was fairly on pins and needles toknow what it was the janitress wanted."St! st!" he hissed cautiously (Barber'shead being just then buried in the rollertowel). He tried hard to catch her eye.

"Cis BAR-BER!"—it was a shriek.

"I've told that woman, over and over,that my name isn't Barber," went on Cis,touching her hair with deft fingers.

Barber took his head out of the towel."Go and see what she wants," hecommanded irritably. "She'll wake the oldman."

"She wants me to be running up anddown three flights of stairs," returned Cis,calmly. (It was astonishing the attitude shetook these days with Big Tom, the tone ofequality she used.) "She thinks I'm stillone of the youngsters in this building, andthat she can order me around like she usedto do. But I'm going to remind MadamSpaghetti that I'm seventeen to-day." Shegave a toss of her head as she went out.

Seventeen! Sure enough! Johnniepondered her good fortune. It would bequite a little more than six years before hewould be seventeen. How remote thatfortunate day seemed! And how the timewould drag! Oh, if there were only somescheme for making it go faster!

"Let your hair alone!" scolded Big

Tom, who was raking his own at thewindow, his legs spraddled wide in orderto lower himself and thus bring his headon a level with Cis's mirror.

A scout is obedient. Down cameJohnnie's hand. Also, a scout is cheerfulwhen obeying; so up went the corners ofhis mouth. And there was one more pointto cover: courtesy. "Yes, sir," heanswered politely. He proceeded with hispetals of violet cotton and his little lengthof stem. For what had Mr. Perkins said sooften about all these matters of conduct?

"Get the habit of doing them, oldfellow. If being a scout means anything, itmeans living up to the laws, sticking closeto the spirit of the whole scout idea, andfollowing out what the Handbook teaches.

Put the question of Big Tom out of yourmind. Whether he likes what you do ornot; and whether or not you please himwhen you live by the laws, those aren't themain considerations. No! It's yourself youmust think of! your character! Rememberthat you're not trying to make over TomBarber. Body and soul, you're makingover Johnnie Smith!"

And these days Johnnie Smith wasgetting on by leaps and bounds with hispreparation, his training to be a scout.Fortunately that meeting between Mr.Perkins and Big Tom had made nodifference whatever in his program. Themorning after it took place, thescoutmaster had made his appearance asusual at eleven o'clock. "I can't let Mr.

Barber drive me away," he explained."Why, that would be deserting you, oldfellow, and you're counting on me, aren'tyou? No, we'll go right ahead."

"But if he finds out!" Johnnie ventured,happy, yet somewhat apprehensive.

"He'll order me out again probably,"returned Mr. Perkins, calmly. "Of course,if he could understand what I'm trying todo for you, I'm sure he'd look at the wholematter in a friendlier way." (Mr. Perkinsnever came closer than this to a criticismof the longshoreman.) "Well, he can'tunderstand, because, you see, the poorchap never had the right thing done forhim.—Yes, we'll go right ahead."

However, as Johnnie continued to feel

nervous on the score of what his fosterfather might do to this good friend if thelatter was again discovered at the flat, thescoutmaster, for Johnnie's sake, and tomake the boy's mind more easy, agreed tochange the time of his call to a little afterone o'clock of each afternoon, it beingdecided that this hour was the safest.

Johnnie had wanted to say somethingabout the ring, and the engagement—something to the effect that he was happyover the news, only Mr. Perkins wastaking his (Johnnie's) job away from him,since he had planned, when he grew up,—yes, and even before—to take care of Cishimself. But for some reason he did notfind it easy to broach the subject; andsince the scoutmaster did not begin it (he

looked ruddier and browner than everbefore, Johnnie thought), the upshot of itwas that the engagement did not getdiscussed at all.

Instead, the Handbook took up thewhole of the hour. A mysterious signal onthe sink pipe brought all of the booksdown to them, descending in the basket asif out of the sky. Mrs. Kukor had to bethanked then, from the window, afterwhich Mr. Perkins and Johnnie settleddown to a chapter treating of theprevention of accidents, first-aid, andlifesaving. And that afternoon, when thescoutmaster was gone, Letitia was severaltimes rescued from drowning, and carriedon a stretcher; and that evening Cis, oncoming in from work, found Grandpa's

old, white head bandaged scientifically inthe dish-towel, this greatly to the veteran'sdelight, for he believed he had just beenwounded at the Battle of Shiloh.

The chapter for the next day afterproved even more exciting. It was allabout games—the Treasure Hunt, and Let'er Buck, Capture the Flag, and dozensmore, but each as strange to Johnnie asanother, since he had never played one ofthem. Mr. Perkins added his explanationsto those in the Handbook, and showedJohnnie and Grandpa how cock-fightingwas done, gave a demonstration of skunktag, and proved that the soft, splinteryboards of the kitchen floor were finelyadapted to mumbly peg.

That night on the roof, Johnnie hailed

to him a score of scouts, along with JimHawkins and David, Aladdin, and severalof the younger Knights of King Arthur.Then went forward a great game of duckon a rock, followed by a relay race anddodge-ball. The roof had come to meanmore and more to Johnnie of late, but nowhe felt especially glad that he had it to goto. During the past few weeks he hadfrequented it under every sort of summer-night sky. It was his weather station, hisobservatory, his gymnasium, his park, hishighway, his hilltop, his Crusoe's Island.In the thinks he conjured up there, it wasalso his railroad station, for he traveledfar and wide from it on trains that wentpuffing away from that little house built atthe top of the stairs; and it was his wharf,to which tall-masted ships came with the

swift quiet of so many pigeons. But nowthe roof was for him still another place—besides a health resort: it was hisplayground for all those scout games.

But he and Mr. Perkins had not stoppedat that chapter on Games. From cover tocover Johnnie absorbed the Handbook,reading even the Appendix and the Index!He read the advertisements, too, and cameto own a kodak, a junior rifle, a watch, ascout axe, and various other desirablethings. But the merit badge he did not own.He meant to earn that, to have it really—not just as a think; for which reason henever lagged in the matter of his mealgetting.

Big Tom profited through thisdetermination of Johnnie's. Night after

night he had biscuits and gravy. He hadapple sauce where formerly Johnniewould have let the longshoreman eat hisgreen apples uncooked. Barber profited,too, in the amount of work Johnnie didevery day, promptly and thoroughly, andin those good turns which served to makeold Grandpa happier.

Now as Johnnie waited for Cis toreturn from the area, he pondered on thedifference between Big Tom and Mr.Perkins. The latter had often pointed out toJohnnie that it did not cost anything to beeither polite or cheerful, and the boy likedbeing both. Why was Big Tom neither?"Mister Barber, what does 'Birds of afeather flock t'-gether' mean?" he inquired.

Barber had on a white collar and his

best coat. His shoes were laced, too. Thiswas the Sunday-morning longshoremanthat was the pleasantest to look at. "Whered' y' git hold of such stuff?" was his retort.(Yet Barber smiled as he put on his hat.The boy was coming to time in great shapethese days, behaving himself, doing hiswork, learning to answer a man right. Ablind person could see the improvement.Who could say truthfully that he was notraising the boy first-class?)

As the hall door shut behind Barber,Johnnie could scarcely keep himself downin his chair. He wanted to look out of thewindow to try if he could not see Cis. Buthe stayed where he was, and twisted awaybusily. Barber might be at his old tricks;might open the door at any moment. But

also, just so many violets must be made ofa Sunday, and just that many would bemade. A scout is trustworthy.

Yet just so many violets were not to bemade, thus proving how uncertain life is.For here came Cis, switching her way inimportantly. She was panting. She wasflushed. Cautiously she shut the doorbehind her. "I've been up on Mrs. Kukor'sstairs, waiting," she half whispered.Under one arm she was carrying a long,satiny-white box.

"Another doll?" demanded Johnnie,astonished and disappointed. To him anylong, white box could mean nothing else.However, he rose, unable to be entirelyindifferent even to a new doll.

"Doll!" cried Cis, scornfully. Shedropped the box on the table.

Then Johnnie saw that it was not adoll; for out of one end of the box—an endthat was open—extended a handful oflong, slender, green stems. The gift wasflowers, tied, not with common string, butwith a flat, green tape which looked fullyas expensive as ribbon, and nearly ashandsome. "Oh, gee!"—this as he seizedthe stems, not being able to wait, he wasso excited, and tried to draw the flowersfrom the box. "Oh, Cis, d'y' s'pose these're from One-Eye? D'y' think maybe One-Eye is back?—Oh, hurry!"

"Wait!"—speaking gently, yet withsomething of a high-and-mighty air."Johnnie, you've got One-Eye on the

brain." The cord untied, she slipped thecover off the box. Next she swept aside afroth of crisp tissue-paper which was stillveiling the gift. Then together they lookeddown.

"O-o-o-o-h!" It was a chorus.

Roses! Pink roses! A very pile of them,snuggling in the cool, delicate greenery offerns! Up from them lifted a fragrance thatrivaled even that of orris root. Cis leanedto breathe. Next, Johnnie leaned, all butswelling to the bursting point that flat littlechest of his to take in the deliciousperfume. Thus for a while, and withoutspeaking, they dipped their heads,alternating, to the box.

Presently, Cis lifted the bouquet—

almost with reverence. The cups of theflowers were narrow, looked into fromdirectly above, as if each flower had justopened. And, oh, how young each seemed!and how beautiful! When, in all the yearssince the tenement had been built, had itsheltered such loveliness! Bravely enoughthe dark, smudgy kitchen, with its scabbywalls and its greasy, splintery floor, grewknots of violets. But here were flowersnot made by hands: flowers which hadcome up out of the earth!—yet with aperfectness which was surely not of theearth; certainly not, at any rate, of thisparticular corner of it situated in theLower East Side.

"My first roses!" Cis said. Her toneimplied that they were not her last.

"They're fine!" pronounced Johnnie,solemnly.

"Fine? They're darling! They'reprecious! They look as if they'd just comedown from Heaven!" Out of the long,white box Cis now took a small, squareenvelope. She handed it to Johnnie. "Openit, please," she bade, and rather grandly,her air that of one who has been receivingboxes of roses all her life. Then oncemore she buried that complimented noseamong her flowers.

The envelope was not sealed. That wasbecause, Johnnie concluded, there was noletter in it. What it contained was anarrow, stiff card. On the card, written inink, was "Many happy returns of the day!"This Johnnie read aloud. "But there's no

name," he complained. "So how d'y' knowthese didn't come from One-Eye? I'll justbet they did! I'll——"

"Read the other side," advised Ciscalmly. She fell to counting the roses.

Over went the card. "Oh, yes; you'reright—Mister Algernon Godfrey Perkins,it says. Gee! but he must've spent a pile ofmoney! And what day's he talkin' about?How can a day return?"

"Your birthday can return—every year,the way Christmas does. To-day isseventeen times my birthday has returned;and there's just seventeen roses here.That's one for each year I've lived." Shebegan to whisper into the buds, touching inturn each pink chalice with her pink lips.

"This is the rose for the year I was one,and this is the rose for the year I was two,and this is the rose——"

Johnnie proceeded, boylike, to acquiresome intimate and practical knowledge ofher gift. He opened one flower a little,carefully spreading its petals. "My! ain'tthey soft!" he marveled. "Gee! I'd like t'make some 'xac'ly like 'em out o' silk!And, ouch! What's this?"

"This" was a thorn, the first he hadever seen. Learning that the roses hadmany thorns, he begged hard for one,whereupon Cis broke off for him thatparticular needlelike growth which wasthe farthest down on any stem. Hereceived it gratefully on a palm, carried itto the window, and there split it open with

a thumb-nail; and having been assured byCis that it was a safe enough thing to do,he finally put the divided thorn into hismouth and chewed it up. And found itgood!

Next, he begged a bit of stem. At first,Cis demurred, arguing that to cut a stemmight injure the rose at its top; but waswon over when Johnnie pointed out thatall of the stems had been already cut once—"and maybe it was good for 'em!" Butthen the question was, which of theseventeen stems could best spare a bit ofits length? This took consideration; also,measuring—with a string. At last thelongest stem of all was found. Cis held ittenderly while Johnnie did the cutting.Snip! He got a quarter-inch of the growth.

This, also, he split, examined, smelled,and ate. And discovered that it tasted evenbetter than the thorn!

Meanwhile, Cis was parading, herbouquet clasped to her breast. He wentover and walked to and fro beside her,studying the flowers. "Those come up outo' the dirt, didn't they?" he mused. "Butthey're pink and green. And dirt ain't, is it?So how can the roses be like they are? 'Relse the ground ought t' be pink on top—that's t' make the flowers—and green 'waydown, so's t' grow the stems. And howdoes the roses know not t' git green up topand pink all up and down? And how——"

"Oh, do hush!" implored Cis. "Don'tyou see that I'm trying to think? Don't talkaloud, Johnnie, please!"

It was then they heard the stairs creak,and a heavy step in the hall. And thoughtof Big Tom for the first time—having beentoo enthralled by the roses, until now, toremember anything else. "Oh, quick!"Johnnie was between Cis and the door ofher room. He moved aside to let her pass."Oh!"—but, being panic-stricken, shestepped in the same direction, so that shestumbled against him. Finding himselfagain blocking her path, "Hurry!" heurged, and dodged the other way. She alsododged that way. Thus they did a kind offrightened side-to-side dance there in themiddle of the kitchen floor—as the dooropened and Barber appeared, his coat onhis arm.

Face to face, with the roses between

them, Cis and Johnnie stayed where theywere, as if stricken into helplessness bythe sight of the longshoreman, toward himturning their beseeching, anxious look.Each reached blindly to touch the other,for strength and sympathy. And the roses,lifted to the level of their lips, swayed totheir hard breathing.

Barber lumbered closer. "What y' gotthere?" he demanded. He flung his coatfrom him, to light upon the table, where itcovered those other flowers which wereof cotton.

"R—roses," faltered Cis, her voicescarcely audible.

Now the longshoreman came to loomover them. "Where 'd y' git 'em?" he asked

next, staring at the bouquet almost wildly.("He'll jerk it," thought Johnnie.)

"You—you remember the—the Mr.Perkins?" Cis began, not taking her eyesfrom Big Tom's face.

Barber did not "jerk" the roses.Instead, he pointed one of those long armstoward the window. "Walk over there," hecommanded, "and pitch 'em out!" His armstayed outstretched.

Cis tried to speak, made as if to plead,but could only swallow. As for Johnnie,he was petrified, mesmerized, andremained in her path, watching those eyeswhich were bulging so furiously, whilethat white flash in the left one darted intosight and disappeared, then came and went

again.

"Out!" repeated Barber.

Cis lowered her look to her roses, as ifshe were seeing them for the last time.Even in the dusk of the kitchen their brightcolor was reflected upon her face, which,but for the flowers, would have been aghastly white. A quick catching of thebreath, like a sob. Then, her chin sunkamong the blossoms, she half-circledJohnnie, and slowly started windowward.

"Git a move on!" Barber spoke low.

At that, she turned, holding the rosestoward him. "Oh, Mr. Barber!" shebegged. "Don't make me! Don't! The firstroses I've ever had! The first! Oh, don't

hurt 'em!"

The wheel chair began to swingaround. It was curious how quickly a noteof dissension could rouse the old soldierfrom sleep, though with any amount ofexcitement of the happy kind he nappedundisturbed. "Johnnie? Johnnie?" hecalled. The faded, weak eyes peeredabout.

Barber acted quickly. With a mutteredcurse, he lunged across the room to Cis,snarled into her face as he reached her,and wrenched the roses out of her hand."I'll hurt 'em all right!" he promisedsavagely.

"Tommie! Tommie!"—it was a joyouscry. The bright flowers had caught

Grandpa's eye. "Oh! Oh, Tommie!" Nowthe chair started in Barber's direction."Oh, Mother! Oh, go fetch Mother!" He letLetitia drop as he turned at the wheels.

The roses were half way out of thewindow; Barber drew them back, as if hisfather's delight in the bouquet had madehim change his mind. But he did not givethem to Grandpa. Instead, he hid theflowers behind him. "Git the old mansome milk," he told Johnnie; and to Cis,"You put on your hat and take these out,and don't you come back with less'n adollar."

"A—a dollar?" She began to weep.Though she did not yet understand what hemeant her to do.

"Yes, a dollar." Barber stayed besidethe window, the roses still at his back."You heard me! Sell 'em."

She turned toward her room. "Sell mybirthday present!" she sobbed. "The firstbouquet I've ever had! The first!" Butinstinctively her hands went up to smoothher hair.

That told Johnnie that she was gettingready to put on her hat and obey a wickedcommand. He fumbled with the milk bottleand a cup, spilling a little of the drink."All right, Grandpa," he soothed. But histone was not indicative of his realfeelings. Other words were boiling up inhim that he did not speak: "I wouldn't sell'em, y' betcher life! He could go out andsell 'em himself! And I'd tell him so, y'

betcher life! And he could lick me if hewanted t'! He could pound me till I died!But I wouldn't mind him!"

Something came driving up into histhroat, his eyes, his pale, strained face. Itwas the blood of hate. It choked andblinded him, sang in his ears, swelled histhin neck, reddened his unfreckled cheeks.Oh, this was more than he could bear,even if he was to be a scout some day!The laws, the good resolutions, thelessons taught by Mr. Perkins, they werenot helping him now when this fearfulthing was being done. He began a terriblethink—of Big Tom down on the floor,helpless, bleeding, begging for mercy,while Johnnie struck his cruel tormentoragain and again—trampled him—laughed

—shouted——!

Cis came from the tiny blue room. Herhead was lowered. The tears were makingwet tracks between eyes and pitifullytrembling mouth. She walked as far as thetable, which checked her, and she haltedagainst it blindly.

"There you are," said Big Tom. Hetossed the roses upon his coat. "Go on,now! Hurry! Don't wait round till the oldman gits t' fussin'; and"—as she gatheredthe roses up and made slowly toward thedoor—"don't do no howlin' on the street,or folks'll think y're crazy."

She halted and turned her tear-stainedface toward him. "People will think I'mcrazy!" she sobbed. "A girl like me selling

flowers on the street of a Sundaymorning!"

"Wait!" That had changed his mind."Give 'em t' Johnnie."

Johnnie went to her. But for a momenthe did not take the roses, only looked up,twisting his fingers, and working a big toe.His teeth were set hard. His lips weredrawn away from them in a grimace ofpure agony. Scouts were brave. Did hedare to be brave? Cis had not held outagainst the order, and he had blamed herin his heart for her weakness as he vowedto himself that he would rebel. But now—! Could he turn and speak out hisdefiance? Could he tell Barber that hewould not sell the flowers?

The next thing, he had taken thebouquet into his hands. He did not meanto; and he did not look at Cis after he didit, because he could not. His head wasbowed like hers now; his heart wasbursting. But not solely on account of theroses. He was thinking of himself. He wasa little coward—there was no use denyingit! Yes, he was as cowardly as a girl!Here he had been given his chance "toface danger in spite of fear," "to stand upfor the right"—and he had failed! Heunderstood clearly that this was not thetime to be obedient, and that he could notoffer obedience as an excuse. No boyshould carry out an order to do what waswrong.

"Git along!" It was Big Tom again,

fuming over the delay.

Hatless, barefooted, in his flopping,too-big clothes, and with seventeenrosebuds clasped to his old, soiled shirt,Johnnie went slowly out, black shame inhis soul.

"I—I couldn't say it!" he mourned. "Iwanted t', but it jus' wouldn't come out! Is'pose it's 'cause I ain't a reg'lar scout yet."Going down the stairs, he saw no one,though several of the curious (havinglearned about the big box that had goneup) saw him. But, strangely enough, theywatched him in silence, their speechstayed by the misery in his lowered faceand bent shoulders. "After a while I'll bebetter, maybe," he told himself hopefully."But now 'bout all I can do, seems like, is

keep my teeth clean."

A

CHAPTER XXIV

FATHER PAT

N energetic, hot, and dust-laden windcaught at Johnnie as he came outupon the street, whipping strands of

his yellow hair into his eyes and about hisears, blowing the fringe at his knees andelbows, billowing the big shirt till his ribswere fanned, and setting to wave gayly allthose pink rosebuds and their greenleaves.

The wind did more: warm as it was, itcalmed his thoughts and steadied hisbrain, so that he was able to see the whole

matter of the birthday bouquet clearly, andreach a new and better decision in regardto the flowers. Now he understoodperfectly that in spite of whatever mighthappen to him when he got home, he couldnot sell Mr. Perkins's gift. No boy whointended to be a scout could do such athings—then return, even with the largesum of one whole dollar, and expect Cisto speak to him again. And how could heever bear to admit such a sale to Mr.Perkins? or to One-Eye?

"I'd rather fall down and die!" hevowed. "'Cause it'd show 'em all that Iain't gittin' made over a bit!"

But if he did not dispose of the flowersto some one, as the longshoreman hadordered, what then? Should he turn around

and go straight back to the flat—now? Hehalted for a moment, thinking. To go backwould, of course, mean a beating, perhapswith the buckle end of the strap! (Athought that made him shiver as he stoodthere, on a hot pave, in the summer sun.)Oh, was there not some way by which hecould keep the bouquet and yet not sufferpunishment? Suppose he gave the rosesaway? to the first old lady he met? andthen reported to Big Tom—with tears!—that a gang of boys had snatched theflowers out of his hands? But that wouldbe telling a lie, and a lie would be as bad,almost, as taking money for Cis'sblossoms. No, he would not lie, though notso long ago, before he met thescoutmaster, and read the Handbook, hewould not have hesitated; indeed, he

would have rejoiced in cheating Barber,and complimented himself on thinking upsuch a clever story.

Suppose, however, that he were to sellthe flowers for a dollar, keep the money,and not return to the flat at all? For amoment this plan seemed such a good onethat he started off briskly, his looksearching the faces of passersby. Anothermoment, and he came short again. Howcould he cut himself off from Mr. Perkins?For if he did, his hope of being a scout,when he was twelve years old, would begone. Also, there was that wedding; hehad set his heart on attending it, andwalking the red carpet between lines ofenvious onlookers. No, this was no time tobe leaving the flat.

Then, a splendid idea! And he made uphis mind instantly that he would carry itout, so on he started, though more slowlythan before. His new plan was this: Hewould walk, and walk, and walk, enjoyingthe buds all the while, their delicatefragrance, the silken touch of their petalsagainst his chin. As he walked, he wouldnot look at any one—just at the scenery; sothat when he returned home he couldtruthfully say that he had seen no one evenso much as look at the roses. No matterwhat any stranger might say to him, hewould not stop, and then he could declarethat nobody had stopped him. Also, shoulda lady or gentleman hail him, asking tobuy, he would not answer, and so hewould be able to say that he had notrefused to sell.

He would stay out till it was late—tillit was dark, and the three at home weregrown anxious. Then when he felt sure thatGrandpa was abed, back he would go,taking the roses to Cis. He would enter theflat "staggerin', like I can hardly stand up."And mourn over his ill-luck as asalesman. And if he had to take awhipping, "Well, I'll yell as hard's I can"(everybody's window was open these softJune nights) "even if I scare Grandpa alittle, and I'll make Big Tom quit quick.And anyhow I'd feel awful for a long timeif I done what he wants me to, but alickin', why, it don't last."

He felt a return of pride and self-respect. On he rambled, looking at thescenery, and particularly at the higher

portions of it, this so as to avoid the eyesof passing people. Luckily for his peace ofmind, he did not know that cut flowersneed water, or that they would wilt, andbe less fresh and beautiful than they werenow. So, considering the circumstances,his thoughts were cheerful, for while thecoming evening might bring him troubleand tears, the future not so immediatepromised praise and love and a clearconscience. "By mornin'—by this time t'-morrow, the hurt'll be over," he reflected,and then without regrets he could go inand look at Mr. Roosevelt, could faceAladdin, too, and Galahad, Jim Hawkins,Mr. Lincoln, Daniel Boone and all hisother friends. (He had not read andstudied that chapter on Chivalry withoutresults!)

Every one stared at the strange littlefigure in the big, ragged clothes with asumptuous bouquet of pink rosebuds heldso high against his breast, under his foldedarms, that only his tousled hair and hisgray eyes showed. Some were curious,and swung round as he went by to lookafter him. Others smiled, for the contrastbetween the boy and his armful ofblossoms was comical. A few lookedsevere, as if they suspicioned that he hadnot come by the bouquet honestly. Nowand then a boy called to him, or ranalongside. At a corner, two girls caught atone of the buds, missed it, then scamperedout of reach, squealing. His chin up, hiseyes up, he ignored them all.

On and on he sauntered—west, then

north. Perhaps he might go as far as thatstore where New York bought all of itsbooks. Being Sunday, of course, the storewould be closed. But it would be fine tohave a look in at the windows. From thebook shop he would swing east again, fora glimpse of the horse palace. It might justhappen that One-Eye would be back! Oh,if only——!

"Hey there!"

Somehow he knew that the call was athim. And though it was a man who washailing him, he pretended that he did nothear. But a whistle blew—a policewhistle. Instantly he brought up.According to one of those twelve laws inthe Handbook, a scout is obedient to "allother duly constituted authorities," and

Mr. Perkins had explained that"constituted authorities" is simply a bigword way, and a nice way, of saying"cops." Johnnie turned about; and therewas the large figure in official blue, fromwhose gray mustache a whistle was at thatmoment descending.

The policeman was standing in front ofa grocery store. Shoulder to shoulder withhim was another man who was even larger—taller, and wider, and thicker through.About this man's dress there wassomething strange. He had on no tie.Instead, laid neatly below the narrow lineof his white collar was a smooth triangleof black.

Johnnie marched straight up to the two."Yes, sir?" he said to the patrolman. (He

would have saluted if he had had a freehand.)

The patrolman stared, open-mouthed.Naturally enough he had jumped to theconclusion, as some others had, that thisboy in cast-off clothes had not come by avaluable bouquet through purchase. Hehad expected that Johnnie, whenchallenged, would promptly take to hisheels. And here——!

The gentleman who had on no tie wasalso staring in amaze. Externally this boywith the roses was a guttersnipe. But—who in all his life ever before saw aguttersnipe with eyes so lacking in cunningand roguery? eyes, clear, honest, fearless,manly? "And that bright," the gentlemandeclared, but as if he were talking only to

himself, "that ye could fair light a candleat 'em!"

Johnnie guessed that the candle-lightingeyes were his own. His ears movedperceptibly backward and his cheekslifted in a grin. He was himself lookinginto a pair that were jolly and keen andkind—and Irish. A soft straw hat shadedthem; and short, flaming-red hair, whichfilled in at either side of the head betweenhat and ear, served to accentuate the greenthat tinged their mild gray. Below the eyeswas a nose unmistakably pugged. Lowerstill, a long upper lip gave to a mouth(generous in size) that, smiling, showeditself to be full of dental bridges madeentirely of gold.

"Massy gold!" Johnnie reflected

admiringly, "like the dishes Aladdin'sgot." And he made up his mind, then andthere, that when he was grown-up, andcould afford it, he would have goldbridges.

"And where d' ye think ye're goin' width' roses?" inquired the giant in the blueuniform, managing a smile for this rarityamong city urchins.

"No 'xact where," replied Johnnie.

"Well, then, little lad, dear," said theother man, "is it lost ye are? or are allthose sassy roses just coaxin' ye out intothe sun?"

Now here was a thought that appealed!Johnnie's eyes twinkled. "Wouldn't y' both

like t' have a smell of 'em?" he asked, andlifted the bouquet temptingly. "I was sentout to sell 'em."

Now witness a stern guardian of thepeace, who but a moment ago had in hismind the thought of "landin' a bit of athief," leaning forward to take a breath ofthe flowers. "Grand," he agreed. Thelarger man took off his hat before he bentto inhale. "Dain-tee!" he cried, with anenthusiastic shake of his red head; then toa half-dozen small loiterers who werestraining to hear, "There! there! Run alongnow, children dear! Ye're wanted at thetelephone!"

"I'll be tellin' certain folks a few thingsrelatin' t' the sellin' o' this or that on thestreet," now observed the policeman,

vaguely. "Eh, Father Pat?"

"I'll be glad t' go along with ye,"returned the other, "and if things 're as badas they look t' be, then it's PatrickMungovan that'll do a bit o' rakin'!" Hesettled the straw hat.

"Just where d' y' live, young man?"asked the policeman.

Johnnie had guessed from the tone ofthe priest that a "rakin'" was something notaltogether pleasant; had concluded, too,that it would fall to the lot of Big Tom. Sohe gave the address gladly, and as his twonew friends stepped forward, was himselften feet away in a flash, and—going in thewrong direction!

"Here, now! Here!" called the officerafter him, at once stern and suspicious."Don't ye be leadin' me no wild goosechase!" Johnnie having halted, the othercame up to him and seized him by one bigsleeve. "Ye tell me one thing, and ye startthe opp'site! How's that?"

"I guess I don't know where I am,"admitted Johnnie. "Y' see, I don't git outmuch, and so I don't know my way good."

"Now, what could be honester,Clancy?" chided the bigger man. "Shure,ye can see by the color o' his skin that he'sa shut-in.—So, now, square about, littleflower peddler, but, oh, go easy! easy!That is, if ye want me t' go along, or,shure, big as I am, and fat——"

"Ye're not fat, Father!" denied Clancy.They were all under way now, withJohnnie in the middle.

"Well, solid then," amended the other,breathing hard. "Shure, it's me that cuts upa big piece of cloth when it comes t'clothes, which is deceivin' enough, sinceI'm back from the war. For what's a man—and never mind his size—if his lungs isgone? or goin'?"

Johnnie turned upward a troubled look."Did y' git hurt in the war?" he asked.

"Well, maybe ye wouldn't call it hurt,exactly," answered the Father. "Shure,they didn't let out anny of the blood of me,but 'twould've been better, I'm thinkin', ifthey had. No, lad dear, they sent me over a

whiff of the gas, the wind bein' right forthe nasty business, and I had the bad tastet' swallow it."

As they fared along, Johnnie kept up asteady chatter in a manner that wasobviously friendly and cheerful, this inorder to make passersby understand thathis return was in the nature of anothertriumph, and that he had not been arrested.As for his look and carriage, they werethose of a proud boy.

By the time his companions hadlearned how matters stood in the flat, thethree had reached the stairs and begun aslow climb. With the caution of his kind,the policeman did not allow Johnnie tolead the way. The latter came second inthe procession, the priest toiling last, with

much puffing and many a grunt.

The progress of the three being soleisurely, there was time for theinhabitants of the building to hear of theinteresting pair that were ascending withJohnnie Smith, and to assemble in groupsat the landings, while excited chatterwafted the dust which the visitors raised,and the stairs creaked alarmingly.

When the Barber door was reached,the representative of the law paused—asif waiting for the priest to come up. Inreality, standing sidewise, one ear closeto a panel, he listened to what was goingon inside. As Johnnie, with the bouquetwaving against his breast, came to a haltat the official heels, he heard it all, too—aroar of threats and curses, loud stamping

to and fro across a squeaking floor, whilelike a sad accompaniment to a harsh tunethere sounded a low, frightened weeping.

Johnnie peered up into the policeman'sface. Dark as was the hall, he could seethat Mr. Clancy's visage was stern. FatherPat was beside them now, steadyinghimself by a hand on the rickety banister,while he laid the other upon his breast asif to ease his panting. His look washorrified.

The youngest of that trio rejoiced thatBig Tom was acting so badly just at thistime. It meant that the "rakin'" wouldsurely happen; and after Father Pat haddone his part, Johnnie hoped that thepoliceman would arrest the longshoreman,drag him away to prison, and perhaps

even whack him a time or two with hispolished stick.

These possibilities were comforting.

O

CHAPTER XXV

AN ALLY CROSSES ASWORD

FFICER CLANCY did not wait evento knock once upon the Barber door,but pushed it open sharply—

discovering Big Tom and Cis, face to faceon the far side of the kitchen table, thelatter with wet cheeks, while hershrinking, wilted young figure wasswayed backward out of reach of the hugefinger which the longshoreman wasshaking before her eyes. Beside her,crouched down in his chair, was old

Grandpa, peering out between the folds ofhis blanket like a frightened kitten.

The interruption halted Big Tomhalfway of a stormy sentence, and heturned upon the entering officer acountenance dark and working. (As FatherPat said afterward, "Shure, and 'twas asblack as anny colored babe's in CherryStreet!") However, that newly shavedvisage lightened instantly, paling at sightof the police-blue and the shield.

The officer spoke first. "This kidbelong here?" he asked.

"Lives here," admitted Barber,swallowing.

"I take it ye're not a florist," went on

Clancy.

"I ain't."

"Ah! In that case,"—firmly—"ye'll notbe sendin' anny boy out on to the street t'sell roses: leastways, not without theproper license, which ye can ask for up atCity Hall." Next, the patrolman gaveJohnnie a friendly shove toward themiddle of the room. "Hand the posies t'yer sister, young man," he commanded.

Johnnie darted to obey, and Cis made ajoyous start toward him. Their handstouched, and the roses changed keeper.

Meanwhile Barber had gained back alittle of his usual self-confidence. "Oh, allright," he remarked. "But we need money

a lot more'n flowers."

"That's as it may be," concededClancy, dryly. "But—the law's the law,and I'll just tell ye this much":—heemphasized his statement by pointing thestick—"ye're lucky t' 'scape a fine! Seein'ye're so short o' cash!"

Most men, as Barber liked to boast,did not dare to give the longshoreman anyof their "lip." But now he was careful toaccept the ultimatum of the officer withouta show of temper. "Guess I am," heassented.

Clancy nodded. "And I'll see ye later,Father Pat?" he inquired, giving the priesta meaning glance.

"Please God," replied the Father,settling himself in the morris chair. (Heknew when young eyes implored.)

"I'll say good-day t' ye all," went on thepoliceman. He gave Johnnie a wink andCis a smile as he went out.

Father Pat now took off his hat. In suchcases it was well to "set by" till the stormblew over. "I'm thinkin' I met ye on thedocks one day," he observed cordiallyenough to Big Tom. "'Twas the time therewas trouble over the loadin' of the MaryJane."

Barber was chewing. "Y' had thathonor," he returned, a trifle sarcastic.

"Ha-ha!" laughed the Father. But there

was a flash of something not too friendlyin his look. "Honor, was it? I'm glad yetold me! For meself, shure, I can't alwaysbe certain whether 'tis that—or maybe justthe opp'site!"

"I can be sure," went on thelongshoreman. He sucked his teethbelligerently. "I know when I'm honored,and also when I'm not."

"Is it like that?" retorted Father Patsmoothly. "Then I'll say ye're smarter thanI judged ye was from seein' ye put a lad onto the street t' sell flowers of a Sundaymornin'."

To Cis this passage between the menwas all pure agony. She dropped downbeside Grandpa's chair, and stayed there,

half hidden. But it was not misery forJohnnie. He had rightly guessed what the"rakin'" would be, and for whom. Andnow it was going forward, and hewelcomed it.

It was then that it came over him howdifferent was this newest friend from hisother two! One-Eye always left Johnniepuzzled as to his real opinion of thelongshoreman, this through saying just theopposite of what he meant. Mr. Perkins,on the other hand, did not express himselfat all; in fact, almost ignored Barber'sexistence. But Father Pat! Not even oldGrandpa could be in doubt as to how thepriest felt toward the longshoreman.

"Oh, don't you worry about this kid,"advised Big Tom. "I git mighty little out o'

him."

Father Pat stared. Then, bluntly,"Shure, now, don't tell me that! Ye know, Ican see his big hands."

Johnnie's hands, at that moment, werehanging in front of him, the fingers knotted.He glanced down at them. He had neverthought of them as being large, but now herealized that they were. What was worse,they seemed to be getting bigger andbigger all of a sudden! The way they wereswelling made him part them and slipthem behind his back.

"When I was a shaver, I didn't have notime t' be a dude!" asserted Big Tom."And this kid ain't no better'n me!"

"As a man," answered the Father,"shure, and I hope he'll be better than thetwo o' us put t'gether! Because if the boysand girls don't improve upon the olderfolks, how is this world t' git better, t'advance?" As he spoke, his look wentswiftly round the room.

Barber laughed. "Well, I can tell y' onething about him," he said. "He won't nevermake a longshoreman—the little runt!"

At that, Father Pat fairly shot to hisfeet, and taking a forward step, hung overBig Tom, his green eyes black, hisfreckled face as crimson as his hair. "Runtis it!" he cried. "Runt! And I'll ask ye why,Mr. Tom Barber? Because ye've kept himshut up in this black place! Because ye'vecheated him out o' decent food, and fresh

air, and the flirtin' up o' his boy's heels!Does he find time t' play? Has he gotfriends? Not if ye can help it! Oh, I canread all the little story o' him—the sad,starved, pitiful, lonely, story o' him!"

Barber got up slowly, laying down hispipe. "I guess I know a few things I'vedone for him," he answered angrily. "AndI don't want abuse for them, neither! He'sgot a lot t' be thankful for!"

"Thankful, yer Grandmother!" raged theFather, but somewhat breathlessly. "I don'twant t' hear yer excuses, nor what ye'vedone! I can see through ye just as if ye wasa pane o' glass! It's the carin' for the oldman without a penny o' cost that ye'vethought about! It's the makin' o' a fewflowers for a few cents!"—he pointed to

the table—"when the lad ought t' be at hisbooks! Greed's at the bottom o' what ye do—not only workin' the lad too hard for hisstrength, but cheatin' him out o' hisschool!"

"I guess that's all," said Barber,quietly. "I'll ask y' t' cut it."

"I'll cut nothin'!" cried the priest."These five years ye've been waitin' for aman t' come and tell ye the truth. Well, I'monly what's left o' a man, but the truth is onme tongue! And it's comin' off, TomBarber,—it's comin' off! Shut up anotherlad like ye've shut him, thrash him, andhalf starve him in his mind and his body,and see what ye'd get! Ye'd get an idiot,that's what ye'd get! The average ladcouldn't stand it! Not the way this boy has!

Because why? I'll tell ye: ye've made hishome a prison, and ye've dressed him likea beggar, but ye've never been able t' keephis brain and his soul from growin'! Ye'venever been able t' lock them up! Nor dressthem badly! And God be thanked for it!"

"A-a-a-w!" snarled Barber. "I wish allI had t' do was t' go from flat t' flat andtalk sermons!"

"Ye wish that, do ye?" cried the Father,rumpling his red hair from the back of hisneck upward. "Well, shure, ye don't knowwhat ye're talkin' about! For there isn'tannything harder than talkin' t' folks thathaven't the sense or the decency t' dowhat's right. And also—no rascal pines t'be watched!"

Barber stared. "What's y're grudge?" hedemanded.

"A grudge is what I've got!" repliedFather Pat. "It's the kind I hold againstanny man who mistreats children! Andwhile I live and draw breath, which won'tbe long, I'll fight that kind o' a manwhenever I meet him! And I'll charge himwith his sin, so help me God, before thevery bar o' Heaven!"

Big Tom shrugged. "Y' ain't a wellman," he said; "and then again, y' happen t'be a priest. For both which reasons I don'twant no trouble with y'. So I'll be obligedif y'll hire a hall, or find somebody else t'scold, and let up on me for a change. Thisis Sunday, and I'd like a little rest."

Father Pat went a foot nearer to thelongshoreman. "Because I'm a priest," heanswered, "I'll not be neglectin' me duty.Ye can drive away scoutmasters, andothers that don't feel they've got a right t'tell ye the truth in yer own house, but"—hetapped his chest—"here's one man yewon't drive away!"

Big Tom reached for his pipe and hishat. "Well, stay then!" he returned.

"Stay? That I will!" cried the Father."The lad and the girl, they've got a friendthat's goin' t' stick as long as his lungs'lllet him."

"Good!" mocked the longshoreman."Fine!" He pushed his hat down over thestubble of his hair, and went out,

slamming the door.

A

CHAPTER XXVI

THE END OF A LONG DAY

LONG moment of breathless silence—while four pairs of eyes fixedthemselves upon the hall door, and as

many pairs of ears strained to follow thecreak and clump of Big Tom's departure.The sound of his steps died away.Another, and a longer, wait, and the doormoved and rattled, that signal whichmarked the opening and shutting of thearea door three flights below. Thelongshoreman was really gone. Cis laidher forehead against an arm of the wheel

chair, and burst into tears, clinging to oldGrandpa, and trembling, and frighteninghim into weeping; whereupon Johnniehurried to them, and alternately pattedthem comfortingly, and Father Pat came tostand over the three.

"Dear! dear! dear!" exclaimed thepriest. "But ain't I glad that I came, though!Shure, the big baboon was ugly! Ha-ha-a-a! And when he's like that, faith, and howhe throws the coconuts!"

That fetched the smiles, even from Cis.And, "Oh-ho! Here comes the sun!" criedthe Father, beaming joyously at them all."Shure, we've had the thunderstorm, andthe air's clear, and so all the kittens dearcan come out o' their corners, and frisk abit! Faith, I wasn't half as mad as I

sounded. No, I wasn't, old gentleman!(And what's that he's holdin' on to? Blessme soul, is it a doll?)" Then having takenup Letitia, and turned her about, andchuckled over her, and given her intoGrandpa's outstretched hands again, "It'sonly that our rampin' Mr. Barber," heexplained, "wouldn't understand me if Ididn't give him a bit o' the rough edge o'me tongue—no, nor respect me, neither!So I laid it on a mite thick!—Oh, that man!Say, he'd sell the tears right out o' yer eye!Yes, he would! He'd sell yer eyelashes t'make a broom for a fly!"

"Big Tom, he makes me awful 'fraidsometimes," confessed Johnnie. "But hemakes Cis lots 'fraider, 'cause she's only agirl."

"A girl!" cried the Father. "And yethink bein' a girl is anny good reason forbein' afraid? Faith, little friend, have yenot got hold o' a wrong notion entirelyabout girls?" Then seeing that here was anopportunity to take the thoughts of thesetwo harried ones away from themselves,"Children dear," he went on, "all thisabout girls who are afraid reminds me o' acertain story. 'Twas in Belgium ithappened, a few years back, and in thecity o' Brussels, which is the capital. Oh,'tis a grand and a sorrowful story! So!Come now!" He wheeled Grandpa to aplace beside the morris chair, signed Cisto take the kitchen chair, helped Johnnie toa perch on the table, and sat again, theothers drawn about his red head like somany moths around a cheerful lamp.

It was just as the tale of Edith Cavellended that, most opportunely, who shouldcome stealing in but Mrs. Kukor, pushingthe door open with a slippered foot, foreach hand held a dish. The exciting eventswhich had transpired in the Barber flatbeing common property up and down thearea building, naturally she knew them;also, leaned out of her own window, shehad heard more than enough. The palenessof her round face told how anxious shewas.

The priest stood up. "I'm Father PatrickMungovan, at yer service, ma'am," hesaid, bowing gravely.

Mrs. Kukor first wiped both plumphands upon a black sateen apron. Then sheextended one of them to the priest. "Glat to

meet!" she declared heartily. "Und glatyou wass come!"

The Father shook hands warmly."Shure, ma'am," he declared, "our twoyoung folks is likely not t' suffer forlookin' after from now on, I'm thinkin',what with our little League o' Nations."

Tears welled into Mrs. Kukor's blackeyes. "Over Chonnie und Cis," shedeclared, "all times I wass full of love.Only"—she lifted a short, fat finger—"nefer I haf talk my Hebrew religionsmit!"

Father Pat gave her another bow, and agallant one. "Faith, Mrs. Kukor," said he,"the good Lord I worship was a Hebrewlad from the hills o' Judea."

Next, Mrs. Kukor had a look at theroses, whose fragrance she inhaled withmany excited exclamations of delight.After that, there was ice cream and raisincake, enough for all. Every one served, thepriest and Mrs. Kukor were soon chattingaway in the friendliest fashion.

It was then that a regrettable accidentoccurred. In spite of the fact that the icecream was in a melting condition, and thecake deliciously soft and crumbling, oneof those several dental bridges of theFather's suddenly became detached, as itwere, from its moorings, and had to berolled up in one corner of a handkerchiefand consigned to a pocket. Amid generalcondolences then, the priest explained thatthe happening was not wholly unexpected,

since, in choosing a dentist, he had let hisheart, rather than his head, guide hisselection, and had given the work to anold and struggling man whose methodswere undoubtedly obsolete. "But ye see,"he concluded, "I knew at the time that thework would far outlast the necessity for it,since I'll not be needin' anny teeth verylong"—a statement the full meaning ofwhich fortunately escaped thecomprehension of his two young hearers."But ye might say," he went on, "thatneither the cake nor the cream have put astrain on that bridge, so I'll not be blamin'the dentist. For ye see, it's like this: whenI've somethin' betwixt me teeth that'ssubstantial, the danger to the bridges is farless. It's when I've nothin' that I do themthe most damage, havin' so much grip t' me

jaws, and not annything t' work it out on."

Mrs. Kukor now rose to take her leave,explaining how it happened that she didnot want to have Mr. Barber discover herthere, since, if the longshoreman were todecide that she was interfering in any way—too much—he might, she feared,remove his household to some other, anddistant, flat, where she could not be nearthe children—oy! oy! oy!

Father Pat gave her his address. "Someday," he declared, "ye might be wantin' t'send me a picture post card, in which caseye'd need t' know where I live"—a remarkwhich made Johnnie believe that theFather must be particularly fond of picturepost cards! "But now and again, I'll dropin t' see ye," promised the priest, "and t'

have a cup o' kosher tea! Shure, ma'am, inanny troublesome matter, two heads isbetter than one, even if one has beengassed!"

Mrs. Kukor gone, Father Pat began totake thought of his own leaving. But firsthe set about cheering up his new, youngfriends, who were subdued, to say theleast, this in spite of the refreshments."Now, shure, and there's things about thisplace which could be far, far worse," heasserted. "In this shady bit o' flat, ye'reshut up, I grant it. But consider what ye'reshut away from—ugly things, like fightin'and callin' names"—his argument beingintended chiefly for Johnnie.

"And I don't mind about my oldclothes," declared the latter stoutly.

"Anyhow, I don't mind 'cause they'reraggy. All I'm sorry for is that my ragsdon't fit."

Afterward he concluded that there musthave been something rather sensible aboutthis remark of his—something calculatedto win approval. For the Father suddenlyreached out and took Johnnie into hisarms, and gave him a bearish hug, andlaughed, and wiped the green eyes (whichwere brimming), and laughed again,finally falling into a coughing fit that sentJohnnie pell-mell for a cup of water andmade Cis wait in concern beside themorris chair.

The cough quieted soon, and againFather Pat was able to talk. "Did ye everhear another lad like him?" he inquired of

no one in particular. "Ah, God love him!He doesn't mind his rags, only he wishesthat they fit! Dear, dear, rich, little, poorboy!"

After he was gone, Johnnie and Cis satin silence for a good while, their younghearts being too full, and their brains toobusy, for speech. But at last, "Oh, whydidn't we ever know him before!"mourned Cis. "He lives close by, and he'snot afraid of anything!"

"He's my friend for life!" vowedJohnnie. "And, oh, Cis, this is who's likeGalahad!—not Mister Perkins at all!Mister Perkins is like—like Sir Percival,that's who he's like. But Father Pat (don'ty ' love the name!) he could sit on thePer'lous Seat, y' betcher life!—Oh, if only

his hair wasn't red!"

When she had assured him that red wasa most desirable color for hair, since itmeant a splendid fighting spirit, he had toknow all she could tell him about priests,which was a good deal. "They can marryyou, and they can bury you," she began."And they preach, and pray about ahundred times as much as anybody else,and that's one reason why he's so good. Ifyou've done anything wicked, though,you've got to tell a priest about it, and——"

"I'll tell him about the toothbrush,"promised Johnnie. "I won't mind tellin'him, some way or other, anyhow, and it'sbothered me, Cis, quite a lot—oh, yes, ithas!"

Cis did not mind the Father's knowingabout their bargain; provided, however,that she herself be allowed to tell Mr.Perkins. She felt better already in herconscience, she declared, and even sangas she set about rearranging her roses.Each one of these she named with a girl'sname, Johnnie assisting; and the two wereable, by the curl of a petal, or the numberof leaves on a stem, or some other tinysign, to tell Cora from Alice, and Elainefrom Blanchefleur, and the Princess Maryfrom Buddir al Buddoor, as well as torecognize Rebecca, and Julia, andAnastasia, and Gertie, and June—and soon through a list that made littlegodmothers to the rosebuds out of Cis'sfavorite acquaintances at the paper-boxfactory.

Big Tom had little to say when hereturned, but that little was pleasantenough. When he went to bed, he left hisdoor wide. Grandpa had been allowed tostay beside the kitchen window, and thereCis brought a quilt and pillow, her ownroom being unbearably close and hot. Asfor Johnnie, quite openly and boldly heshouldered his roll of bedding and took itto the roof! (For after what Father Pat hadtold them that day, could he, being a boy,fail to do the daring thing? Also, werethey not now under the protecting care of ared-headed fighter?)

Arrived on the roof, he did not liedown, but walked to and fro. A far-offband was playing in the summer night, atsome pier or in an open space, and its

music could be faintly heard. Childrenwere shouting as they returned from theBattery. The grind of street cars came inlow waves, not unlike the rhythmic beat ofthe seas which he had never seen. He shuthis ears to every sound. Eastward loomedup the iron network of the bridges,delicate and beautiful against the starlitsky. South, and near by, clustered themasts of scores of ships. North and Westwere the sky-piercing tops of the city'shighest buildings. Sights as well as soundswere softened and glorified by the night,and by distance. But he saw—as he heard—nothing of what was around him. He felthimself lifted high above it all—awayfrom it.

That was because his spirit was

uplifted. Just as Big Tom, with his harshmethods, his ignorance, his lack ofsympathy and his surly tongue, could bringout any trait that was bad in him, and at thesame time plant a few that did not exist,just so could Father Pat, kindly, wise,gentle, gracious and manly, bring outevery trait that was good. And for a whileat least, the priest had downed and drivenout every vestige of hatred and bitternessand revenge from the boy's heart.

Johnnie did not even think of Barber,or what the longshoreman had done thatday. In his brain was a picture whichthrilled and held him, if at the same time ittortured him—a picture that he saw tookeenly, and that would not go away. It wasof that brave Englishwoman, face to face

with her executioners.

What a story!

He shook his head over it, comparing itwith Treasure Island and all the others,and wishing he had it written down, andmarveling again over the rare courage ofits heroine. To be scolded and whippedwas one thing; it was quite another to bestood up against a wall in front of a line ofguns. And he remembered that he—a boy—had not been able, this very day, to takeeven a strapping! What if he had beenasked to accept death?

How far away—yes, as if it were daysand days ago!—seemed that order of BigTom's to go out and sell Cis's flowers!That was because this wonderful, heart-

moving tragedy of Edith Cavell's hadhappened in between! As the sky slowlybecame overcast, and the darknessdeepened, he set himself to think the nursethere on the roof beside him—awhiteclad, slender figure.

He had done her a wrong inquestioning the bravery of girls, and shehad died with her hands tied! "Oh, my!" hebreathed apologetically to the picturewhich his imagination made of her, "if Iwas only half as brave as you!"

He could keep her there before him notlonger than a moment. Then she waveredand went, and he found himself standingbeside his blanket roll. Though he coveredhis eyes to make his pretend more vivid,she would not return.

However, she was to come again oneday—to come and sustain him in an hourof dreadful trial that was ahead, thoughnow, mercifully, he did not know it. Andthere was to be another story, just asthrilling, if not more so, which also wouldhelp him in that hour; and, later on, wouldcarry him through darker ones.

With new visions in his brain, and newresolutions in his boy's heart, he took upthe bedding bundle and went back to theflat. There he fell asleep in a room whereseventeen pink rosebuds spread theirperfume.

N

CHAPTER XXVII

ANOTHER GIFT

EXT morning it was plain that theroses had brought about certaindifferences in the flat. Not that there

were any blunt orders, or quarrels. Barberdid not bring up the subject of Mr. Perkinsand his gift; in fact, he did not evenaddress Cis once, though he eyed hercovertly now and again. But the goodbreakfast which Johnnie had risen early toprepare was eaten in a quiet that wasstrained, as if a storm were about tobreak. Johnnie could not keep his heart

from thumping unpleasantly. And he waslimp with relief when, a moment or twoafter Cis took her departure, thelongshoreman went scuffing out.

Then Johnnie's recovery was swift. Onwaking he had whisked the flowers intoCis's room, guessing that the mere sight ofthem would annoy Barber. Now hefetched them out, let Grandpa enjoy awhiff of their perfume, poured them freshwater (they held it like so many cups!),and carried them to the window so theymight breathe some outdoor air. As ithappened, that little girl with the dark hairwas sitting on her fire escape. Spying her,Johnnie waved the blossoms at her,receiving in return a flashing smile.

He did not tarry long at the window. A

scout does not fail to do a given task; andon this summer day, with the early skyalready a hot gray-blue, the task to bedone was the washing. Heat or no heat, theboiler had to take its place on the stove.The soapy steam of the cooking drove outthe roses's scent of course, but that did notgreatly matter so long as, every minute orso, Johnnie was able to turn from hiswashboard and enjoy their pink beauty.

By eleven o'clock he had the washingon the line. The flat was straightened up,too, and Grandpa was looking his best.About noon, Father Pat, coming slowly upthe three flights, heard a series of slambangings coming from the direction of theBarber flat—also, sharp toot-toots, andheavy chugs. And when the priest opened

the hall door and peeped in, a conductor'sbell was ding-dinging, while the emptywood box was careening madly in thewake of the wheel chair.

"Ha-ha-a! Johnnie lad!" he hailed."And, shure, is it a whole battery in actionthat I'm seein'?"

Johnnie turned a pink and perspiringface which was suddenly all smiles. Tothe joy of living a fascinating think wasnow added the joy of finding still anotherperson who was ready to share it. "It's thebiggest N'York S'press!" he declared."And we're takin' our vacation trip!"

"Ah, little pretender!" exclaimed theFather, fondly, and with something like anote of pity. "But, oh, the idea o' me not

recognizin' a train! And especially theTwentieth Century Limited when I lookher right in the headlight!"

"We been t' the Ad'rondacks,"informed Johnnie, "and we got a load o'ice."

"Ah, and that's treasure, truly," agreedthe Father, "on this scorchin' day! Andye've put the same into a grand casket, ifI'm not mistaken"—indicating the box.

"A casket o' wood."

"But precious, what with coal so high!"

When the priest had settled himself inthe morris chair, Johnnie came to leanclose to this new friend who was both anunderstanding and a sympathetic soul.

"Want t' hear a secret?" he half whispered.

Father Pat was as mysterious aspossible. "Shure, and 'tis me business t'hear secrets," he whispered back. "Andwhat's more, I never tell!"

"Well," confided Johnnie, "there's a loto' my friends—Jim Hawkins, andGalahad, and Uncas, and, oh, dozens o'others—all just ready t' come in!"

"No-o-o-o!"

"Honest!"

"Galahad, too!—him with the grandscarlet robe, and the chain mail t' theknees, and the locks as bright as yer own!Well, I'm that glad t' hear it! and thatexcited!"

Breathing a warning, Johnnie sped tothe sink, rapped once, then twice, thenonce again. A short wait, followed by softpad-pads on the floor overhead. Nextdown into sight at the window came thebasket, filled to the top with books.

At sight of the basket, for some reasonFather Pat suddenly seemed anxious; andas Johnnie drew it to the window sill, thepriest pried himself up out of the bigchair. "Shure, 'tis divvlement!" hepronounced. "Yet still 'tis grand! Onlykeep 'em all right there, lad dear, and I'llcome over t' be introduced."

Proudly and impressively Johnnieproffered first his Aladdin. Noddingdelightedly, the Father took it. "Yes, 'tisthe very same Aladdin!" he declared. "Ye

know, I was afraid maybe the Aladdin Iknow and this one were two diff'rentgentlemen. But, no!—Oh, in the beginnin'weren't ye afraid, little reader dear, thatthis friend o' ours would end up wrong?and be lazy and disobedient t' the last,gaddin' the streets when he ought t' behelpin' his mamma?"

"But he turned out fine!" remindedJohnnie.

Now the other precious volumes hadtheir introduction. And, "All bread—ralebread!" said the Father as he looked atthem. "Not stones! No!" But he handedthem back rather too quickly, according toJohnnie's idea. However, the latter was toknow why at once; for with a sharp glancetoward the hall door, "Now, who d' ye

think was sittin' on a step in front o' thehouse as I came in—his dinner pail 'twixthis two feet?" asked the priest. "The bigogre himself!"

"Oh!" The pipe rang to Johnnie'shurried knockings, which he repeated insuch a panic that Mrs. Kukor could beheard rocking about in excited circles.And it seemed minutes (though it was nothalf of one) before the basket-stringstightened and the books went jerking up tosafety. Then, "My! What if he'd walked inwhile they was down!" Johnnieexclaimed. "And why didn't he go t' work?What's he waitin' for?"

They had the same explanation at thesame moment. Mr. Perkins! So what mightnot happen, down there in the area, when

the longshoreman, lying in wait for hisvictim, stopped the giver of bouquets?

Something besides the heat of middaymade Johnnie feel very weak of a sudden,so that he had to sit down. "Now, shush!shush!" comforted the Father. "Shure, andthe ogre'll not be eatin' up annyscoutmaster this day. No, no. There'll benothin' more than a tongue-lashin', sobreathe easy, lad dear!"

"But Mister Perkins won't come anymore!" argued Johnnie, plaintively. "Andso how'll I finish learnin' t' be a scout?Oh, Father Pat!"

While the next hour went by, it was ananxious little figure that sat opposite thepriest, listening, listening—for some loud

angry words out of the area, or heavysteps upon the stairs. That entrance belowcould not be seen from the window. AndJohnnie could not bring himself to godown. One o'clock came and passed. ButMr. Perkins did not come. So,undoubtedly, Big Tom had seen thescoutmaster. But whatever had happened,all had been quiet. That was someconsolation.

"It's funny about my friends," observedJohnnie at last. He shook a discouragedhead. "Some way, I never have more'n oneat a time."

The Father set about cheering him up."Ah-ha, now, and let's not worry a bitmore!" he urged. "Shure, and I've climbedup here this day t' ask ye a question, which

is: if Father Pat was t' say t' ye that he'dbring ye a new book the next time hechanced by, why, then, little lover o'readin', just what kind o' a book would yebest like t' have?"

Here was something to coax the mindaway from concern! "Oh, my!" saidJohnnie. "Another book? A new one?"Getting up to think about his answer, hechanced to glance out of the window. Andinstantly he knew what he should like."Oh, Father Pat!" he cried. "Has—hasanybody ever made up a book about thestars?"

"The stars!" the Father cried back."Shure, lad dear, certain gentlemen calledastronomers have been writin' about thestars for hundreds o' years. And they've

named the whole lot! And weighed andmeasured 'em, Johnnie,—think o' theimpudence o' that! Yes, and they'veweighed the Sun, and taken the measure o'the Moon! Also, there's the comets,which're called after the men who firstfind 'em. And, oh, think what it's like t'have yer name tied t' the tail o' a comet fora million years! Ho-ho! ho-ho! That's anhonor! Ye never own the comet, still 'tisyours!"

"My! I'd like t' find a Johnnie Smithcomet!" declared Johnnie. "And afterall"—solemnly—"I think I won't try t' bePresident; nope, I'll be a 'stronomer."

"Faith," rejoined the Father, the greeneyes shining roguishly, "and there's pointso' resemblance 'twixt the two callin's.

Both o' them, if I ain't mistaken, arecalculated t' keep a conscientious manawake o' nights!"

"I'll be awful glad t' have a star-book,"decided Johnnie. "Thank y' for it."

The priest smiled fondly at the raggedlittle figure silhouetted against thewindow. "Shure, and that's the book I'll bebuying for ye," he promised. "And in thecrack o' a hen's thumb!"

The Father ended his visit to thebuilding by going upstairs, which factJohnnie knew because of the walkingaround he could hear overhead, and thechair scrapings. But before Father Pat leftthe Barber flat Johnnie told him aboutgoing up on the roof (though he did not

confess that Cis knew about it, or that hehad bought her silence with thetoothbrush). His new friend listenedwithout a word of blame, only looking atrifle grave. "And what do ye think yeought t' do for Madam, the janitress?" heasked when Johnnie had finished hisadmission. "For as I see it, she's the oneentitled t' complain."

"I'll tell y'," answered Johnnie,earnestly; "I've swept off the roof twice,good's I could, and I've swept the stairsthat go up t' the roof. And once I sweptthis hall."

"A true scout!" pronounced the Father."And I'm not doubtin' that if ye'd promiset' go on doin' the same, Madam'd be glad t'let ye go up. Suppose ye try the

suggestion."

Johnnie promised to try.

Late that afternoon the saddest thinghappened: the roses died. They had beenlooking sick, and not at all likethemselves, since before noontime. AsJohnnie, preparing to set his supper table,lifted the quart milk bottle which held thebouquet, intending again to place it onCis's dressing-box, the flowers, with asound that was almost like a soft sigh,showered their crumpling petals upon theoilcloth. Shocked, Johnnie set the bottlequickly down. But only seventeen barestalks were left in it. The last sweet leafhad dropped.

He stood for a little looking down. The

first shock past, his whole being becamealive with protest. Oh, why shouldbeautiful flowers ever have to die? It waswrong! And there swept over him thehated realization that an end comes tothings. He could have wept then, but heknew that scout boys do not give way totears. For the first time in his life he wasunderstanding something of life's primetragedy—change. Girls grow up, dolls goout of favor, roses fade.

He could not bear to throw the petalsaway. Very gently he gathered them up inhis two hands and put them into a shallowcrockery dish, and sprinkled them with alittle cool water. "Gee! What'll Cis saywhen she sees them!" he faltered. (Howlive and sturdy they had seemed such a

little while ago!)

"Cis," he told her sadly when she camein (just a moment before Big Tom returnedfrom work), "Blanchfleur, and Cora, andElaine, and Gertie, and all—they fell t'pieces!"

She was not cast down by the news orthe sight of the bowl. She had, she said,expected it, the weather being warm andthe flat hot. After that, so far as he couldsee, she did not give the flowers anotherthought. When he told her that Father Pathad discovered the longshoreman waitingfor Mr. Perkins in the area, she was notsurprised or concerned. In the usualevening manner, she brushed andfreshened and pressed, smiling as sheworked. She seemed entirely to have

forgotten all the unhappy hours of the daybefore. True, she started if Barber spoketo her, and her quaint face flushed. But thatwas all.

"Clear grown-up!" Johnnie told himselfas he put the petals out of sight on acupboard shelf, laying the stems besidethem.

"Everything's going to be all right," sheassured him when she told him good night,"now that we've got Father Mungovan."(So that was why she was so happy! Orwas it because she was engaged? Johnniewondered.)

In the days that followed Father Patbecame a familiar figure in and about thearea building. (And this was fortunate for

Johnnie, since Mr. Perkins's visits hadsuddenly come to an end.) Almost at anyhour the priest might be seen slowlycrossing the brick pavement, or moreslowly climbing the stairs on his way tothe Barber flat. When he was not atJohnnie's, reading aloud out of the book onastronomy while Johnnie threaded beads,he might be found overhead in Mrs.Kukor's bright kitchen, resting in a rocker,a cup of tea nursed in both hands, andholding long, confidential and (to Johnnie)mysterious conversations, which the latterwished so much he might share, though healways discouraged the wish,understanding that it was not at all politeto want to be where he was not invited.

He and the priest, of course, had their

own lengthy and delightful talks.Sometimes it would be Johnnie whowould have the most to say. Perhaps hewould tell Father Pat about one of histhinks: a vision, say, of high roof-bridges,built far above the crowded, noisy streets—arched, steel bridges, swung from thesummit of one tall building to another likethe threads of a spider's web. Each bridgewas to be lighted by electricity, and "I'llpush Grandpa's wheel chair all across thetop o' N'York!" he declared.

Father Pat did not laugh at this think.On the contrary, he thought it bothpractical and grand. Indeed, he laughed atnone of Johnnie's ideas, and would listenin the gravest fashion as the boy describeda new think-bicycle which had arrived

from Wanamaker's just that minute—accompanied by a knife with three bladesand a can opener. The Father agreed thatthere were points in favor of a bicyclewhich took up no room in so small a flat,and required no oiling. And if Johnniewent so far as to mount the shining leatherseat of his latest purchase and circle thekitchen table (Boof scamperingalongside), the priest would look on withgenuine interest, though the pretend-bicycle was the same broomstick which,on other occasions, galloped the floor as adappled steed of Aladdin's.

As a matter of fact, Father Pat enteredinto Johnnie's games like any boy.Unblushing, he telephoned over the Barberclothesline. More than once, with whistles

and coaxings and pats, he fed the dog! Heeven thought up games of his own. "Nowye think I'm comin' in alone," he said onemorning. "That's because ye see nobodyelse. But, ho-ho! What deceivin'! For,shure, right here in me pocket I've got afriend—Mr. Charles Dickens!"

On almost every visit he would havesome such surprise. Or perhaps he wouldfetch in just a bit of news. "I hear they'rethinkin' o' raisin' a statoo o' ColonelRoosevelt at the Sixth Avenoo entrance toCentral Park," he told Johnnie one day."And I'm informed it's t' be Roosevelt theRough Rider. Now at present the statoo'sbut a thought—a thought in the minds o'men and women, but in the brain o' asculptor in particular. However, there'll

come a day when the thought'll freeze intobronze. Dear me, think o' that!"

At all times how ready and willing hewas to answer questions! "Ask meannything," he would challenge smilingly.He was a mine, a storehouse, yes, a veryfountain of knowledge, satisfying everyinquiry, settling every argument—even tothat one regarding the turning of the earth.And so Johnnie would constantlypropound: How far does the snow fall?Why doesn't the rain hurt when it hits? Doflies talk? What made Grandpa grow old?

Ah, those were the days which werenever to be forgotten!

There came a day which brought withit an added joy. So often Johnnie had

mourned the fact that he did not have morethan one friend at a time. But late on ablazing August afternoon, just as theFather was getting up to take his leave, thehall door squeaked open slowly, and thereon the threshold, with his wide hat, hisopen vest, watchchain, furred breechesand all, was One-Eye! ("Oh, two at a time,now!" Johnnie boasted to Cis that night."Two at a time!")

Yet at first he was not able to believehis own eyes. Neither was Father Pat. Thepriest stared at the cowboy like a man in adaze. Then he looked away, winking andpursing his lips. Once more he stared. Atlast, one hand outstretched uncertainly, hecrossed to One-Eye and cautiouslytouched him.

Not understanding, One-Eye veryrespectfully took the hand, and shook it."How are y'?" he said.

"Ah! So ye do exist!" breathed theFather, huskily. Then shaking hands again,"Shure, I've heard about ye for this longtime, but was under the impression that yewas only a spook!"

Warm were the greetings exchangednow by the cowboy and Johnnie. One-Eyewas powerfully struck by the improvementin the latter's physical appearance. "Gee-whillikens, sonny!" he cried. "W'y, y'renot half as peeked as y' used t' be! Y'refuller in the face! And a lot taller! Say!"And when Johnnie explained that it wasmostly due to a quart of milk which acertain Mr. Perkins had been bringing to

him six days out of seven (until the supplyhad been cut off along with the visits ofthe donor), without another syllable, upgot One-Eye and tore out, leaving the dooropen, and raising a pillar of dust on thestairs in the wake of his spurs. He wasback in no time, a quart of ice-cold milk ineither hand. "If he likes it," he explainedto Father Pat, "and if it's good for him,w'y, they ain't no reason under the shinin'sun w'y he can't have it.—Sonny, I put ina' order for a quart ev'ry mornin'. And Ipaid for six months in advance."

His own appearance was not what ithad been formerly. He looked lessleathery, and lanker. In answer toJohnnie's anxious inquiry, he admitted thathe had been sick, "Havin' et off,

accidental, 'bout half a' inch o' mustache;"though, so far as Johnnie could see, noneof the sandy ornament appeared to bemissing. And where had he been all thislong time? Oh, jes' shuttlin' 'twixtCheyenne and the ranch.

His sickness had changed him incertain subtle ways. He had less to saythan formerly, did not mention Barber, didnot ask after Cis, and jiggled one footconstantly, as if he were on the point ofagain jumping up and taking flight. FatherPat gone, he brightened considerably as hediscussed the departed guest. "Soldier,eh!" he exclaimed. "Wal, young feller, I'llsay this preachin' gent ain't no ev'ryday,tenderfoot parson! No, ma'am! He's gotsavvy!"

He was politely attentive, if notenthusiastic, when Johnnie told him moreabout Mr. Perkins, the future scoutdwelling especially upon that rosy timewhich would see him in uniform ("buthow I'm goin' t' get that, I don't know").Johnnie did all the setting-up exercises forthe Westerner, too; and, as a final touch,displayed for his inspection anindisputably clean neck!

But Johnnie had saved till the last thecrowning news of all. And he felt certainthat if the cowboy had shown not morethan a lively interest in Father Pat, and hadbeen only politely heedful regarding boyscouts, things would be altogetherdifferent when he heard about theengagement.

"One-Eye," began Johnnie,impressively, "I got somethin' else t' telly'. Oh, it's somethin' that'll su'prise y'awful! What d' y' think it is?"

One-Eye was in the morris chair at thetime, his hat on, his single organ of visionroving the kitchen. In particular, it rovedin the direction of the tiny room, where,through the open door, could be seendimly the gay paper flounces bedeckingCis's dressing-table. "Aw, I dunno," heanswered dully.

" B u t , guess, One-Eye!" persistedJohnnie, eager to fire the cowboy'scuriosity. "Guess! And I'll help y' out bytellin' y' this much: it's 'bout Cis."

Ah! That caught the interest! Johnnie

could tell by the way that single eye cameshooting round to hold his own. "Yeh?"exclaimed the Westerner. "Wal—? Wal—?" He leaned forward almostimpatiently.

"Cis and Mister Perkins 're goin' t' bemarried."

One-Eye continued to stare; andJohnnie saw the strangest expression comeinto the green eye. Anger seemed a part ofthat expression, and instantly Johnnieregretted having shared the news (but whyshould the cowboy be angry?) Also therewas pain in the look. Then did One-Eyedisapprove?

At this last thought, Johnnie hastened toexplain how things stood in the flat. "Big

Tom, he don't know they're goin' t' bemarried," he said, "and we'd be 'fraid t'tell him."

"I—I savvy." Now One-Eye studiedthe floor. Presently, as if he were busywith his thoughts, he reached up anddragged his hat far down over his blindeye. The hat settled, he settled himself—lower and lower in the big chair, hisshoulders doubling, his knees fallingapart, his clasped hands hanging betweenhis knees and all but touching his boots.Thus he stayed for a little, bowed.

All this was so different from whatJohnnie had expected that again hesuspected displeasure—toward Cis,toward himself; and as with a sinking,miserable heart he watched his visitor, he

wished from his soul that he had kept theengagement to himself. "Y' ain't g-g-glad,"he stammered finally.

However, as Johnnie afterwardremarked to Cis, when it came to judgingwhat the cowboy felt about this or that, aperson never could tell. For, "Glad?"repeated One-Eye, raising the bent head;"w'y, sonny, I'm tickled t' death t' hear it!—jes' plumb tickled t' death!" (And howwas Johnnie to know that this was notstrictly the truth?)

The next afternoon, while Father Patwas reading aloud the story of theSangreal, here entered One-Eye again,stern purpose in the very upturning of thatdepleted mustache. "Figgered mebbe Icould ask y' t' do somethin' fer me," he

told the priest. "It's concernin' that scoutproposition o' Johnnie's. Seems like he'llbe needin' a uniform pretty soon, won'the? Wondered if y'd mind pur-chasin' it."Then down upon the kitchen table hetossed a number of crisp, green bills.

Stunned at sight of so much money,paralyzed with emotion, and tongue-tied,Johnnie could only stare. Afterward heremembered, with a bothersome, worriedfeeling, that he had not thanked One-Eyebefore the latter took his leave along withFather Pat. That night on the roof hewalked up and down while he whisperedhis gratitude to a One-Eye who was athink. "Oh, it just stuck in my throat, kindof," he explained. "Oh, I'm sorry I acted sofunny!" (Why did the words of

appreciation simply flow from betweenhis lips now? though he had not been ableto whisper one at the proper time!)

That night, wearing the uniform he hadnot yet seen, he took a long pretend-walk;but not along any street of the East Side;not even up Fifth Avenue. He chose agarden set thick with trees. There was alake in the garden; and wonderful birdsflew about—parrots, they were, like theones owned by Crusoe. For a new suit ofan ordinary kind, any thoroughfare of thecity might have done well enough. But thenew uniform demanded a special setting.And this place of enchantment was Mr.Rockefeller's private park!

It seemed as if the night would nevergo! Next morning, it seemed as if Big Tom

would never go, nor the Father come. Butat an early hour the latter did appear,panting, in his arms a large pasteboardbox. At sight of that box, Johnnie feltalmost faint. But when the string was cut,and the cover taken off, disclosing a crisp,clean, khaki uniform, with little,breathless cries, and excitedexclamations, yes, and with wet lashes, hecaught the gift up in his arms and held itagainst him, embracing it. It was his! His!Oh, the overwhelming joy of knowing itwas his!

Though there was, of course, a chancethat another strike might happen, and BigTom come trudging home, neverthelessJohnnie could not resist the temptation ofdonning the precious outfit, seeing himself

in it, and showing himself to the Father.But first he took a thorough hand-wash,this to guard against soiling a newgarment; to insure against surprise whilehe was putting the clothes on, he scurriedinto Cis's room with the armful, leavingFather Pat in the morris chair, from wherethe latter called out advice now and again.

On went everything. Not withoutmistakes, however, and some fumbling, inthe poor light, over strange fastenings (allof Johnnie's fingers had turned intothumbs). The Father had done his partparticularly well, and the suit fitted nicely.So did the leggings, so soon as Johnnie,discovering that he had them on upsidedown, inverted them. The buttoning andthe belting, the lacing and the knotting, at

an end, he put on the hat. But wasundecided as to whether or not he shouldwear it at a slant of forty-five degrees, asOne-Eye wore his, or straight, as was Mr.Perkins's custom. Finally he chose thelatter fashion, took a long breath, like aswimmer coming up out of the depths, and—walked forth in a pair of squeakingbrown shoes.

How different from the usual JohnnieSmith he looked! He had lost that curiouschunky appearance which Barber's oldclothes gave him, and which was somisleading. On the other hand, his thinarms and pipelike legs were concealed,respectively, by becoming cloth andcanvas. As for his body, it was slender,and lithe. And how straight he stood! And

how smart was his appearance! And howtall he seemed!

The priest threw up astonished hands."Shure," he cried, "and is this annybody Iknow?"

"Oh, it is! I am!" declared Johnnie,flushing under the brim of the olive-drabhat. "It's me, Father Pat! Oh, my! Do I lookfine? D' y' like it?"

Grandpa did, for he was circlingJohnnie, cackling with excitement. "Oh, gofetch Mother!" he pleaded. "Go fetchMother!—Oh, Mother, hurry up! Comeand see Johnnie!"

The Father walked in circles too,exclaiming and admiring. "It can't be a

certain little lad who lives in the Barberflat," he puzzled. "So who can it be? No, Idon't know this small soldier, and I'llthank ye if ye'll introduce me!"

"Oh," answered Johnnie, "I ain't 'zac'lysure I'm myself! Oh, Father Pat, isn't itwonderful?—and I know I've got it 'causeI can take hold of it, and smell it! Oh, mygoodness!" A feeling possessed himwhich he had never had before—a feelingof pride in his personal appearance. Withit came a sense of self-respect. "And Iseem t' be new, and clean, and fine," headded, "jus' like the clothes!"

"Ye're a wee gentleman!" asserted theFather; "—a soldier and a gentleman!"And he saluted Johnnie.

Johnnie returned the salute—twice!Whereupon Grandpa fell to saluting, andcalling out commands in his quavering oldvoice, and trying to stand upon hisslippered feet.

In the midst of all the uproar, "Oh,One-Eye! One-Eye! One-Eye!" For here,piling one happiness upon another, herewas the cowboy, staggering in under theweight of a huge, ice-cold watermelon.

"That's my name!" returned theWesterner, grinning. "But y' better take theeggs outen my pockets 'fore ye grab melike that. Y' know eggs can bust."

When the eggs were rescued, alongwith a whole pound of butter, Johnniesaluted One-Eye. Next, he held out his

hand. "Oh, I—I think you're awful good,"he declared (he had thought up this muchof his speech the night before on the roof).

One-Eye waved him away as if hewere a fly, and said "Bosh!" a great manytimes as Johnnie tried to continue. Finally,to change the subject, the cowboy brokeinto that sad song about his mother, whichstopped any further attempt to thank him.

"I'll tell y' what," he declared whenJohnnie's mind was at last completelydiverted from his polite intention; "they'sjes' one thing shy. Yeppie, one. What y'need now is a nice, fine, close hair cut."

"At a—at a barber's?" Johnnie asked,already guessing the answer.

"Come along!"

"Oh, One-Eye!" gasped Johnnie. (Oh,the glory of going out in the uniform! andwith the cowboy! And how would he everbe able to take the new suit off!) "But if Iwear it out, and he sees me, and——"

One-Eye was at the door, ready to leadthe way. (Father Pat would stay behindwith Grandpa.) The cowboy turned halfabout. "If Barber was t' find out," heanswered, "and so much as laid a littlefinger on that suit, he'd have t' settlematters with me. Come!"

Like one in an enchanted dream,Johnnie followed on in his stiff, newshoes. It was noon, and as they emergedfrom the dark hallway which led into the

main street to the north, the sidewalkswere aswarm. Indeed, the doorstep whichgave from the hall to the pave was itselfplanted thick with citizens of assortedsizes. To get out, One-Eye lifted hisspurred boots high over the heads of twosmall people. But Johnnie, doffing thescout hat with practiced art, "'Scuse me,please," he begged, in perfect imitation ofMr. Perkins; and in very awe fully six ofthe seated, having given a backwardglance, and spied that uniform, roseprecipitately to let him by.

"Johnnie Barber!" gasped some one."What d' y' know!" demanded another.From a third came a long, low whistle ofamazement.

Johnnie's ears stung pleasantly. "Hear

'em?" he asked One-Eye. "Course theymean me!"

"Ad-mi-ra-tion," pronounced thecowboy, who always took his big wordsthus, a syllable at a time. "Sonny, y'veknocked 'em all pie-eyed!"

The barber shop was not nearly soregal as that restaurant of fond andglorious memory. Yet in its way it wassplendid; and it was most interesting, whatwith its lean-back chairs, man-highmirrors, huge stacks of towels, lines ofglittering bottles, and rows of shavingmugs (this being a neighborhood shop).And how deliciously it smelled!

It was a little, dark gentleman in agleaming white coat who waved Johnnie

into one of the chairs—from which, hiseyes wide and eager, the latter viewedhimself as never before, from his barehead to his knees, and scarcely knewhimself!

One-Eye came to stand over the chair."Now, don't y' give the boy one of themdis-gustin', round, mush-bowl hair cuts!"he warned, addressing the small, darkman. "Nope. He wants the reg'lar old-fashioned kind, with a feather edge rightdown t' the neck."

When one travels about under the wingof a millionaire, all things happen right.This was Johnnie's pleased conclusion as,with a snip, snip, snip, the bright scissorsdid their quick work over his yellowhead. He had a large white cloth pinned

about his shoulders (no doubt the barberhad noted the uniform, and was giving itfitting protection), and upon that cloth fellthe severed bits of hair, flecking it withgold. In what One-Eye describedafterward as "jig-time," the last snip wasmade. Then Johnnie had his neck dustedwith a soft brush, the white cloth wasremoved, and he stood up, shorn andproud.

Outside, several boys were hangingagainst the window, peering in. AsJohnnie settled his hat he recalledsomething Father Pat had once said aboutthe desirability of putting one's self inanother person's place. Johnnie did that,and realized what a fortunate boy he was—with his wonderful friend at his side,

his uniform on his back, and "a dandy haircut." So as he went out in One-Eye'swake, "Hullo!" he called to the boys in themost cordial way.

"And I reckon we look some punkins?"the cowboy observed when they wereback in the flat once more.

"Shure," replied Father Pat, "andwhat's more civilizin' than a barber shop!"

And now the question was, how couldCis view Johnnie in all his militarymagnificence without putting that newuniform in danger? One-Eye had theanswer: he would be down in the areawhen Big Tom arrived from work, "Andoff we'll go for see-gars," he plotted, "sothe field'll be clear."

However, as he waited for Cis,Johnnie could not bring himself to take toomany chances with One-Eye's superb gift,and hid it, though he felt hot enough,beneath Barber's big clothes (and howfortunate it was that the longshoreman'scast-offs were voluminous enough to goover everything). Thus doubly clad, helooked exceedingly plump and padded.That was not the worst of it. The sleevesof the new coat showed. But all he had todo was draw up over them that pair ofCis's stockings which had kept his thinarms warm during the past winter. Ofcourse his leggings and the shoes alsoshowed, so he took these off. Thenperspiring, but happy, he watched his twofriends go, giving them a farewell salute.

Cis came in promptly. "Oh, all day I'vehardly been able to wait!" she declared.Then with upraised hands, "Oh, Johnnie,how beautiful you are! Oh, you're like apicture! Like a picture I once saw of a boywho sang in a church! Oh, Johnnie, you'rethe best-looking scout in all New York!Yes, you are! And I'm going to kiss you!"

He let her, salving his slight annoyancethereat with the thought that no one couldsee. "But don't say anythin' t' the Father 'rOne-Eye about me bein' beautiful," hepleaded. "Will y'? Huh?"

She promised she would not. "Oh,Johnnie," she cried again, having taken asecond view of him from still anotherangle, and in another light, "that khaki'salmost the color of your hair!"—which

partly took the joy out of things!

Yet, under the circumstances, no pangof any sort could endure very long.Particularly as—following the propersignal—Johnnie went to Mrs. Kukor's, Cisat his brown heels. Arrived, he saluted anastonished lady who did not at firstrecognize him; then he took off the new hatto her. She was quite stunned (naturally),and could only sink into a rocker, handswaving, round head wagging. But next, avery torrent of exclamations, all inYiddish. After that, "Soch stylish!" shegasped rapturously. "Pos-i-tivvle!"

Back in the flat again, Johnnie took offthe uniform. That called for will power;but he dared not longer risk his prizedpossession. Late that night, when Big Tom

had eaten to repletion of the watermelon,and smoked himself to sleep on one ofOne-Eye's cigars, Johnnie reached inaround the jamb of Cis's door andcautiously drew that big suit box to him. Inthe morning it would have to join thebooks upstairs. However, for a happy,dark hour or two he could enjoy the outfit.How crisp and clean and strong it felt!Blushing at his own foolishness, he liftedthe cowboy's gift to his lips and kissed it.

T

CHAPTER XXVIII

ANOTHER STORY

HE first Sunday in September was aday that Johnnie was never to forget.Big Tom, Grandpa, Cis, and he—all

were gathered about the kitchen table forthe noon meal when Father Pat and One-Eye came in, the Father without his usualcheery greeting, though there was nothingdowncast in his look or manner. On thecontrary, something of pride was in hisstep, slow as that step was, and also in hisglance, which instantly sought out Johnnie.The face of the cowboy, however, was

stern, and that single eye, greener thaneither—or both—of the Father's, wasiron-hard and coldly averted.

As the hall door shut at their backs, thepriest raised his right hand in a gesturewhich was partly a salutation, partly ablessing. "Barber," he began solemnly (thelongshoreman, having given the visitors aswift and surly look, had gone on busilywith his eating), "we've come this mornin'about the Blake matter."

Startled, Big Tom threw down hisknife and rose, instantly on the defensive;and Johnnie and Cis, watching, understoodat once that "the Blake matter" was oneknown to the longshoreman, not welcomedby him, though most important. "Oh, y'seen that guy, Davis, eh?" he demanded.

"Not one hour ago," answered thepriest, quietly.

"Tuh!"—it was an angry sneer. "And Is'pose he whined 'bout me takin' the kid?—though he could do nothin' for Johnnie.Sophie was dead, and the kid was toolittle t' be left alone."

"Ye took the lad the day Albert Daviswas half crazed over his wife," chargedthe Father; "—hurried him off without aword or a line! A bad trick altogether! Oh,Davis guessed ye had the boy—the weeJohnnie he loved like a father. But he hadsmall time t' hunt, what with his work.And at last he had t' give up."

All that told Johnnie a great deal. Heshot a look at Cis. Barber had taunted him

often with his Uncle Albert's indifference—with the fact that not even a post cardhad ever come from the rich man's garageto the lonely little boy in the area building.But how could Uncle Albert send a postcard to some one if he did not know thatsome one's address?

Barber kicked the morris chair out ofhis way. "That's the thanks I git forsupportin' a youngster who ain't no kin t'me!" he stormed.

Father Pat drew himself up. The redstubble on his bare head seemed stiff withrighteous wrath. "Then I'll ask ye why yekidnapped the lad?" he cried. "No kin t'ye, eh? And ye knew it, didn't ye? Then!So why didn't ye leave the boy withDavis?—Because ye wanted his work!"

"Work!" repeated Barber, and brokeinto a shrill laugh. "Why, he wasn't worthhis feed! I took him jus' t' be decent!"

"Barber," returned the Father, firmly,"the tellin' o' a lie against annybody isalways a bad thing. But there's anotherkind o' lie that's even worse, and that'slying t' yerself—that ye was thinkin' o' hisgood when ye rushed him away, and not o'yer own pocket!" Then, nodding wisely ashe took the chair Big Tom booted aside,"If ye wanted t' be so decent, why didn'tye take the lad when his father and motherdied? Ha-a-a! He was too tiny t' be usefulthen, wasn't he? So ye let Sophie Davisbring him up; ye let his uncle supporthim."

"Oh, all right," rejoined the

longshoreman, resentfully. "I guess wheny've made up your mind about a man, thereain't no use talkin' t' y', is there?"

"No use, Mr. Barber," answered theother. "And this very mornin', while I'vestill got the breath and the strength t' do it,I mean t' tell the lad the truth!"

"I been intendin' t' tell him myself,"asserted Barber. "But up t' now, it wasn'tno story t' be tellin' a little kid—leastways, not a kid that's got a loony wayo' seein' things, and worryin' over 'em.And I warn y'! Y're likely as not t' makehim sick!"

The priest chuckled. "Y' ought t' knowabout that," he agreed. "Seein' that ye'vemade him sick yerself, often enough."

At that, with a backward tip of hishead, so that the wide hat fell off, and withthe strangest, rasping, strangling sound inhis skinny throat (his great, hairy Adam's-apple leaping, now high, now low), One-Eye began to laugh, at the same timebeginning a series of arm-wavings,slapping first one thigh and then the other."Har! har! har!" he ejaculated hoarsely.

With a muttered curse, Big Tomwalked to the door. "Go ahead!" he cried."But I don't set 'round and listen t' thestuff!" Black, fuming, he slammed his wayout.

One-Eye pointed out the kitchen chairto Cis; and when she was seated, got thewood box and set it on its side. "Comeand roost along with me," he bade

Johnnie, the single eye under the wet-combed, tawny bang smiling almosttenderly at the boy.

When they were all comfortablysettled, "Our good friend here got most o'the information," informed Father Pat."So, One-Eye, wouldn't ye like t'——"

"Oh, not me! Not me!" the Westerneranswered quickly. "I ain't no hand fortellin' nothin'! No, Father! Please! I pass!"

"Johnnie," began the priest, "it's likelyye've guessed, after hearin' all I said t' Mr.Barber, that ye was (what I'll be boldenough t' call) stolen from yer Uncle, whowasn't ever able t' locate ye again."

"Yes, sir,"—with a pleased smile. His

Uncle Albert was not more than an houraway. That was the best of news!

"And ye noted me use the name o'Blake," continued the other. "Well, ithappens t' be yer own name."

"Blake!" Cis was amazed.

"Y' mean—y' mean my name ain'tSmith," faltered Johnnie, who had, for amoment, been too stunned by the news tospeak.

"Smith was the first name Mr. Barbercould think up," explained Father Pat,"when he made up his mind t' take ye, Mr.Davis bein' gone t' the hospital."

One-Eye burst out. "Never liked thename!" he declared. "Knowed a feller

oncet—Jim Smith—a snake! a bald-haided buzzard! a pole-cat!"

Johnnie was staring at the floor. "JohnBlake!" he said under his breath. "O'course! Me! 'Cause it sounds all right,some way, and Smith never did!—NotJohn Smith, but John Blake!"

"Johnnie," went on the Father, "I toldthe dear two o' ye the story o' EdithCavell. And ye thought that story grand,which it is. But t'day I'm tellin' ye another—one which, in its way, is equally grand.But this time the story's about a man—awonderful man, gallant and brave, thatye'll love from this hour on."

"Please, what does he look like?"asked Johnnie, wanting a definite picture

in his mind.

"A proper question!—And, see! Theold gentleman's asleep again! Good!Wheel him a mite away, would ye mind,Miss Narcissa? He'll dream a bit better ifhe isn't under me voice. Thanks!—Well,then, first o' all, I'll have ye take note o'this man's general appearance, like. Hewas young, as men go, bein' only thirty-one; though"—with a laugh and a shake ofthe head—"ye think him fairly old, don'tye? Ha! But the day'll come when thirty-one'll seem t' ye like a baby right out o' thecradle! Yes, indeed!—But t' go back t' theman: thirty-one he was——"

"Was?" inquired Johnnie. "Is he dead?Or—or maybe now he's thirty-two?"

"He'll be thirty-one," said Father Pat,"to the very end o' time. For he is dead,lad dear, though God knows I wish I couldtell ye otherwise, but we'll not bequestionin' His mercy nor His judgment.And when all is said and done, his bravedeath is somethin' t' give thanks for, asye'll admit fast enough when ye've heard.—Well, thirty-one, he was, and about meown height. But not me weight. No, hewas a lighter-weighing man. He hadsandyish hair, this gentleman, and asmooth face. His eyes were gray-and-blue. And from what I hear about him, hesmiled a good deal, and was friendly t'ev'rybody, with a nice word and cheeryhow-dy-do. His skin was high-coloredlike, and his chin was solid and square,and he had a fine straight nose, and—but

have ye got it all?"

"Yes, sir!" Johnnie scarcelyremembered that any one else was withthem. "Slim, and light-haired (like me),and no whiskers, and kind of gray eyes,and all his face nice. But I can't see it'xac'ly as I'd like t', 'cause maybe what Isee and what he looked like ain't just thesame."

"In that case," replied the Father, "it's agood thing, I'm thinkin', that I broughtalong a photograph!"

There it was in his hand. He held it(small and round, it was) cupped by a bigpalm; and Johnnie, leaning forward,studied the pictured countenance carefully."That's right," went on the priest; "look at

it close—close!"

"I—I like him," Johnnie said, after alittle. "And I'm awful sorry he's dead.—But please go on, Father Pat. I want t' hear'bout him. Though if the story's very sad,why, I'm 'fraid that Cis'll cry."

"I won't," promised Cis. "But—but ifthe story tells how he died, I don't thinkI'll look at the picture—not just yet,anyhow."

The priest laid the photograph, facedown, upon the table. "It isn't that MissNarcissa'll cry," he argued; "but, oh,what'll we say t' this young lady when shesees us weep?—for, little lad dear, this isa tale—" He broke off, then and there, asif about to break down on the spot. But

coughed, and changed feet, thus gettingcontrol of himself once more, so that hewas able to go on.

"This young man I'm tellin' about livedin Buffalo," continued the Father. "Nowthat city is close t' the noble Falls thatye're so fond o' visitin' with Grandpa.Well, one day in the Spring——"

"Scuse me! Last spring?" Johnnieinterrupted.

"Eight long springs ago," answered theFather. "Which would make ye about twoyears o' age at the time, if me arithmetic isworkin' fairly well t'day."

"Two is right," declared Johnnie, withthe certainty of one who has committed to

memory, page by page, the whole of abook on numbers.

"But as ye were all o' four years old atthe time," corrected the priest, "eightsprings ago would make ye twelve yearsold at this date——"

"Twelve?"

"Ha-ha-a-a-! Boy scout age!" remindedthe Father.

At that, Johnnie, quite overcome by thenews, tumbled sidewise upon One-Eye'shairy knees, and the cowboy mauled theyellow head affectionately. When theWesterner set Johnnie up again, "So yesee Mr. Barber shoved yer age back a bitwhen ye first came here," explained the

priest. "And as ye was shut in so much,and that made ye small for yer years, why,he planned t' keep ye workin' for him justthat much longer. Also, it helped him inholdin' ye out o' school."

One-Eye's mustache was standing highunder the brown triangle of his nose. Thesingle eye was burning. "Oh, jes' fer agood ex-cuse!" he cried. "Fer a chanst!Fer a' openin'! And—it'll come! It'll come!I ain't goin' t' leave Noo York, neither, tillI've had it!"

If Cis caught the main drift of all this,Johnnie did not. "I'd like t' be able t' sendword t' Mister Perkins!" he declared. "Oh,wouldn't he be tickled, though!—Cis, I canbe a scout—this minute!" Thenapologetically, "But I won't int'rrupt y'

again, Father Pat. I know better, only t'hear what you said was so awful fine!"

"Ye're excused, scout dear," declaredthe priest. "Shure, it's me that's glad I canbring a bit o' good news along with thesad—which is the way life goes, bein'more or less like bacon, the lean betwixtthe fat. And now I'll go on with the story o'the young man and his wife, and——"

"There's a lady in the story?" askedCis.

"A dear lady," answered the Father."Young and slim, she was—scarce morethan a girl. With brown hair, I'm told,though I'm afraid I can't furnish ye muchmore o' a description, and I'm sad t' sayI've got no photograph."

"Guess I won't be able t' see her facethe way I do his," said Johnnie.

"She must've been very sweet-lookin'in the face," declared Father Pat. "Andbein' as good as she was good-lookin', 'tisnot hard t' understand why he loved herthe way he did. And that he did love her,far above annything else in the world, ye'llunderstand when ye've heard it all. Sothink o' her as beautiful, lad dear, and asleanin' on him always, and believin' inwhat he said, and trustin'. Also, she lovedhim in the same way that he loved her, andwe'll let that comfort us hereafterwhenever we talk about them—the strong,clean, fine, young husband, and the bit o' awife.

"Well, it was Spring, and they, havin'

been kept in all winter, had a mind oneday t' visit the Falls. That same day waslovely, they tell me, sunny and crisp. Andshe wore a long, brown coat over her neatdress, and a scarf of silk veilin' about herthroat. And he wore his overcoat, therebein' some snap in the air.

"Quite a lot o' folks was goin' out uponthe ice below the Falls, for the thawin' andthe breakin' up was not goin' forward toomuch—they thought—and a grand viewwas t' be had o' the monster frozen floor,and the icicles high as a house. So thisgentleman and his wife——"

"My father and mother!" cried Johnnie."Oh, Father Pat, y're goin' t' tell me howthey both got drownded!"

"Now! now! now!" comforted One-Eye, with a pat or two on a shoulder. "Y'want t' know, don't y'? Aw, sonny, it'llmake y' proud!"

Johnnie could only nod. The Fatherwent on: "They went out upon the ice withall the others, and stood gazin' up at thebeautiful sight, and talkin', I'll venture t'say, about how wonderful it was, andsayin' that some day they'd bring the boy t'see it."

"Me,"—and Johnnie drew closer toOne-Eye.

"Only a bit o' a baby, ye was, lad dear,safe at home with yer Aunt Sophie, but bigenough t' be put into ev'ry one o' theirdreams and plans. —So when they'd

looked long, and with pleasure, at thefairy work o' the frozen water, they turnedand watched downstream. There was avast floor o' ice in that direction, allcovered still with snow. At the far edge o'the floor showed open water, flowin' interrible wildness, so that no boat everrides safely in it, nor can anny man swimthrough it and live.

"The rapids lay below there, but thesewere a long way off from the sightseers atthe Falls. They could see the tumblin',perhaps, and maybe hear the roar. Butwhat was under their feet was firm as theground, and they felt no fear."

"But—but was it safe?" Johnniefaltered. "Oh, Father Pat, I'm 'fraid itwasn't!"

"Where they stood, it was," declaredthe Father. "But all at once, a smart puff o'wind caught that pretty wisp o' veilin'from the young wife, and wafted it away.And as quick as the wind itself after it shedarted; but when she was close to it, upand off it whirled again, and she followedit, and he after her, and—shouts o' warnin'from all!"

Johnnie took his underlip in his teeth.By that power of his to call before himvividly the people and places and thingshe heard, or read, about, and to seeeverything as if it were before him, nowhe was seeing the snow-covered flooringof the river, the hastening figure headedtoward danger, and the frightened one whopursued, while the sun shone, and voices

called, and the river roared below.

"There was good reason t' shout,"continued the priest. "For by a bitterchance the ice had cracked clear across'twixt where the two were hastenin' andwhere they had stood before."

Now Johnnie suddenly grew white, andhis lip quivered out from its hold. "Butthey must go back, Father Pat!" he cried,his breast heaving. "Oh, they must goback!"

"They can't," answered the Father,speaking very low. "Oh, dear lad, they'recut off from the shore. There's a big rift inthe ice now, and it's growin' each momentbigger, and they're on the wrong side o' it,and—floatin' down river."

One-Eye slipped an arm about Johnnie,drawing the bright head to a shoulder."Are y' all right, sonny?" he asked huskily."Can y' hear the rest? Or——"

"Yes,"—but it was scarcely a whisper,and the flaxen lashes were shuttering thegray eyes tight. "I—I ought t' be able t'stand just hearin' it, if—if they could standthe really thing."

"I don't want t' break the wee heart o'ye," protested the Father, tenderly. "Andso maybe we'll wait?"

"No, sir." Johnnie opened his eyes."I'm goin' t' feel b-bad. But please don'tmind me. I'm thinkin' of Edith Cavell, andthat'll help."

"God love the lad!" returned theFather, choking a little. "And I'll go on.For I'm thinkin' it's better t' hear the truth,even when that truth is bitter, than t' beanxiously in doubt." Then, Johnnie havingassented by a nod, "That rift grew widerand wider. As they stopped runnin' afterthe veil, and turned, they saw it, the two o'them. 'Tis said that the young wife gave agreat cry, and ran back towards the Falls,and stood close t' the rim o' the ice, andheld out her two hands most pitiful. But allwho were on the ice had scattered, themost t' hurry t' do somethin' which wouldhelp."

"Oh, they must hurry!"—it was Cis thistime, the pointed chin trembling.

"Ropes—they got ropes, for there was

a monster bridge below, which the twowill pass under before long, as the ice-cake floats that far. And the ropes must beready, and let down t' save 'em.—Yes,rods o' rope were lowered, as fast as thiscould be managed, and as close aspossible t' where the men on the bridgejudged the pair on the ice would go by.There was a big loop in the end thattrailed t' the river. But long as that ropewas, shure, it wasn't long enough, thoughthe man was able t' catch it—and what ashout o' joy went up!—and he could'veslipped it over his own head as easy aseasy, but he would not do it—no, notwithout her. But, oh, as he leaned to dropthe big loop around her (another rope wascomin' down at the same time for him),she weakened, and fainted in his arms, and

lay there in the snow.

"He lifted her—quick! But before hecould pass the loop over her head, thecurrent swept her on. Now there was stilltime for him t' spring back and savehimself—save her, he could not. But hewould not leave her lyin' there and savehimself, and so—and so——"

"Oh, has he got t' die?" pleadedJohnnie, brokenly.

"Johnnie," went on the Father, gently,"we're not on this earth just t' have a goodtime, or an easy time,—no, or a safe time.We're here t' do our duty, and this is howyer father thought. Lad, dear, some dayye'll come t' a tight place yerself. Andye'll have t' decide what ye're t' do: go this

way, which is the easiest, or that, which isthe hard path o' duty, a path which'll takeall the pluck ye've got, but the right one,nevertheless—the fine, true way. Andwhen such a time comes, shure, ye'llremember what he did that day——"

Johnnie's eyes were closed again.From under his shining lashes the tearswere beginning to creep, finding their wayin long letter S's down his pale cheeks."I'll think o' what my father did!" heanswered. "Oh, I will, Father Pat! Myfine, wonderful father!"

"Could he have chosen t' be saved, andleave the young wife there? O' course, hecould not—if ever he wanted t' have apeaceful thought again, or the respect o'men and women. But maybe he didn't even

think o' all this, but just did the brave actnaturally—instinctively. No, he would notbe saved without her. And—the ropeswere both out o' reach, now, and the icecake was floatin' swifter, and swifter, and,dear! dear! breakin' at one side.

"His wife in his arms, he faced about,holdin' the slim, brown figure against hisheart. He was talkin' to her then, I'll bebound, sayin' all the tender, lovin' thingsthat could ease her agony, though as,mercifully enough now, she was limp inhis hold, likely she could not even hear."

"Oh, I hope so!" said Cis. "Then shewouldn't be suffering!"

"From the shore the people watchedthem, and from the bridge. But manny

could not watch, for, ah, 'twas a tragicsight. Some o' these prayed; some hid theirfaces. But others shouted—inencouragement, maybe, or just terror.Annyhow, the young husband, hearin' thecalls, lifted his face t' that high bridge.And 'twas then he called—just once, butthey heard. And what he called was asingle name, and that name was—Johnnie."

Down went Cis's head then, and shewept without restraint. But Johnnie wassomehow uplifted now, as by pride. "I cansee him!" he cried. "My father! Just asplain!" He sat up straight again, though hiseyes were still shut. "I can see his face,smilin', and his light hair! Why, it's as ifhe was lookin' straight at me!" Then

trembling again into One-Eye's hold, "ButI can't see my mother's face, 'cause it'sturned away, hidin' on my father'sshoulder. I can see just her back. Oh, my—poor—m-mother!"

"He was thinkin' o' the baby he wasleavin' behind," went on the priest, "in thatlast moment o' his life. And if she was,too, then it's no wonder the gentle thingcouldn't lift her head."

"Oh! Oh, Father Pat!"—while One-Eyestroked the yellow hair he had ruffled, andwhispered fondly under that dun mustache.

"The ice was near the rapids now, sothere isn't a great deal more t' tell,"continued the Father. "He put up one hand,did yer father, wavin' it in a last salute—

thankin', maybe, the men who had workedso hard with the ropes.—O God o' Mercy,wast Thou not lookin' down upon Thyservant as he gave his life cheerfully just t'comfort hers one minute longer?

"The agony was short. The rapidscaught the cake, which whirled like awheel—once. Then it tipped, breakin'again, crumblin' t' bits under them, andthey sank. There was just a glimpse, asecond's, o' his head, shinin' in the sun.Then they were gone—gone. God rest hissoul—his brave, brave soul! And God resther soul, too!" The Father crossed himself.

After awhile, having wiped his owneyes, he went on once more: "Behind themswayed the rope as the men on the bridgeslowly dragged it up and up. And the

people everywhere turned away, andstarted slowly home. Not alt'gether sadly,though. For they'd seen a beautiful thingdone, one which was truly sublime. Andlater in yer life, lad dear, when ye heartell, manny a time, how this boy or that hashad somethin' left t' him by his father—land, maybe, or a great house, or money—then don't ye fail t' remember what wasleft t' yerself! For yer father left ye morethan riches. He left ye the right t' be proudo' him, and t' respect and honor him, andthere's no grander inheritance than that!And the sweetness which was yermother's, along with the bravery o' yerfather, all are yer own, comin' t' ye in theirblood which courses through yer ownveins. Inheritance! What a lot is in theword! Manny's the time I've wondered

about ye—how ye love what's decent andgood—good books, and right conduct, andt' be clean, and all the rest o' it. But now Iunderstand why. Come t' me, little son o' agood mother! Little son o' a brave father!"The priest held out his hand.

As Johnnie came, Father Pat took froma pocket a leather case which, whenopened, disclosed—was it a piece ofmoney? or an ornament? Johnnie could notdecide. But it was round, and beautiful,and of gold. Taken from its case, it washeavy. On the obverse side it bore thelikeness of a man as old, nearly, asGrandpa; on the reverse, cut in a splendidcircle, were the words, Greater love hathno man than this, that a man lay downhis life for his friends. In the center, in

lasting letters of metal, were other words:Awarded to William Blake.

"'Tis a medal," explained the Father,"and 'twas awarded to that husband whowould not save himself if he could notsave his wife."

"Is—is that my father's picture?"Johnnie asked, under his breath.

"No, lad dear. 'Tis Andrew Carnegie,that—the founder of the Carnegie HeroFund. He was a poor boy when he came toAmerica from Scotland. And, Johnnie,dear, books was what he loved, and whenhe was a little telegraph messenger, he'dread when he could, in betwixt scamperin'here and there with messages. He lived tomake a fortune, and much of that fortune he

spent in buildin' libraries for those whocan't afford to buy their own books. Andhe did manny other things, and one o' 'emwas—t' leave an educational award t' thewee son o' a certain hero I could name, sothat the lad, as soon as he was big enough,could go t' school and college. Now, whod' ye think I mean?"

Johnnie knew; yet it was all so suddenthat he could not wholly realize it. "Moneyfor school, lad dear," repeated the priest."It's been waitin' for ye this long time. ButMr. Tom Barber didn't happen t' knowabout it, and we'll not be sayin' a word t'him just yet. No; I'm thinkin' the newswould be the end o' the dear man—somuch money in the family, and him notable t' put his hands on a cent!"

When Father Pat was gone, One-Eyewith him, he left behind, not a sorrowinglittle boy, who blamed Fate for havingrobbed him of both father and mother inone terribly tragic hour, but a boy whowas very proud. There was this about him,too: he did not feel fatherless andmotherless any longer, but as if the priesthad, somehow, given him parents.

"And, oh, wasn't it a beautiful story?"Cis asked, as they put the medal in apocket of the new scout coat. (The pictureFather Pat had carried away to havecopied.) "Johnnie, I feel as if I'd been tochurch! It's like the passing of Arthur—sosad, but so wonderful! Oh, Johnnie Blake,think of it! You're twelve! and you can goto school! and you're the son of a hero!"

"Yes," said Johnnie. As he had notdone the work which he knew Big Tomexpected of him that Sunday, now he gotout the materials for his violet-making andbegan busily shaping flowers. "And I'mgoin' t' be a scout right off, too," hereminded. "So I mustn't shirk, 'r they won'tgive me a badge!"

"'T

CHAPTER XXIX

REVOLT

AKE two cupfuls of milk,'" readJohnnie, who was bent over hisnewest possession, a paper-

covered cookbook presented him only thatmorning by his good friend overhead;"'three tablespoonfuls of sugar, one-halfsaltspoonful of salt' (only, not havin' asaltspoon, I'll just put in a pinch), 'one-half teaspoonful of vanilla' (and I wonderwhat vanilla is, and maybe I better askMrs. Kukor, but if she hasn't got any, can Ileave vanilla out?), 'the yolks of three

eggs'—" Here he stopped. "But I haven'tgot any eggs!" he sighed. And once morebegan turning the pages devoted todesserts.

This sudden interest in new dishes hadnothing whatever to do with the MeritBadge for Cooking. The fact was, he wasabout to make a pudding; and the puddingwas to be made solely for the purpose ofpleasing the palate of Mr. Tom Barber.

Johnnie had on his scout uniform. Andit was remarkable what that uniformalways did for him in the matter ofchanging his feelings toward thelongshoreman. The big, old, raggedclothes on, the boy might be glad to seeBarber go for the day, and even harbor alittle of his former hate for him; but the

scout clothes once donned, their verysnugness seemed to straighten out histhoughts as well as his spine, the formerbeing uplifted, so to speak, along withJohnnie's chin! Yes, even the buttons ofthe khaki coat, each embossed with thedesign of the scout badge, helped him tothat state of mind which Cis described as"good turny." Now as he scanned thepages of the cookbook, those two upperbellows pockets of his beloved coat (hisfather's medal was in the left one) heavedup and down proudfully at the merethought of to-day's good deed.

He began to chant another recipe:"'One pint of milk, three tablespoonfuls ofsugar, two heapin' tablespoonfuls ofcornstarch'——"

Another halt. The cupboard boasted nocornstarch. Nor was there gelatine instock, with which to make a gay-colored,wobbly jelly. As for prune soufflé, hecould make that easily enough. But—thelongshoreman did not want to lay eyes onanother prune soufflé before Washington'sBirthday, at least, and the natalanniversary of the Father of His Countrywas still a long way off.

Apple fritters, then? But they tookapples. And brown betty had the boldnessto demand molasses on top of apples!

He turned more pages.

Then he found his recipe. He knew thatthe moment his eye caught the name—"poor man's pudding." He bustled

about, washing some rice, then making thefire. All the while he hummed softly. Hewas especially happy these days, for onlythe week before he had been visited by hisUncle Albert, looking a trifle changedafter these five years, but still the kindly,cheerful Uncle Albert of the old days inthe rich man's garage.

He fell to talking aloud. "I got milk," hesaid, "and I got salt, and sugar, and therinds o' some oranges. They're dry, but if Iscrape 'em into the puddin', Mrs. Kukorsays they'll make it taste fine! I'll giveMister Barber a bowl t' eat it out of. My!how he'll smack!"

At this point, the wide, old boards ofthe floor gave a telltale snap. It wasbehind him, and so loud that it shattered

his vision of Big Tom and the puddingbowl. Some one was in the room! FatherPat? Mrs. Kukor? One-Eye?

He turned a smiling face.

What he saw made him even forget thathe had on the beloved scout suit. In thefirst shock, he wondered how they couldhave come up and in without his hearingthem; and, second, if he was just thinkingone of his thinks, and had himself luredthese two familiar shapes into the kitchen.For there, in arm's length of him, standingface to face, were—Big Tom and Cis.

They were real. In the next breath,Johnnie knew it. No think of his wouldshow them to him looking as they nowlooked. For Barber's heavy, dark

countenance was working as he chewedon nothing ferociously; while Cis—in allthe past five years Johnnie had neverbefore seen her face as it was now. It wasset and drawn, and a raging white, so thatthe blue veins stood out in a clear patternon her temples. Her hat hung downgrotesquely at one side of her head. Herhair was in wild disarray. And her eyes!They were a blazing black!

What had happened?

"Let go of me!" Cis demanded, in avoice that was not hers at all. Barber hadhold of her arm. With a sudden twist shefreed herself.

"Here!" Her stepfather seized heragain, and jerked her to a place beside

him. "And none o' y'r loud talk, d' y'understand?"

"Yes, I understand!" she answereddefiantly, yet without lowering her voice."But I don't care what you want! I'll speakthe way I want to! I'll yell—Ee-e-e——"

But even as she began the shriek, oneof his great hands grasped the wholelower half of her face, covering it, andstopping the cry.

The next moment she was gasping andstruggling as she fought his hold. She triedto pull backward. She dragged at his handas she circled him.

It was a strange contest, so quiet, yet sofierce. It was not like something that

Johnnie was really seeing: it was like oneof those thinks of his—a terrible one.Bewildered, fascinated, paralyzed, hewatched, and the matches dropped,scattering, from his hands.

The contest was pitifully unequal. Allat once the girl's strength gave out. Herknees bent under her. She swayed towardBig Tom, and would have fallen if he hadnot held her up—by that hand over hermouth as well as by the grasp he had kepton her elbow. Now those huge, tonglikearms of his caught her clear of the floorand half threw, half dropped, her upon thekitchen chair.

"You set there!" commanded Barber.

Too spent for speech, but still

determined not to obey him, Cis tried toleave the chair, and drew herself partly upby grasping the table. But she could notstand, and sank back. At one corner of hermouth showed a trickle of blood, like ascarlet thread.

The sight of it brought Johnnie to her inan agony of concern. "Oh, Cis!" heimplored.

With one flail-like swing of a greatarm, Barber swept the boy aside. "Staywhere y' are!" he said to Cis (he did noteven look at Johnnie). Then he crossed tothe hall door, which was shut, anddeliberately bolted it. The clash betweenhim and Cis had been so quiet thatGrandpa had not even been wakened.Now Barber went to the wheel chair, and

gently, slowly, began to trundle it towardthe bedroom. "Time t' go t' s'eep, Pa," hesaid coaxingly. "Yes, time for old man t'go s'eepy-s'eepy." When the chair wasacross the sill, he closed the door upon it.

Meanwhile, Johnnie had again movednearer to Cis. Now was his chance to getaway in his uniform and change into hisold clothes; to gather up his old, big shirtand trousers from where they lay on themorris chair, unbolt the door, and makefor that flight of stairs leading up to theroof. But—he did not even think of going,of leaving her when she needed him so.He wanted to help her, to comfort. "Oh,Cis!" he whispered again.

She seemed not to hear him, and shedid not turn her burning eyes his way.

Breathing hard, and sobbing with angerunder her breath, she stared at Barber. Herlip was swelling. Her face was crimsonfrom her fight. Drops of perspirationglistened on her forehead.

Barber's underlip was thrust out as hecame back to her. "Y' ain't got the decencyt' be quiet!" he charged, "in front o' thatpoor old man!"

Now she had breath to answer. Shestraightened in her chair, and met him witha boldness odd when coming from her."Grandpa isn't the only person in this flatto be considered," she returned.

"Jus' the same"—Big Tom shook afinger in her face—"he's the first onethat's goin' t' be considered!"

"Johnnie and I have our rights!" shecried.

As she spoke his name, Johnnie's heartleaped so that it choked him—withgratitude, and love, and admiration.

"Never mind y'r rights!" thelongshoreman counseled. "I begin t' seethrough you! Y're a little sneak, that's whaty' are! Look at the crazy way y're actin',and I thought y' was a quiet girl! Y' beenpretty cute about hidin' what y're up to!"

"Hiding!" she answered, resentful."What do I have to hide from you? What Ido is none of your business! I'm not arelation of yours! and I'm seventeen! Andfrom now on——"

"Oh, drop that!" interrupted Barber."Y' waste y'r breath!" Then with anothershake of the finger, "What I want t' know—and the truth, mind y'!—is how long hasthis been goin' on?" He leaned on the tableto peer into her eyes.

Going on? Johnnie's look darted fromone to the other. Had Cis been stayingaway from the factory? Had she beentaking some of her earnings to see amoving-picture? or——

"I don't have to tell you!" Cis declared.

"I'm the man that feeds y'!" Barberreminded. "Jus' remember that!"

"You've taken my earnings," shereturned. "You've taken every cent I've

ever got for my work! And don't youforget that!"

"Ev'ry girl brings home her wages,"answered the longshoreman. "And don't y'forgit that I fed y' many a year before y'was able t' work——"

"While my mother was living, sheearned my food!" Cis cried. "And I'veworked, just as Johnnie has, ever since Iwas a baby!"

"Have y'? Bosh! Y' been a big expenset' me, that's what y' been, for all these pastten years! And now, jus' when y're oldenough t' begin payin' me back a little,here y' go t' actin' up! Well, you was leftin my hands. I'm only stepfather to y'. Allright. But I'm goin' t' see that y' behave

y'rself."

"You've got nothing to say about me!"she persisted.

"No? I'll show y'! But what I want t'know now is, how many times have youmet this dude at the noon hour?"

Then Johnnie understood what hadhappened.

"Ha-a-a-a!" Cis threw back her headwith a taunting laugh. "Dude! So he's adude, is he? But I notice, big as you are,that you didn't let Mr. Perkins know you'dbeen watching us! You didn't come up tothe bench and speak to him! No! Youwaited till he was gone! You were onlybrave enough to do your talking in front of

a lot of girls! Ha-a-a-a!" Then her angermounting, "You talk about sneaking! That'sbecause you've sneaked and followed us!"

"Y're too young t' have any whipper-snapper trailin' 'round with y'—noons, 'rany other time," declared Barber.

"My mother married when she wasseventeen!" retorted Cis.

"It'll be time enough for y' t' be thinkin'o' beaus when y're twenty," went on BigTom, quietly.

She stood up. "You hate to see anybodyhappy, don't you?" she asked scornfully."You're afraid maybe Mr. Perkins willlike me, and want me to marry him, andgive me a good home!"

"You can put that Perkins out o' y'rhead," commanded the longshoreman."When y're old enough, o' course, y'regoin' t' marry; but I plan t' have y' marry aman."

"Mr. Perkins is a man," she answered,not cowed or frightened in the least.

"Not my notion o' a man," said BigTom.

"I like him all the better for that!" shereturned—an answer which stung andangered him anew, for he caught herroughly once more and hurled her backinto her chair.

She stayed there for a moment, panting.Then, "I'm going to marry Mr. Perkins,"

she told him. "To-morrow—if I live!"

"T'morrow!" He shouted the word."What're y' talkin' about? I'll kill y' first!I'll——"

"Oh, don't!" As Barber reached toseize Cis again, Johnnie dragged at hissleeve.

But the longshoreman did not noticehim. It was Cis who cried out to Johnnie,still defying Big Tom. "Oh, let him dowhat he wants!" she said. "Because hewon't have a chance even to speak to meafter to-day! Let him! Let him!"

Barber shook her, and stepped back."After t'-day," he told her, "y'll work righthere at home!"

"Home! Home!" She laughed wildly."Do you call this a home?"

"I'll see that y' behave y'rself!" hevowed.

"You'd better see that you behaveyourself!" she retorted. "Because Johnniedoesn't belong to you—you haven't anyrights over him! And he's gone once, andhe'll go again—after I go! And I'm goingthe minute I can stand on my feet! I'vestayed here long enough! Then you can tryit alone for a change!"

"Oh, can I?"

"I'll never do another thing for you!"she went on; "—in this flat or out! No, notin all the rest of my life! Oh, I'm not like

Johnnie! I can't pretend it's beautiful whenit's awful! and imagine good clothes, anddecent food, and have my friends drivenaway, and insulted! I won't stand it! Iknow what's wrong! I see things the waythey are! And I'm not going to put up withthem! No girl could bear what you ask meto bear! This flat! My room! The way Ihave to work—at the factory, and thenhere, too! And no butter! No fruit! And themean snarling, snarling, snarling! Andnever a cent for myself!"

It had all come pouring out, her voicehigh, almost hysterical. And if it surprisedJohnnie, who had never before seen Cisother than quiet and gentle and sweet,modest, wistful and shrinking, it appalledBarber. Those eyes of his bulged still

more. His great mouth stood wide open.

Presently, he straightened and lookedup and around. "Well, I guess I see what'sgot t' be done," he remarked casually.

The strap—it was Johnnie's firstthought; Barber was getting ready to whipCis! Never before had the boy seen herthreatened, and the mere idea was beyondhis enduring. "Oh, Mister Barber!" heprotested. "Oh, what y' goin' t' do?"

For an answer, the longshoremanswung a big arm over his own head andgave such a mighty pull at the clotheslinethat it came loose from its fastening ateither end.

"Cis! He'll kill y'!" cried the boy,

suddenly terror-stricken.

Girls could be brave! Father Pat hadsaid it, and Edith Cavell had proved it.Cis was proving it, too! For now she roseonce more, and though she was trembling,it was only with anger, not with fear. "Hecan kill me if he wants to!" she crieddefiantly. "But he can't make me mind him,and he can't make me stay in this flat!"

Then Johnnie knew what he must do:bear himself like the scout he was so soonto be. Also, was he not the son of hisfather? And his father had been braverthan any scout. So he himself must be extrabrave. He flung himself against Barber,and clung to him, his arms wound roundone massive leg. "Oh, Mister Barber!" heentreated. "Don't hurt Cis! Lick me! Lick

me!"

But Barber could not be easilydiverted from his plan. "You git out o' myway!" he ordered fiercely. A heave of onebig leg, and he slung the boy to one side—without even turning to look at him as hefell. Then again he turned to Cis.

"You keep your hands off of me!" shewarned. "If you touch me, you'll be sorry!—Oh, I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

Barber laughed. "So y' hate me, do y'?"he demanded. "And y' ain't goin' t' stay onemore night! Well, maybe y'll change y'rmind! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" Then suddenlyhis look hardened. With a grunt of rage,rope in hand, he swooped down upon her.

"You brute! You brute!"

It was not till then that Johnnieunderstood what Big Tom meant to do.Crying out to him, "Oh, y' mustn't! Y'mustn't!" he rushed across to catch at therope, and clung to it with all his might.

Barber caught him up, and once morehe threw him—so that Johnnie struck awall, and lay for a moment, half stunned.Meanwhile, with his other hand, thelongshoreman thrust Cis down into herchair. Then growling as he worked, hewound her in the rope as in the coils of aserpent, and bound her, body, ankles, andarms, to the kitchen table.

Johnnie came crawling back, bruised,but scarcely knowing it; thinking only of

Cis, of saving her from pain and indignity."No, Mister Barber!" he pleaded. "NotCis, Mister Barber! Please! It's all myfault! I fetched Mister Perkins here! I did!So blame me!"

Barber straightened. He was breathinghard, but there was a satisfied shine in hisbloodshot eyes. "All right, MisterJohnnie," he answered. His voice wasalmost playful, but still he did not look atthe boy. "It's y'r fault, is it? Well, I guessmaybe it jus' about is! So y' needn't t'worry! I'll attend t' y'—no mistake!"

B

CHAPTER XXX

DISASTER

ARBER took his time. He evenprepared to have a smoke before"attending" to Johnnie. He fumbled

through his coat pockets to find his pipe,grinning all the while at Cis.

Being bound had not subdued her. Shelooked back at him, her face quivering,her cheeks streaming with angry tears."Oh, yes, he'll go after you!" she sobbed."You needn't be afraid he won't! He likesto take somebody that's little and weak,and abuse him, just as he's abused me,

because I'm a girl! You don't think,Johnnie, that he'd ever take anybody hisown size!"

"That'll do!" warned Big Tom. He hadfound the pipe, and now came a stepnearer to her. "Y'd better keep y'r mouthshut, young lady!"

"Don't talk, Cis! Don't!" beggedJohnnie, half whispering.

" I will talk!" she declared. "All theyears I've been here I've wanted to tellhim what I think of him. And now I'mgoing to!—I am a young lady. You great,big coward!"

He struck her with the flat of one heavyhand. But as she instantly struggled, and

frantically, throwing herself this way andthat, and almost overturning the table uponherself, the longshoreman thought better ofcontinuing the punishment, and crossed tothe sink to empty his pipe.

Again Cis fell to sobbing, and talkingas she wept. "I'm going to see that FatherPat knows about this," she threatened."And everybody in the wholeneighborhood, too! They'll drive you outof this part of town—you see if they don't!And, oh, wait till One-Eye knows, andMr. Perkins!"

It was just then, as she paused forbreath, that something happened whichwas unexpected, unforeseen, and terriblein its results. The longshoreman, to emptyhis pipe, rapped once on that pipe leading

down into the sink from Mrs. Kukor's flat—then twice more—then once again.

It was the book signal!

Johnnie gasped. And Cis stoppedcrying, turning on him a look that was fullof frightened inquiry. He tipped back hishead, to stare at the ceiling as if striving tosee through it, and he held his breath,listening. During the quarrel, he had notthought of Mrs. Kukor, nor heard anysound from above. Was she at home? Oh,he hoped she was not! or that she had notheard!

But she was at home, and waspreparing to obey the raps. Her rockingsteps could be heard, crossing the floor.

"Johnnie!" warned Cis. She forgotherself now, in remembering what mightbe threatening.

They heard the scrape of the bookbasket as it left the upper sill. Johnnie gotto his feet then, watching Barber, who wasleaning over the sink, cleaning out thebowl of the pipe with the half of a match.Oh, if only the longshoreman would leavethe window now, before—before——

Almost gayly, and as jerkily as always,the basket with its precious load camedropping by quick inches into full view,where it swung from side to side, waitingto be drawn in. And as it swung, Big Tomcaught the movement of it, faced round,and stood staring, seeing the books, butnot comprehending just yet how they came

to be outside his window, or for whomthey were intended. And Johnnie, his facedistorted by an agony of anxiety, kept hiseyes on Barber.

"Ha-a-a-a!" Cis broke in, scornfully."He's been asking old Grandpa questions,Johnnie! He's been spying on you, too! Heought to make a fine detective! All he doesis spy!"

It was this which told Barber that thebooks belonged in his flat, and to Johnnie."So-o-o-o!" he roared triumphantly, andgrabbed the four strings. But now hisanger was toward Mrs. Kukor.

His jerk at the basket had told hersomething: that all was not right downbelow. And the next moment she was

pulling hard at the strings, direamazement, and alarm, and dismay in herevery jerk.

Big Tom, holding firmly to the basket,leaned out to call. "Hey, there!" he saidangrily.

"Vot?"

"I say, what y' sendin' books downhere for?"

An exclamation—in that strange tonguewhich she spoke—smothered andindistinct, but fervent! Then more jerks.

"Oh, yes!" called out Cis. "Now abuseher! Insult that poor little thing! She's onlya woman!"

Barber had no time to answer this. Hewas pulling at the strings, too, trying tobreak them. "Let go up there!" he shouted.

"It wass my basket!"

With a curse, "I don't care whosebasket it is! Let go!" he ordered, and gavesuch a wrench at the strings that all parted,suddenly, and the basket was his. "Y' thinky're pretty smart, don't y'?" he demanded,head out of the window again; "helpin' thiskid t' neglect his work!"

"I pay you always, Mister Barber," sheanswered, "if so he makes his work odernot!"

"Yes, and he knows it, Mrs. Kukor!"Cis called out.

"Don't you ever set foot in this here flatagain!" ordered Big Tom.

"That's right!" retorted Cis, as fearlessas ever. "Drive her away!—the best friendwe've ever had!"

"You been hidin' these here books forhim!" Barber went on, his head still out ofthe window, so that much of what Cis wassaying was lost upon him.

"Ja! Ja! Ja! Ja!"

"Don't y' yaw me!"

But Mrs. Kukor's window had gonedown.

Now every other window in theneighborhood was up, though the dwellers

round about were hidden from sight.However, they launched at him a chorus ofhisses.

"A-a-a-a!" triumphed Cis. "You seewhat people think of you? Good! Good!Why don't you go out and get hold ofthem? why don't you throw them around?—Oh, you're safe in here, with thechildren!"

Still Barber did not notice her. Leaningfarther out across the window sill, heshook a fist into space. "Bah!" he shouted."Ain't one o' y' dares t' show y'r face! Jus'y' let me see who's hissin', and I'll give y'what for! Geese hiss, and snakes! Comeand do y'r hissin' where I can look at y'!"

More hisses—and cat calls, yowls,

meows, and a spirited spitting; raucouslaughter, too, and a mingling of voices inseveral tongues.

"Wops!" cried Big Tom again. "Wops,and Kikes, and Micks! Not a decentAmerican in the whole lot—you low-down bunch o' foreigners!"

Cis laughed again. She was like onepossessed. It was as if she did not carewhat he did to her, nor what she said tohim; as if she were taunting him anddaring him—even encouraging him—to domore. "Decent Americans!" she repeated,as he closed the window and came towardher, the books in his hands. "Do you thinkyou're a decent American? But they'reforeigners! Ha! And you call them names!But they don't treat children the way

you've always treated us! You'd better callyourself names for a change!"

"And I s'pose that dude left these!"Barber had halted at the table. Now heturned to Johnnie, looking directly at himfor the first time. The next moment, anexpression of mingled astonishment andrage changed and shadowed his dark face,as he glared at the uniform, the leggings,the brown shoes. Next, "Where did y' gitthem?" he demanded, almost choking. Heleveled a finger.

Johnnie swallowed, shifting from footto foot. To his lips had sprung thestrangest words, "There's people that'regivin' these suits away—to all the kids."(The kind of an explanation that he wouldhave made promptly, and as boldly as

possible, in the days before he knewFather Pat and Mr. Perkins.) But he didnot speak the falsehood; he evenwondered how it had come into his mind;and he asked himself what Mr. Roosevelt,for instance, would think of him if he wereto tell such a lie. For a scout istrustworthy.

Once more Cis broke in, her voice highand shrill. "Oh, now he's got somethingelse to worry about! A second ago he wasmad because he found out you had a fewbooks! But here you've got a decent pairof shoes to your feet—for once in yourlife! and a decent suit of clothes to yourback—so that you look like a human beinginstead of the rag bag! And you've got thefirst hat you've had since you were five

years old!"

The hat was lying on the floor—to oneside, where it had fallen from Johnnie'shead when Barber had thrown the boy off.Now the latter went to pick it up, and holdit at his side. Then, standing straight, hissober eyes on the longshoreman, hewaited.

"Where'd y' git 'em?" questionedBarber. He slammed the books on thetable.

The big-girl hands workedconvulsively with the hat for a moment.Then, "The suit was—was give t' me,"Johnnie faltered.

"Gi-i-ive?" echoed Big Tom, as if this

were his first knowledge of a great andheinous crime.

"Think of it!" shrilled Cis. "Johnnie'sgot a friend that's willing to spend a fewdollars on him! Isn't that a shame!"

Barber did not look at her; did notseem to know that she was talking. "Whogive it?" he persisted.

"It—it was One-Eye," said Johnnie.

" O h , was it!" exclaimed thelongshoreman. His tone implied that in allgood time he would reckon with theWesterner.

"Yes, One-Eye!" cried Cis. "So youcan take your temper out on him! Only youbetter look out! One-Eye's a man—not just

a kid! And cowboys carry pistols, too! Soyou better think twice before you go athim! You'll be safer to stick to abusingchildren!—Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

While he was waiting for silence,Barber fell to examining the scoutuniform, article by article—the hat, thecoat, the trousers, the leggings, the shoes,his look full of disgust, and fairlywithering. When he was done, he sankleisurely into the morris chair, a big handon each knee, and the flat back of his headrested against the old soiled cushion. Andnow he concentrated on Johnnie'scountenance. "So Mister One-Eye fitted y'out," he resumed, and his mouth lifted atone corner, showing a brown, fangliketooth worn by his pipe stem.

"Y—yes, sir," replied Johnnie.

"Oh, be sure to sir him!" mocked Cis."He deserves politeness!"

Big Tom showed all of his teeth. Butnot at what Cis had been saying; it wasevident that some new and pleasantthought had occurred to him. He noddedhis head over it. "I thought maybe it wasthat dude again," he remarked cheerfully."But it was One-Eye fitted y' out! Hm!And when I'm off at work, instead o' doin'what y' ought t', y' fix y'rself up, don't y'?—soldier boy stuff!"

"I—I do my work in these," pleadedJohnnie. "I do! Honest! See how nice theplace is! I don't shirk nothin'! 'Cause y'see, a scout, he——"

Big Tom let him get no further. "Takethem rags off!" he commanded. The lasttrace of that smile was gone. The bulgingeyes looked out through slits. Thatunderlip was thrust forward wrathfully.

"Take your suit off, Johnnie,"counseled Cis. "Don't you see he hates tohave you look nice?"

"My—my scout suit!" faltered the boy.The light in those peering, bloodshot eyestold him that the longshoreman wouldmistreat that beloved uniform; and Johnniewanted to gain time. Something, or someone, might interrupt, and thus stave off—what?

Barber straightened. "Take—it—off,"he said quietly, but with heat; and added,

"Before I tear it off."

Johnnie proceeded to carry out theorder. He put the beautiful olive-drab haton the table. Next he unfastened the neat,webbed belt, and unlaced the soldierlyleggings. The emblemed coat came offcarefully. The khaki shirt followed. Lastof all, having slipped his feet out of thewonderful shoes, he pulled off thetrousers, and stood, a pathetic little figure,in an old undershirt of Grandpa's, thesleeves of which he had shortened, and apair of Grandpa's underdrawers, similarlycut—to knee length.

Barber stared at the underclothes."Who said y' could wear my old man'sthings?" he asked.

"N—nobody."

"They're too small for Grandpa,"declared Cis, stoutly. "Johnnie might aswell wear them. If he didn't, I'd throwthem away, or use them for dishcloths."

Barber did not notice the girl."Nobody," he repeated. "But y' go aheadand use the scissors on 'em!"

"Your shirts 're so big," remindedJohnnie; "and the pants, too. And if I didn'twear nothin', why, I'd dirty the newuniform, wearin' it next my skin, and so——"

"Fold that truck up!" came the nextcommand.

Under Grandpa's old, torn undershirt,

Johnnie's heart began to beat so hard thathe could hear it. But quietly and dutifullyhe folded each dear article, and placedall, one upon another, neatly, the hattopping the pile. Finished, he stoodwaiting, and his whole body trembledwith a chill that was not from cold or fear,but from apprehension. Oh, what wasabout to happen to his treasured uniform?

Cis was silent now, refraining fromangering Big Tom at a time when it waspossible for him to vent his rage onJohnnie's belongings. But she watched himbreathlessly as he rose and went to thetable, and reached to take the books.

"So y' keep 'em upstairs?" he said toJohnnie.

"Yes, sir,"—it was a whisper.

"She's accommodatin', ain't she, the oldlady?"

"She—she—yes."

"A-a-ah!" The longshoreman placedthe books atop the olive-drab hat, crushingit flat with their weight.

"Oh! Oh, don't hurt 'em!" pleadedJohnnie. He put out a hand.

"Oh, I won't hurt 'em," answered BigTom. But his tone was far from reassuring.

"I won't ever read 'em 'cept nights,"promised the boy. "Honest, MisterBarber! And y' know y' like me t' readgood. When—when Mister Maloney was

here, why, y' liked it. And y' can lock 'emall away in the bedroom if y' don't b'lieveme!"

Big Tom leered down at him. "Oh, I'lllock 'em up, all right," he said. "I'll do itup so brown that there won't be no moredanger o' this scout business 'round theplace, and no more readin'." With that, hetook up both the books and the suit andturned.

At the same moment Cis and Johnnieunderstood what was impending—thesame terrible moment; and they cried outtogether, the one in renewed anger, theother in mortal pain:

"NO!"

For Barber had turned—to the stove.

Johnnie rushed to the longshoremanand again clung to him, weeping, pleading,promising, asking to be whipped—oh,anything but that his treasures bedestroyed. And at the table, Cis wept, too,and threatened, calling for help, striving todivert Big Tom from his purpose, trying tolash him into a rage against herself.

"Oh, Mister Barber, y' wouldn't!"Johnnie cried. "They're ev'rything I got inthe world! And I love 'em so! Oh, I'll stayforever with y' if y' won't hurt 'em! I'llwork so hard, and be so good——!"

Barber uncovered the fire—that firewhich Johnnie had built for the baking ofBig Tom's pudding.

"The medal!" Cis shouted, straining atthe rope which bound her. "Don't let himburn that! Johnnie! Johnnie!"

Johnnie caught at the coat. "In apocket!" he explained. "My father's! Lookfor it! Let me!"

"A—what?" inquired Big Tom, liftingbooks and uniform out of the boy's reach."What're y' talkin' about?"

"Don't you dare burn it!" Cis stormed."They'll arrest you! See if they don't! Yougive it to Johnnie! If you don't, I'll tell thepolice! I will! I will!"

"Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" laughed Barber.Holding everything under one arm, he tookoff a second stove lid, as well as the hour-

glass-shaped support between the twofront lids. The whole of the firebox wasuncovered. It was a mass of coals. As thelongshoreman hung over the fire, his darkface was lit by it. And now lifted in ahorrid smile!

Cis's voice rose again. Nothing couldsave Johnnie's books and suit: there wasno need to keep silent. "He's a devil!" shecried. "He isn't a man at all! Look! He'senjoying himself! He's grinning! Oh,Johnnie, look at his face!"

Johnnie fell back. And into his ownface, twisted and wet with grief, therecame an expression of a terrible wonder—the wonder that Big Tom, or any one,could be so cruel, so heartless, socontemptible. And there flashed into his

mind something he had once heard FatherPat say: "There's not so many grown-uppeople in the world; there's plenty ofgrown-up bodies, but the minds at the topo' them, they're children's minds!" And,oh, how true it was! For Barber was likethat—had a mind younger than Johnnie'sown—the boy knew it then. Further, it wasas mean and cruel and little as the mindsof those urchins who shouted "oldclothes," and "girl's hair." Yes, Barberhad a man's body, but the brain of anignorant, wicked boy!

"Look at my face all y' want t'!" he wassaying now. "But there's one thing sure:after this we'll know who's boss 'roundhere!"

"This is the only place you can boss!"

retorted Cis, turning wild, defiant eyesupon him. "A crippled old man, and acouple of young folks! But you bet youmind Furman!"

"A-a-a-a-a-ah!"

The cry was wrung from Johnnie. Forwith another loud laugh, Big Tom haddropped the scout hat upon the flames.

"Coward!" charged the girl, againwrithing in her ropes. "Low, meancoward!"

It was beyond Johnnie's strength towatch what was happening. He threw upan arm to shut out the sight of Big Tom,and faced the other way. "Oh, don't!" hemoaned weakly. "Oh, don't! Don't!" A

strange, unpleasant odor was filling theroom. He guessed that was the hat. Smokecame wafting his way next—a wholecloud of it—and drifted ceilingward. "Oh,Cis! Cis!" he moaned again.

Some one was in the hall—Mrs.Kukor, for the steps rocked. "Chonnie?"she called now. "Chonnie! Talksometink!"

It was Big Tom who talked. "Oh, yougo home, y' busybody!" he answered.

"Mrs. Kukor! Mrs. Kukor! He's burningeverything of Johnnie's!" shouted Cis.

"Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" burst out Barber,as if this had delighted him. Into the fire hethrust the khaki breeches and the coat,

poking them down upon the coals with ahand which was too horny to be scorchedby the fire.

"The medal!" mourned the girl. "Oh, Ihope they'll punish you for that! Andthere's something you don't know, but it'sthe truth, and it'll mean a lot that you won'tlike!"

"Ye-e-e-eah?" Barber was waiting forthe breeches and coat to burn.

"Yes! Johnnie's rich! He's got money!Lots of it! You'll see! You won't have somuch to say to-morrow!"

Big Tom laughed. "T'morrow," he saidgood-humoredly, "I'm goin' t' have y'rbrain examined." The room was half full

of smoke now; he fell to coughing, andwent over to pull down the upper half ofthe window. When he came back he thrustthe leggings into the stove.

Peering round through the smoke,Johnnie saw that. "Oh!" he whispered."Oh!" He went forward a few steps,weakly; then all his strength seemedsuddenly to go out of him, and he droppedto his knees beside a wall, brushing itwith his hands as he went down. There hestayed, his forehead pressed against hisknuckles.

Once more Cis began to weep, in pityfor his suffering. "Oh, don't you feel sobad!" she pleaded. "Just try to rememberthat we're going away, Johnnie! Mr.Perkins'll take us both, and Big Tom'll

never see us again! And I love you,Johnnie, and so does Mrs. Kukor, andFather Pat, and One-Eye, and Mr.Perkins!"

"I know!" groaned the boy. "I—I'll tryt' think."

"Mister Perkins!" scoffed thelongshoreman. "Who cares about that tonyguy? If he ever pokes his head into this flatagain, I'll stick him into the stove!" Theshirt followed the leggings, after which,with a dull clanking of the stove lids, hecovered the firebox.

"But my jacket's burnin'," Johnniesobbed. "My nice jacket! And the medal!Oh, the beautiful medal!"

"He'll pay for it!" vowed Cis. "You'llsee! I know one person that'll make himpay!—for hitting me, and tying me up, andburning your things! Just you wait,Johnnie! It'll all come out right! This isn'tover yet! No, it isn't!"

Barber was laughing again. The top ofthe stove was a reddening black. Upon itnow he threw all the books; whereuponlittle threads of smoke began to ascend—white smoke, piercing the darker smoke ofthe burning hat and uniform.

As the books struck the stove, Johnniehad once more turned his head to look,and, "Oh, my Robinson Crusoe!" he burstout now. "Oh, Aladdin! And dearGalahad!" This was more than thedestruction of stories: this was the

perishing of friends.

"Never mind, dear Johnnie! Nevermind!" The voice of the comforter wasstrong and clear.

Once more a stove lid rattled. Big Tomwas putting the first book upon the fire. Itwas the beloved Last of the Mohicans.Johnnie's tearful eyes knew it by thebrown binding. He groaned. "Oh, it'sUncas!" he told Cis. "Oh, my story! I'llnever read y' again!"

"He'll wish a hundred times he'd neverdone it!" declared Cis. "It'll cost himsomething, I can tell you! He'll pay forthem all, over and over!"

"Is that so?" Barber was amused. Now

he threw the other books after the first.After that, he lounged to and fro, waitingtill it was certain that even no part of thevolumes would fail to be consumed. As hesauntered, he found his sack of smokingtobacco and refilled that pipe which hadbeen the innocent cause of all Johnnie'smisfortune.

With Big Tom away from the stove, theboy rose and crossed the room. They wereturning into ashes, all his books and theother things, and he wanted one last lookat them before they were wholly gone. Hepicked up the poker, lifted a lid, and gazeddown.

"Don't y' touch anythin'!" warned thelongshoreman, fussing with the matches ashe strolled.

"I won't." Layers of curling blackleaves were lying uppermost in the stove.And they were moving, as if they wereliving and suffering things. On some of theleaves Johnnie could see lettering. But as,at the sight, his tears burst forth again, theforce of his breath upon those blisteredpages broke them, and they crumbled.

He covered the stove and stumbledaway. An odd thought was in his torturedbrain: What Scout Law of the Twelvecovered the burning of a uniform? of thebooks that all scouts should love?"Trustworthy," he repeated aloud; "loyal,helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient——"

"Oh, shut up!" ordered Barber.

"Yes, shut up, Johnnie," advised Cis."Because those are all things this mandoesn't know about—he's never heard,even, of anybody's being kind, orfriendly." Then as there came from thestove a sudden snapping and blowing, sheturned her face toward the longshoreman,and it was strangely unlike her face, sochanged was it by hate. "Oh, you vile, vilething!" she cried.

"Now I guess that'll about do," saidBarber. "Understand me. I've heardenough."

"Nothing'll do," she returned firmly."You won't ever stop my talking again! Isha'n't ever obey you again—no, aboutanything! And there are some things I'mgoing to tell about you. You think I don't

know them—or that I've forgot. But mymother told me what she knew about you,and I remember it all. And to-morrow I'mgoing to hunt a policeman, and——"

In one long step he was beside her."You—you—you!" he raged, choking. Hisface was blue, and working horribly, andthere was fear in the bulging eyes."What're y' talkin' about? Have y' goneclean crazy?" With a half-bend, he caughtup a length of the clothesline from thefloor and doubled it. "You open yourmouth to anybody," he told her, fiercely,"and I'll break ev'ry bone in y'r body!"

"Cis!" Johnnie rushed to her, clung toher bound arms, and warned her tosilence.

But she would not be still. She wastriumphant, seeing how afraid he was ofher threat. She straightened, moving thetable as she moved, and broke into a shoutof defiance. "Break my bones!" shechallenged. "Kill me, if you want to! ButI'm going to tell—tell—TELL!"

"I will kill y'!" he vowed, and doubledthe rope into a short, four-ply whip.

Johnnie forgot everything then but Cis'sdanger. Once more he came to put himself,thinly clad though he was now, betweenher and Big Tom. "Oh, don't y' see she'shalf crazy?" he cried to the latter. "Shedon't know what she's sayin'! Oh, MisterBarber! Mister Barber!"

"They'll arrest him! They'll send him to

jail! To the chair!" Cis was shouting,almost joyously, remembering only thatnow she was torturing their tormentor."But I'll tell! I'll tell!"

Barber did not answer her. "Git out o'my way!" he growled to Johnnie. "'R I'lllick you, too!"

Facing Barber, Johnnie leaned backagainst Cis, half covering her body withhis own. "Lick me," he begged. "Oh, butdon't touch her!"

Barber bared his teeth, turning a lookof hate upon the boy. "You!" he cried, andcursed. "I'll lick y', all right! I'll lick y'so's it'll be a week before y' leave y'rbed!" Taking a firmer hold of the loopedstrands, he swung them above his head;

then with a deep breath, and with all thepower of his right arm, brought themdown.

A shriek—from Cis.

But Barber had not struck her. Theblow had reached only the upraised faceand breast of the boy, driving him againstCis with terrible force. Even in his agonyJohnnie knew that, as he was pressingagainst her, she might be inadvertentlystruck as Big Tom struck at him; so,staggering sidewise, his arms held,crossed, above his head to keep the ropefrom his eyes, he got away from the tableand the bound girl. But as he went hecontinued to clutch with all of his fingersat the rope which was now descendingwith awful regularity.

Shrieking, Cis covered her eyes bylaying her head upon the table; and nowshe tried to cover one ear, then the other,to shut out the sound of the blows. And toher screams was added the voice of oldGrandpa, whimpering in the bedroom,while he beat feebly at the door.

Johnnie, however, made no sound.Each stinging blow of the rope whipknocked the breath out of him, sending himfarther and farther away from the table.Sometimes he reeled, sometimes he spun,so that as Barber drove him with lash afterlash, he went as if performing a sort ofgrotesque dance. And all the while hisface was purpling in two long stripeswhere had fallen that first cruel scourge.

With each swing of the strands Barber

gasped out a word: "There!—Now!—Take!—Lazy!—Sneak!" Sweat drippedfrom among the hairs on his face. Thatwhite spot came and went in his left eyelike an evil light.

Some one fell to pounding upon thehall door, and some one else upon adividing wall. Then, with a crash, a bottlecame hurtling through a pane of thewindow.

But Big Tom was himself half crazedby now, and seemed not to hear. "I'll learny'!" he shouted, and rained blow afterblow—till the small figure, those oldundergarments almost in rags as the ropestrands cut into his back, could stand up tono more punishment. Of a sudden, with ananguished sigh, the boy half pivoted, and a

score of red bands showing angrily uponhis bare, thin arms, gave a lurch, bentdouble, and went down, his limp body in ahalf circle, so that his yellow headtouched his knees.

A hoarse shriek of terror and grieffrom Cis; she tried to rise, and dragged thetable part way across the kitchen, herchair with it, striving to get to Johnnie."Oh, you've killed him!" she cried."You've killed him!"

Outside in the hall, the stairs creakedto the steps of several. Voices called.Doors opened and shut. Windows went upand down. From top to bottom the oldbuilding was astir.

Big Tom strode to the door and

listened. Gradually, as quiet prevailed inthe Barber flat, the other flats fell intosilence, while the watchers in the hallstole away. Presently the longshoremangave a chuckle. Nobody cared to interferewith him. He came sauntering back toJohnnie.

The boy was lying prone now, his eyesshut, his breast heaving. As Big Tomstood over him, his whole little raggedfigure shivered, and he sucked in hisbreath through his clenched teeth.

"Ha-a-a!" laughed Barber. "So y' willstick in y'r nose! Well, I'll learn y'!"Catching Johnnie up in one big hand, hecarried him to the table and laid him overits edge, arms outstretched, the yellowhead between them, and the thin legs

hanging down toward the floor. Thentaking up that length of rope with which hehad beaten the boy, he tied the spent bodybeside that of the well-nigh fainting girl.

"Now there the two o' y'll stay tillmornin'," he announced when he wasdone. "Then maybe y' won't be so freshabout runnin' this place."

The sun was now below the tops of thehouses to the west, and the kitchen wasbeginning to darken. Big Tom got downthe lamp, lighted it, and carried it to thebedroom. "All right, Pa," he saidcheerfully, "I'm comin' t' put y' t' bed now.Y' want y'r milk first, don't y'? Well,Tommie'll git it for y'." He returned to thecupboard for the milk bottle, gave asmiling look at the two heads leaned on

the table, and disappeared to bed.

Presently some one tapped timidly onthe hall door; but as there was no reply,the caller went softly away. A bit later, agruff voice was heard on the landing,speaking inquiringly, and there werewhispered answers. But the gruff voicedied away on the stairs, along with heavyfootsteps. Then only the distant rumble ofthe Elevated Railroad could be heardoccasionally, or the far, seaward whistleof some steamer, or the scrape and screakof a street-car.

And so night settled upon the flat.

A

CHAPTER XXXI

THE VISION

S life came back into his body,Johnnie's first thought was a gratefulone: how cool to his cheek was the

old, crackled oilcloth on the table if herested that cheek a moment, now here,now there! His second thought, too, wasone of thankfulness: How good it was tobe lying there so quietly after thoserending blows which had driven thebreath out of his lungs!

He would have liked to tug at his hair;but as his hands were tied fast together,

and held a little way beyond where lay hishead, being secured almost immovably bya length of clothesline which came up tothem from around a farther leg of the table,he could not comfort himself with his old,odd habit.

Presently, "Cis!" he whispered. "Cis!"

A moan, feeble and pitiful, like thecomplaint of a hurt baby.

It was pitch dark in the kitchen, andthough he turned his look her way, hecould not see her. Yet all at once he knewthat this was not the wild, fighting, boldCis, with the strange, changed face, whohad stormed at the longshoreman; this wasagain the Cis he knew, gentle, wistful,leaning on him, wanting his affection and

sympathy. "Aw, Cis!" he murmuredfondly.

"Oh, Johnnie, I want a drink! I'mthirsty!"

He pulled at his hands. But Big Tomhad done his tying well, and Johnnie couldnot even loosen one of them. "I wish Icould bring you some water," Heanswered. "But my legs 're roped down onthis side, and he's got my hands 'way overmy head on the other, so the most I coulddo would be t' fall sideways off the table,and that wouldn't help y' one bit."

"Oh!" she mourned. "Oh!"

"Can't you git loose?" he asked.

"No! I'm tied just as tight!"

Then for a little they were quiet, whileJohnnie tried to study out a way of helpingher. But he failed. And soon she began tofret, and move impatiently, now sobbingsoftly, as if to herself, again only sighing.

He strove to soothe her. "It won't belong till mornin'," he declared. "If y' couldmake b'lieve y' was in bed, and countsheep——"

"But the ropes hurt me!" shecomplained. "I want them off! They hurtme awfully, and I feel sick!"

"Well," he proposed, "let's pretend y'reso sick y' need a nurse, and——"

But she would not wait for the rest ofhis plan. "Oh, that kind of thinking won't

help me!" she protested. "And I don't wantanybody but my mother!" Then sobbingaloud, "Oh, I want my mother! I want mymother!"

The cry smote his heart, bringing thetears that had not come when Barber wasbeating him. Never before, in all the yearshe had known her, had she cried out thislonging. Saying scarcely anything of thatmother who was gone, leaving her solonely, so bereft, always she herself hadbeen the little mother of the flat.

"Course y' do!" he whispered, gulping."Course y' do!"

"If she'd only come back to me now!"she went on. "And put her arms around meagain!"

"Don't, Cis!" he pleaded tenderly. "Oh,please don't! Ain't y' got me? That's prettynice, ain't it? 'Cause we're t'gether. Here Iam, Cis! Right in reach, almost. Close by!Don't cry!"

But she was not listening. "Oh, Mother,why did you go and leave me?" she wept."Oh, Mother, I want you so much!"

Johnnie began to argue with her,gently: "But, Cis, think how MisterPerkins likes y'! My! And he wants t'marry y'! And y'll have such a nice place t'live in. Oh, things'll be fine!"

That helped a little; but soon, "I wantto lie down!" she complained. "Oh,Johnnie, it hurts to sit like this all the time!Can't you reach me? Oh, try to untie me!"

"Cis, I can't," he protested, once more."But it'll be mornin' before y' know it!W'y, it's awful late in the night right now! Ibetcher it's twelve—almost. So let's playa game, and the time'll pass so quick!"

"I can't wait till morning for a drink!"she cried. "I'm so thirsty! And I want to liedown!"

"Now," he started off cheerily, "—now, we'll play the way we used t' beforey' got grown-up. Remember all the nicethings we used t' do? Callin' on the Queen,and dancin' parties, and——"

"My back hurts! Awful!"

"Let's try t' think jus' o' all our nicefriends," he coaxed. "Mister Perkins, and

One-Eye, and Mrs. Kukor, and——"

"Let's call to Mrs. Kukor!" shepleaded. "Let's try to make her hear!"

"He'll whip us again if we do!" Johnniecautioned. "And, Cis, I don't think I couldstand any more whippin'. Oh, don't holler,Cis. Let's rest—jus' rest!" A weaknesscame over him suddenly, and he could notgo on.

But she was sobbing again. "I'mthirsty!" she lamented. "I'm thirsty! I'mthirsty! I'm thirsty!"

Presently he roused himself, andremembered his faithful Buckle. Hesummoned the latter now, speaking to himin that throaty, important voice which he

used when issuing commands. "MisterBuckle," he said, "bring the young lady alemon soda jus' chock-full o' ice."

"No! No!" Cis broke in petulantly. "Oh,that makes it all the harder to bear!—Oh,where's Mrs. Kukor? She knowssomething's wrong! Why hasn't she helpedus?" She fell to weeping irritably.

At his wits' end, Johnnie racked hisbrain for something to tell her—somethingwhich might take her thoughts from hermisery. But his own misery was nowgreat, for the clothesline was cutting intohis wrists and ankles; while across thefront of his body, the edge of the table waspressing into him like the blade of a dullknife. "But I'll stand it," he promisedhimself. "And I'll try t' be cheerful, like

the Handbook says."

However, there was no immediateneed for his cheerfulness, for Cis hadquieted. A few moments, and he heard herdeep breathing. He smiled through thedark at her, happy to think that sleep hadcome to help her over the long night hours.As for himself, he could not sleep, weakas he was. His heart was sore because ofwhat he had lost—his new, wonderfuluniform, and all his dear, dear books.What were all these now? Just a bit ofgray dust in the cooling stove! Gone! Goneforever!

Ah, but were they! The suit was. Yes,he would not be able ever again to wearthat—not actually. But the books—? Theywere also destroyed, as completely as the

khaki uniform. And yet—had Big Tomreally done to them what he wanted to do?Had he wiped them out?

No!

And as Johnnie answered himself thus,he realized the truth of a certain statementwhich Father Pat had once made to him:"The only possessions in this world thatcan't be taken away from ye, lad dear, 'rethe thoughts, the ideas, the knowledge thatye've got in yer brain." And along with hissudden understanding of this there came asense of joyous wonder, and a feeling ofutter triumph. His precious volumes wereburned. True enough. Their covers, theirpictures, their good-smelling leaves, thesewere ashes. But—what was in each bookhad not been wiped out! No! The

longshoreman had not been able to robJohnnie of the thoughts, the ideas, theknowledge which had been tied into thosebooks with the printed letter!

"I got 'em yet, all the stories!" he criedto himself. "The 'stronomy, too! And thethings in the Handbook! They're all in mybrain!"

And the people of his books! Theywere not destroyed at all! Fire had notwiped them out! They were just as aliveas ever! As he lay, stretched over the tableedge, they took shape for him; and out ofthe black corners of the room, from behindthe cupboard, the stove, and the chairs,they came trooping to him—Aladdin, theSultan, the Princess Buddir al Buddoor,Jim Hawkins, Uncas, King Arthur, Long

John Silver, Robinson Crusoe, Lincoln,Heywood, Elaine, Galahad, Friday, Alice,Sir Kay!

"Oh!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "Oh,gee, all my friends!" Oh, yes, the people instories did live on and on, just as FatherPat had said; were immortal because theylived in the minds of all who loved them!

His eyes were shut. But he smiled atthe group about him. "He didn't hurt y'!" hesaid happily—but whispering as before,lest he disturb Cis. "Say! He didn't hurt y'a teeny-weeny bit!"

Pressing eagerly round him, smilingback at him fondly, those book peoplewhom he loved best replied proudly:"Course he didn't! Shucks! We don't

bother 'bout him!"

"Oh, fine! Fine!" answered Johnnie.

Next, he understood in a flash why itwas that Father Pat could feel so satisfiedabout Edith Cavell. That general (whosename was like a hiss) could shoot down abrave woman, and hide her body away inthe ground, but he could not destroy her!No! not with all his power of men andguns! She would live on and on, just asthese dear ones of his lived on! And thefact was, her executioner had only helpedin making her live!

Yes, and here she was, right now,standing in white beside scarlet-cladGalahad! In the darkness her nurse's dressglimmered. "I'm better 'cause I know you,"

Johnnie said to her. His tied right handclosed as if on the hand of another, and hebent his head on the oilcloth, as if before aFigure. "Oh, thank y' for comin'!"

Then came another wonderful thought:what difference did it make—really—whether he was on his back on his squareof old mattress, or here on his face acrossthe table if he wished to think somesplendid adventure with all these friends?"Not a bit o' difference!" he declared."Not a bit!" Big Tom had been able to tiefast his feet and hands; but in spite of thatJohnnie could go wherever he pleased!

His wound-darkened, tear-stained facelit with that old, radiant smile. "Big Tomcan't tie my thinks!" he boasted. He wasout of his body now, and up on his feet,

looking into the faces of all those bookfriends. "So let's take a ship—your ship,Jim Hawkins! Ye-e-eh, let's take theHispaniola, and sail, and sail! Where?The 'Cific Ocean? 'R t' Cathay? 'Rwhere?" Then he knew! "Say! we'll take a'stronomy trip!" he announced.

In one swift moment how gloriouslyarranged it all was! Halfway across thekitchen floor, here were wonderful marblesteps—steps guarded on either side by astone lion! The steps led up to a terracethat was rather startlingly like Father Pat'sdescription of the terrace below the greatNew York Public Library; yet it was notthe Library terrace, since there was nobuilding at the farther side of it. No, thiswide, granite-floored space was nothing

less than a grand wharf.

Up to it Johnnie bounded in his brownshoes—and a new think-uniform fully ashandsome as the one Big Tom had thrustinto the stove. On the step next to the topone, some one was waiting—a persondressed in work-clothes, with big, soiledhands, and an unshaven face. Thisindividual seemed to know that he was outof place and looking his worst, for hismanner was apologetic, and downcast. Heimplored Johnnie with sad eyes.

It was Big Tom!

How beautiful the terrace wharf was,with its balustrades, and its fountains, andits giant vases, these last holding flowerswhich were as large as trees! And how

deliciously cool was the breeze that sweptagainst Johnnie's face from the vast airocean stretching across the roofs! At thevery center of the terrace was the place ofhonor. There Johnnie took his stand.

He glanced round at the longshoreman."No, we don't want y' on this trip," he saidfirmly. He felt in a pocket for a five-centpiece, found it, and tossed it to Barber."Go and buy y'rself a lemon soda," hebade kindly. "Hurry and git away, 'causesome folks is comin'."

Poor Barber! In spite of all he haddone, it was almost pitiful to observe howdisappointed he was at this order, for heyearned to be included in the approaching,and thrilling, adventure. He got to a knee,holding out both hands. "Johnnie," he said,

"I'll work! I'll do the loadin' andunloadin'!" (The cargo hook was round histhick neck.)

"Nope," answered Johnnie, carelessly."Don't need y'. Got Aladdin's slaves." Hewaved a hand, motioning the suppliant off.

Below Big Tom scores of Johnnie'sfriends were waiting—his book friends,his real friends, and histhink-acquaintances. Ignoring thelongshoreman, Johnnie called down tothem. "Come on up!" he invited. "Comeahead! The wind's fine! The ship, she'sheadin' this way!"

Music sounded, for just that secondJohnnie had ordered a band. With themusic there was plenty of dandy drumming

—Rumpety! rumpety! rump! rump! rump!

Then, ushered by Buckle, the guestsbegan to stream up the steps. One-Eye wasfirst, attended by all of his fellowcowboys; and there was some yip-yipping, and ki-eying, in true Westernfashion, Johnnie saluting each befurredhorseman in perfect scout style. On theheels of all these came Long John Silver,stumping the granite with his wooden leg,and bidding his fellow buccaneers walklively. Of course Jim Hawkins was of thisparty, carrying the pieces-of-eight parrotin one hand and leading Boof with theother.

David and Goliath were the next, andeach was so pleasant to the other that noone would have guessed they had ever

waged a fight. The two, like all who hadgone by before, gave Barber a witheringlook as they passed the drooping figure,after which Mr. Buckle, acting as a sort ofGrand Introducer, planted himselfsquarely in front of Big Tom, turning uponhim that gorgeous red-plush back, andwholly cutting off his view.

"Glad t' see y'!—It's fine y' couldcome!—How-d'y'-do!" Johnnie's handwent from side to hat brim like a piston.

Another parrot! This was Crusoe's,borne by the Islander's servant, Friday,who strode in the wake of his masteralong with any number of man-eatingsavages, all, however, under perfectcontrol. And on the heels of these, havingjust alighted from mammoth, armored and

howdahed elephants, advanced Aladdin,escorting his Princess and her father, theSultan, and accompanied by fully ahundred slaves, all fairly groaning undertrays of pearls and rubies, diamonds andemeralds. The slaves and the savagesmingled with one another in the friendliestfashion; and as Uncas and his painted andfeathered braves now appeared, yellingtheir war cry and swinging theirtomahawks, there was, on hand, asJohnnie remarked to Mr. Buckle, quite anassortment of kitchen and other help forthe voyage.

"But y're the boss o' 'em all," Johnniehastened to add. "So don't y' let one o' 'emrun y'."

Of course Mr. Perkins could not be left

out of this extraordinary voyage. He camewith Cis, the latter wearing such a prettypink dress. Grandpa walked with them,looking straight and strong and happy. Thefirst two, as might have been expected,paid not the slightest attention to thelongshoreman beyond making a slightdetour in passing him. But the old veteranshook a stern head at his son.

Rumpety! rumpety! rumpety! rump!

Small wonder that the music wasblaring forth again! For here were guestsof great distinction—Mr. Carnegie(looking older than formerly), Mr.Rockefeller, Mr. Astor and Mr.Vanderbilt. There was no mistaking them,for they wore millionaire hats, soft andvelvety, and coats with fur collars. All

were strolling as leisurely and jauntily asonly true plutocrats can afford to do.

When they reached Big Tom, theyhalted; and at the same moment they turnedtheir four heads to stare at him, andshowed him their four countenances infour cold frowns. Then—they turned theirheads away, all snubbing him at once, andsauntered up the last step to the terrace,and so forward to where their young hoststood.

"Gee, he hated what y' done t' him!"exclaimed Johnnie. After shaking handswith them, he passed them on to Uncas andhis braves, the Indians receiving themwith every indication of cordiality.

Bling-ell! bling-ell! bling-ell-dee-

dee!—a fresh burst of melody.

This time the Prince and his gentlemenwere approaching, all silk-hatted, andfrock-coated, and gold-caned. His RoyalHighness led—naturally—and wasassisting dear, little Mrs. Kukor as hecame, and she was beaming up at Royalty,and talking at him with both pudgy hands,and rocking madly in her effort to keepstep.

Following on the proper salutations,the English Prince and Aladdin veryproperly got together, treating each otherlike old friends, while Johnnie facedabout to greet Father Pat, who was puffingand blowing as he made the last step, andpointing back over a shoulder to whereKing Arthur was approaching with

Guinevere, the former in royal robes, withfour kings walking before him, bearingfour golden swords; while the Queen hadfour queens ahead of her, bearing fourwhite doves. There was a choir in thismajestic train, and after the choir camefully two dozen knights whose chain mailshone in the sunlight like gold.

"Here she comes!"

Now hats waved wildly, andhandkerchiefs fluttered—as into sight, hermany rosy, silken sails filled to stiffnesswith the breeze, her scores of flagssnapping in the glorious air, and all herlovely lines showing in sharp beautyagainst a violet-blue sky, came JimHawkins's superb ship, crewless, andunguided, but moving evenly, slowly,

majestically, as if she were some livingthing!

Roses garlanded her—pink roses bythe thousands. They circled her rail like amonster wreath. They hung down from heryardarms, too, in mammoth festoons. Andher cargo—forward, it was ofwatermelons, which were arranged in ahuge heap at the prow; aft, her load wasbooks! There were books in red bindings,and books in brown and green. Here andthere on the piles of volumes a bookwould be open, showing attractiveillustrations. To judge of the size of theconsignment it was evident that not onebook had been left in that certain FifthAvenue store!

Cheers—as softly the Hispaniola came

to a stop.

"All aboard!" shouted Johnnie. "All butThomas Barber, who's goin' t' be leftbehind 'cause he was so mean!"

What a blow! The longshoreman,plainly crushed by it, sank lower on hisstep and covered his face.

But the company cared little how hefelt. Shouting gayly, chatting, smiling,waving to one another, all swarmedacross the rose-bordered rail to embark atJohnnie's bidding. Last of all stalked thehaughty Buckle—to begin passing melon.

"Ready! Let 'er go!"

Now a soul-inspiring blending of choirand instruments—just as Johnnie gave his

command, and the ship of his dreamsmoved off across the roofs of the city,with no rolling from side to side.Skillfully she steered her own way amongthe chimneys till she was lifted abovethem, all the while tossing the blue air toeither side of her prow exactly as if itwere water, so that it rose up in cloud-topped waves, and curled, and brokealong her rose-trimmed sides in crystal,from where it fell to lay behind her in along, tumbled, frothy path.

"Oh, Cis, we're sailin' the sky!"Johnnie shouted. His yellow hair wasblowing straight back from his eager,happy face as he peered forward (as agood captain should) into the limitless, butastronomer-charted, leagues ahead.

"We're floatin' in the ocean o' space!"

Here, close at hand, was a cloud,monster, dazzlingly white, and made all ofdew which was heavenly cool. Gallantlythe Hispaniola plunged into it, sending thebits of cloud from her in a milky spray, butcatching some of them upon her sides andsails, so that as she came forth into the sunagain, she seemed set with all ofAladdin's diamonds!

"On, and on, and on, and on!" Johnniecommanded. (He had no time even for aslice of watermelon!) Oh, how wonderfulto think that there was no shore aheadupon which Jim Hawkins's ship wouldneed to beach! that Johnnie and his friendscould go on sailing and sailing for as longas they chose!

"Look out for the Great Bear and theBull!"—another command for theHispaniola, for now that the ship washigher, she was passing among the stars,all as perfectly round as so many toyballoons, all marvelously luminous, andeach most accommodatingly markedacross its round, golden face (in great,black, capital letters!) with its name—MARS, JUPITER, SATURN, VENUS.

It seemed to Johnnie as if he weremeeting old friends. "Oh, Arcturus!" hehailed. "Aldebaran! Neptune!"

"Johnnie, don't bump the Moon!" criedthe Prince and his gentlemen, waving theircanes.

"Y' betcher life I won't!"

Any large body, the good ship mostconsiderately avoided. As for the smallones, which had no names on them, if shestruck one, it glanced off of her like a red-gold spark.

"Aw, gee!" cried Johnnie, easing histortured little body by a shift of his weightacross the table edge; "this is jus' fine!"

K

CHAPTER XXXII

HELP

NOCK! knock! knock! knock!

At the first knock of the four, asparrow to whom Johnnie had, for thislong while, been giving good-turn crumbs,made a scrambling get-away from thewindow sill, followed in the same instantby a neat, brown mate who was equallystartled at such a noise from somewherejust within. For dawn was only nowcoming upon the thousands of roofs thatshelter the people of the Greatest City, thesun being still far down behind a sea-

covered bulge of the world. And this wasan hour when, usually, only early birdswere abroad.

Rap! rap! rap! rap! rap! The summonswas louder, more insistent, and quiteunmistakably cross.

It roused Cis, and she lifted her head,and drew in a long, fluttering breath; butshe was too stiff and weary and sore evento realize that a visitor was at the halldoor. Once more she laid a pale, tear-stained cheek upon the table.

Bang! bang! bang! BANG!

Now she started up, understanding thathelp had come. And there was a creakingin the bedroom, where Barber was

preparing to rise, while he swore andgrumbled under his breath. Only Johnniedid not stir. Between his outstretched armshis yellow head lay as still as if it werestone. Tied as he was, after all the longnight hours his legs, held straight down,had completely lost their feeling; and hisarms were as dead as his legs.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Aw, that'll do!" cried thelongshoreman. He came slouching out ofhis room. He was fully dressed, nothaving taken off his clothes the nightbefore. For it had been his intention toleave Cis and Johnnie tied for an hour ortwo, then to get up and set them free. Now,seeing that it was morning, he first gave anervous glance at the clock, then hurriedly

dug into a pocket, fetched out his jack-knife, opened a blade, and cut the ropesholding Cis; next, and quickly, he severedthose tighter strands which bound the boy.

Another bang, followed by animperious rattling of the doorknob. Then,"Tom Barber, are ye in? If ye are, openthis second, or I'll break down yer door!"It was Father Pat's voice, lacking breath,but deep with anger.

It was plain to Big Tom that the priestknew of the trouble. "Now, who's beenrunnin' t' you?" he snarled. "Never seensuch a buildin' for tattle tales!—Here! Setup!" (This to Cis, who wavered dizzily inher chair as the longshoreman shoved herroughly against the back of it.)

"Let me in, I tell ye!" ordered theFather, "or I'll go out and find apoliceman!"

"All right! All right!"—impatiently."Wait one minute!" Now Big Tomhastened to lift Johnnie off the table andstand the boy upon his feet.

But the moment the support of Barber'shand was taken away, Johnnie collapsed,going down to the floor in a soft, littleheap, from the top of which his blue-marked face looked up sightlessly at BigTom.

Frightened, the latter lifted the boy andlaid him in the morris chair. The small,cold body, partially covered by the rags ofGrandpa's old undersuit, was so white and

limp that it seemed lifeless. Hastily thelongshoreman threw his own coat overJohnnie, after which he swept together theseveral lengths of clothesline and flungthem out of sight under the stove.

"Barber!"

The admitting of the priest could be putoff no longer. For even as he called,Father Pat had put his shoulder to thedoor, so that an old panel was bendinginward; next, he fell to kicking at thebottom rail with a stout shoe.

Barber gave a quick glance round thekitchen, then went to pull aside the bolt."Hold on!" he ordered roughly; and as heswung the door open, "Nice time t' behammerin' a man out o' his bed!"

There was another in the hall besidesthe Father—Mrs. Kukor, in her streetclothes, and wearing her best hat. Her facelooked drawn, her black eyes weary. Herhard breathing proved that she had justcome up three flights instead ofdescending one.

As Barber caught sight of her, he thrusthis big frame into the doorway, blockingit. "There she is!" he declared hotly. "Thetattler! The busybody! Hidin' books for alazy kid! Helpin' him t' waste his time!She can't come in here!"

"Stand out o' me way!" cried theFather. "I'm comin' in, and this lady withme!"

"Don't y' try t' tell me what y're goin' t'

do!" replied Big Tom. "Y' can't take therunnin' o' this flat out o' my hands—neitherone o' y'! I ain't goin' t' stand for it!"

"Ha-a-a-a!" retorted the priest. "And isthe abusin' o' two children what ye callrunnin' a flat? And we can't take that outo' yer hands, can't we? Well, God bepraised, there's police in this city, andthere's societies t' handle such hulkin'brutes as yerself, and—and—!" Wordsfailing him, he shook a warning finger inBarber's face.

Down the hall a door opened, andseveral heads appeared in it. This, as wellas the priest's words, decided Big Tom(more gossip in the house would be amistake). He stood aside and let hisvisitors enter, instantly slamming the door

at their backs. "I won't have no girl out o'this flat settin' in a park with somestranger!" he declared. "I promised her maI'd look after her!"

He got no answer. There being nomovement in the morris chair, under BigTom's coat, the Father and Mrs. Kukor hadrushed past it to Cis, for the momentseeing only her. Now they were bendingover her, and "Girl, dear! Girl, dear!"murmured the priest anxiously; and "So!so! so!" comforted the little Jewish lady.

Cis seemed not to know who wasbeside her. "He's dead!" she wept. "Andit's my fault! All my fault! O-o-o-oh!" Atrembling seized her slender body. Oncemore she swayed, then toppled forwardupon the table, all her brown hair falling

over her arms.

"Vot wass she sayink?" demanded Mrs.Kukor, frightened. Falling back to the bigchair, she sat upon one arm of it, stared inhorror at Cis for a moment, then began tocry and rock, beating her hands.

"Barber, ye've a right t' be killed forthis!" cried Father Pat. "And where's thelad? What've ye done t' him? God help yeif ye've worked him rale harm!"

Cis turned her face, and spoke again."Poor Johnnie died in the night!" shesobbed. "He couldn't talk to me! I tried!He couldn't get water! Oh, I want water!Give me a drink, Mrs. Kukor!"

Mrs. Kukor had risen as Cis talked,

and Father Pat had come to her. There washorror in the faces of both. Standing, hisback against the hall door, Barber beganto laugh at them. "Aw, bosh!" he said,disgusted. "Dead nothin'! He's in the bigchair there. Plenty o' kick in him yet, andplenty o' meanness!"

His lips moving prayerfully, the priestturned and looked down, then lifted thelongshoreman's coat. As he caught sight ofthe rope-marked face and shut eyes of theboy, "Oh, little lad, dear!" he cried, heartstricken at the sight. "Oh, what's the crazyman done t' ye? Oh, God help us!"

Together, Father Pat and Mrs. Kukorbrought out Johnnie's square of mattress,dropped it beside the morris chair, andlaid the half-conscious boy upon it. Then

kneeling beside him, one at each side, theybegan to rub the life back into his numbedlimbs. "He's breathin', girl dear," thepriest told Cis, who could not bringherself to look at Johnnie. Mrs. Kukorsaid not a word. But down the round,brown face the tears flowed steadily.

Having made a quick fire withkerosene and some kindling, Barberlounged at the stove, warming some milkfor his father, setting his own coffee toboil, having a pull at his pipe, and keepinga scornful silence. Grandpa's breakfastready, he carried it into the bedroom andfed the old man. After that, shutting thebedroom door, he helped himself to aslice of bread and some dried-applesauce. His manner said that a great fuss

was being made in the kitchen overnothing.

It was Cis who spoke next—when Mrs.Kukor, leaving Johnnie for a little, cameto bring the girl a drink, and bathe herface. "I'm never going to lie down in thisplace again, Mrs. Kukor," she declared."I'm going to leave here this morning, andI'm never coming back—never! Can youbrush my hair right now, please? BecauseI know Mr. Perkins will be here soon."

At that, Big Tom launched into asneering laugh. "Oh, is that so?" hedemanded. "Fine! I'd like t' see Perkins,all right!" His great shoulders shook, anda horrible leer distorted his hairy face.

The Father glanced up from where he

was kneeling. "Ye itch t' make trouble,don't ye?" he charged. "When ye ought t'be thankful that this young woman hasfound such a good man for a husband. I'vewatched the Perkins lad pretty close. I'vebeen t' see him, and he's called t' see me.And by ev'ry way that a man who's apriest can judge another man, I find nofault in him."

"Well, s'pose y' don't," answered BigTom. "It jus' happens that I do."

"Ye can't!" cried the other. "Not and behonest! Ye can't find fault where there isn'tfault! Why, he served in France, and himfar under age. And I'll ask ye, where wasyerself durin' the late War? Supportin' apensioned father, eh? And a girl that wasearnin' her own livin'! And a boy who's

never cost ye a cent!—Ah, don't answerme! Don't stain yer soul with anny morefalsehoods! Money's what's irkin' ye—thegirl's earnin's. They're more t' ye than herhappiness, and a good home, and a grandhusband!" Then to Johnnie, "Wee poet,won't ye wink a bright lash at the Fatherwho loves ye?—or me heart'll split in twopieces!"

Johnnie sighed, and winked two brightlashes, whereupon the priest lifted theboy's head and gave him a sip from Cis'scup of water. "Aw, a drink o' tea'll fix himall right," asserted Barber. "He ain't halfas bad off as he pretends."

"Don't talk t' me at all, Tom Barber!"commanded the priest. "For I've no temperfor it as I look at the face and shoulders o'

this lad that ye've whipped so cruel! Or atthe girl that ye've tied up this whole longnight!"

By now, Cis, wrapped in her ownquilt, was combed and in the big chair,and was being plied with milk by Mrs.Kukor. She was out of pain now, and herconcern was mostly for Johnnie. Shewatched him constantly, smiling down athim lovingly. And as he opened his eyesand looked back at her, she saw the stiffmuscles of his face twist as if in a spasm,and at the sight of that twisting wasfrightened.

"Oh, Johnnie!" she faltered. "Oh,what's the matter?"

Johnnie's lips moved. "Noth—nothin',"

he whispered back. "I—I'm jus' tryin' t'smile."

"Ah, there's a brave lad for ye!"exclaimed the Father, the tears shining inthe green eyes. "Not a whine! Not awhimper! Where'd ye find another boy,Tom Barber, that'd take yer heavy hand inthe spirit o' this one? Shure, there's not alook out o' him t' show that he's hatin' yefor what ye did t' him! Ha-a-a! It's a pearl,he is, cast under the feet o' a pig!"

"Y' can cut that out!" said thelongshoreman. Putting down his pipe, hecrossed the room to the priest.

Father Pat got to his feet, but he did notretract. "Ye old buzzard!" he stormed. "Doye dare t' lift yer hand against the servant

o' God?"

Big Tom fell back a step then, as ifremembering who the man before himwas. "Jus' the same, y' better go," hereturned. "From now on, y' better keep outo' this!"

"I'll go," answered the priest, calmly,"when I'm tossed out o' the windy—or thedoor. But I'll not go by me own choosin'.I'm not lastin' long annyhow, so ye candrop me into the court if ye like. Then thelaw will take ye out o' the way o' thesedear children."

Barber clenched and unclenched hisfists, yearning to strike, yet not daring."Go home and mind y'r own affairs," hecounseled.

"Me own affairs is exactly what I'mmindin'," retorted the Father. Then,mournfully, "Oh, if only I had me oldstrength! If me lungs wasn't as full o' holesas a sieve! I'd say, 'Tom Barber, comeahead!' And as God's me witness, I'dthrash ye within' a inch o' yer black life!"And he shook a finger before thelongshoreman's nose.

Mrs. Kukor was giving Johnnie somemilk. He whispered to her, fearing fromthe look in her dark eyes that she wasblaming herself bitterly for what hadhappened to his books. "Don't y' worry,"he pleaded; "it wasn't nobody's fault. Andif y' hadn't kept 'em upstairs long as y' did,he'd 've burned em 'fore ever I learned'em."

"Chonnie!" she gasped. Concerned forthe safety, yes, even the lives, of the twoshe loved, she had forgotten to inquire thefate of that basketful. Now she knew it!"Oy! oy! oy! oy!"

"Aw, shut up y'r oy-oy's," scolded BigTom.

Father Pat had heard Johnnie, andunderstood him. "But we'll not be carin'about anny crazy destruction," heannounced cheerfully; "for, shure, andthere's plenty more o' 'em on sale in thistown."

Johnnie stared up, trying tocomprehend the good news. "The 'xactsame ones?" he asked.

"Little book lover, I'll warrant there's athousand o' each story—if a man was t'take count."

"Oh!"

The Father knelt. "Lad, dear!" heexclaimed tenderly. "Faith, and did yethink that ye owned the only copies in theworld o' them classics?"

Now Johnnie fully realized the truth."Oh, Father Pat!" he cried, and fell tolaughing aloud in sheer joy.

"God love the lad!" breathed the priest,ready to weep with happiness at restoringthat joy. "Was there ever such another?Why, in one hour, and without spendin' apenny, I could be readin' all seven o' yer

books! Yes, yes! In that grand book templeI told ye about—the one with the steps thatlead up (oh, but they're elegant), and thelions big as horses."

"I know," said Johnnie. "I remember. I—I was there 'way late last night—in athink."

"Why, little reader dear, in that temple,and out o' it, shure and there's enoughAladdins t' pave half a mile o' FifthAvenue! and it's likely ye could put up aWoolworth Building with nothin' butCrusoes and Mohicans!"

"I'm so glad! So glad! My!"

"And Father Pat's glad," added thepriest. As he stood once more, he lifted a

smiling face to the ceiling; and up past thekitchen of the little Jewish lady he sent aprayer of gratitude to his Maker for theblessing of that instrument of man's genius,the printing press.

Then he fell to pacing the floor, nowglancing at the clock, again taking out hiswatch and clicking its cover. Betweenthese silent inquiries regarding the time,he played impatiently with the crosswhich hung against his coat on a blackribbon. It was plain that he was expectingsome one.

Big Tom understood as much, andfinally was moved to speech. "Y' won'tbring no doctor in here," he announced. "Iwon't have no foolishness o' that kind."

Father Pat ignored him. But to Mrs.Kukor, "Shure, and ye could boil a leg o'mutton while ye wait for that gentleman,"he observed.

After that, for a while, the kitchen wasquiet. Mrs. Kukor left on an errand to herown flat, coming back almost at once withtwo eggs deliciously scrambled on toast,and some stewed berries, tart and tasty.These delicacies had a wonderfullyreviving effect upon both Cis and Johnnie,and the latter even found himself able tosit up to eat.

"Now I'm so weak," he told Father Pat,"wouldn't this be a' awful fine time t' playshipwreck with Crusoe, and git washed onshore more dead'n alive?"

"Now, then, it just would!" agreed thepriest. "But as ye've been near dead oncethis day, shure, ye'd best think o' stayin'alive for a change."

The last bit of egg was eaten, the lastnibble of toast, too, and the fruit. "Oh, yes,I'm too tired t' think 'bout a wreck,"admitted Johnnie.

"Rest, lad dear! Rest!" The quilt wastucked round the weary limbs.

One of those big-girl hands reached upand drew the priest's head lower. "I guesswhere I been is on the danger line, allright," Johnnie whispered. "And theHandbook said a scout don't flinch in theface o' danger, and this time, gee, I didn't!"

A rest and some good food had madeCis feel like her former self by now.Presently she walked into the little room,lit a nubbin of candle, and changed intoher best clothes. While she was gone,Johnnie drew on his old, big trousers, anddonned Barber's shirt, then moved to themorris chair. As for Mrs. Kukor, she wasgone again, her face very sober, and theline of her mouth tight and straight. As sheteetered out, it was plain that she was allbut in a panic to get away.

For evidently things were to happen inthe flat before long. The air of the roomproclaimed this fact. And plainly Barberwas uneasy, for he stalked about, startingnervously whenever Father Pat shut thewatch, or when a footfall sounded beyond

the hall door.

All at once a loud tramping was heardon the stairs—a determined tramping, as ifhalf a dozen angry men were setting downtheir feet as one. Doors flew open, voiceshailed one another up and down thebuilding, and Mrs. Kukor could be heardpattering in a wide circle beyond theceiling. All of this disturbance brought Cisout of her tiny room, pink-faced oncemore, and eager-eyed.

The next moment, with a stomp and aslam, and without knocking, One-Eyemade a whirlwind entrance into thekitchen, and halted, his wide hatgrotesquely over one ear, a quid oftobacco distending that cheek which thehat brim touched, a score of questions

looking from that single eye, and everyhair on the front of those shaggy breechesfairly standing out straight.

"Wal?" he demanded, banging the doorso hard behind him that all the dishes inthe cupboard rattled. He had on gauntlets.Their cuffs reached half-way to hiselbows. These added mightily to hiswarlike appearance.

"A-a-a-a-h!" greeted Father Pat,joyously.

So this was the person whose arrivalhad been awaited! Nonchalantly Big Tomshifted his weight from foot to foot, andchuckled through the stubble of his beard.

"One-Eye!" cried Cis. "Oh, I'm so glad

you've come! Oh, One-Eye, he tied us tothe table all night! And he whippedJohnnie with the rope!"

That lone green eye began to roll—toCis's face, seeing the truth written there,and the story of her long hours ofsuffering; to the countenance of the priest,to ask, dumbly, if any living man had everheard anything more outrageous than this;then, "By the Great Horn Spoon!" hebreathed, and again stomped one foot, likean angry steer.

Big Tom's smile widened.

Now, the Westerner crossed toJohnnie, bent, and with gentle fingers heldunder the boy's chin, studied those weltsacross the pale cheeks. "Crimini!" he

murmured. "Crimini! Crimini!"

"Look at his chest, and his back!" Cisadvised.

The cowboy lifted Johnnie forward inthe morris chair, and held away the bigshirt from breast and shoulders. What hesaw brought him upright like a pistol shot,his face suddenly scarlet, his mustachewhipping up and down, and that eye of hisglowering at the longshoremanferociously. "Cæsar Augustus,Philobustus, Hennery Clay!" he burst out."Bla-a-ack a-a-and blu-u-ue!"

"And, oh, listen what else he did!" Ciswent on. "The uniform you gave to Johnnie——"

"Yas?"

"He put it in the stove!"

One-Eye stared. "He put it in thestove?" he repeated, but as if this reallywas quite beyond belief.

"My—my scout suit," added Johnnie,who was too worn out to weep.

"The priceless brute!" announcedFather Pat.

"Yes, and all of Johnnie's books, heburned them, too," Cis added.

But One-Eye's mind dwelt upon theuniform. "He put it in the stove!" hedrawled. "That khaki outfit I give t' theboy! He burned it! And it fresh outen the

store!"

"The medal, too, One-Eye! Johnnie'sfather's medal! It was in the coat. So allthat's left is the shoes!"

"All that's left is the shoes," growledOne-Eye. "He burned the hat, and the coat,and—and all. After I'd paid good moneyfer 'em! The gall! The cheek! Theimpydence!" He drew a prodigiousbreath.

"Go ahead! Sing about it!" tauntedBarber.

One-Eye was in anything but a singingmood. Spurred by that taunt, of a suddenhe began to do several startling things:with a gurgle of rage, he snatched off the

wide hat, flung it to the floor with all hismight, sprang upon it, ground it into theboards with both heels; jerked off hisgauntlets and hurled them down with thehat; next wriggled out of his coat andadded it to the pile under his boots; thenran his hands wildly through his hair, sothat it stood up as straight as the hair onhis breeches stood out; and, last of all, fellto pushing back his sleeves.

Fascinated the others watched him.Was this the good-natured, shy, bashful,quiet One-Eye, this red-faced, ramping,stamping madman?

He addressed Barber: "Oh, y' ornery,mean, low-down, sneakin' coyote!" Hetook a long, leaping step over the things onthe floor—a step in the direction of the

longshoreman. As he sprang, he shifted histobacco quid from one cheek to the other."Say! I'm plumb chuck-full o' y'r goin's-on! I'm stuffed with y'r fool pre-form-ances! I'm fed up t' the neck with 'em! andsick o' 'em! and right here, and now, youand me is a-goin' t' have this business O-U-T!"

"He knows how t' spell it," remarkedBarber, facetiously.

"Heaven strengthen the arm o' ye!"cried the Father.

Head ducked, hands out like a boxer,One-Eye again began an advance towardBig Tom, doing a sort of a skating step—aglide. And as he came on, Barber threwback his head and guffawed. "Oh, haw!

haw! haw! haw! haw!" he shouted. "Y'don't mean y're goin' t' finish me! Oh,haw! haw! haw!"

"A haw-haw's aig in a hee-hee's nest!"returned One-Eye, and spat on his hands."Finish y' is what I aim t' do! I beenwaitin' and waitin'!" (The cowboy wassaying more in these few minutes, almost,than he had during all of his former visitsto the flat!) "I've waited since the firsttime I clapped my eye on y'! I'm the mulethat waited seven years! I been storin' upmy kick! And now it's growed to ahumdinger! Y've whaled this here boy,and tied up this here girl! His face is cut,and his back is black, and raw, andbleedin'! Wal, it's Tom Barber's turn t' gita hidin'!—the worst hidin' a polecat ever

did git! So! Where'll y' take it? In thishouse, 'r outside?" The question wasasked with a final, emphatic stomp, an up-throw of the disheveled head, a spreadingoutward of both gartered arms.

"That's the way t' talk!" vowed theFather. "Shure, a coward needs his ownpunishment handed t' him!—Take yerwhippin', Tom Barber, and take it like aman! For it's a whippin' that's justlycomin' t' ye this mornin', as all theneighborhood'll agree!"

"Where?" One-Eye insisted, for thelongshoreman had not replied to thequestion. "Let's don't lose no time! I'm a-goin' t' hand y' a con-vul-sion! That's it! Acon-vul-sion! I'm goin' t' pull the last,livin' kink outen y'! Two shakes o' a

lamb's tail, and I'll show y' a civy-lizedmassacree! Yip-yip-yip-yee-ow!"

"Goin' t' wipe me out, eh? Goin' t' putme t' bed?" Barber laid down his pipe.

"Goin' t' ship y' t' the Hospital!" Sidegliding to the stove, the cowboy deliveredup his quid.

"Hee! hee!" giggled the longshoreman."Guess I'll jus' knock that other eye out!"

One-Eye was waltzing back. "Don'tcount y'r chickens 'fore they're hatched!"he warned. "'Cause here y're gittin' a mano' y'r own size, y' great, big, overbearin'lummox!"

Barber held up a hand. "This ain't noplace t' fight," he protested. "The old

man'd hear."

"Y' can't git outen it that-a-way!"shouted One-Eye, arms in the air. "They'smiles o' room outside! Come down intothe yard! Mosey! Break trail! Vamose!"He waved the other out.

Buoyed up by so much excitement,Johnnie managed to stand for a moment."One-Eye!" he cried, all gratitude andpride; and, "One-Eye!" Cis echoed, herpalms together in a dumb plea for him todo his best.

The Westerner gave her a look whichpromised every result that lay in hispower. Then with a jerk of the head atFather Pat, and again "Yip-yipping"lustily, he bore down upon the grinning

longshoreman, who was filling the halldoorway.

They met, and seized each other. BigTom took One-Eye by either shoulder,those great baboon hands clampingthemselves over the top joints of theWesterner's arms. The latter had Barberby the front of his coat and by an elbow.For a moment they hung upon the sill.Then, pivoting, they swung beyond it. AsFather Pat closed the door upon them, atonce there came to the ears of the trio inthe kitchen, the sounds of a rough-and-tumble battle.

T

CHAPTER XXXIII

ONE-EYE FIGHTS

HOSE sounds of combat whichpenetrated to an anxious kitchen weredeep, rasping breathings, muttered

exclamations and grunts, a shuffling of feetthat was not unlike a musicless dance, aswish-swishing, as if the Italian janitresswere mopping up the hall floor, and aseries of soft poundings.

Yet the battle itself was not amountingto much. In fact, to speak strictly, no fightwas going on at all.

In the first place, the hall was narrow,and gave small scope for a contest onbroad, generous lines—even had One-Eyeand Big Tom known how to wage such about; and both men knew little concerningthe science of self-defense. Whathappened—without any further abusivelanguage—was this: the longshoreman andthe cowboy (while using due cautionagainst coming too close to the flimsyrailing of the stairs) each set aboutthrowing his antagonist.

One-Eye sought to trip thelongshoreman, but was unsuccessful,finding those two massive pillars, BigTom's legs, as securely fixed to the roughflooring as if they were a part of thebuilding itself. With his tonglike arms,

Barber pressed down with all his might onthe shoulders of the Westerner; and thatmoment in which One-Eye weakened thefirmness of his own stand by thrusting outa boot to dislodge his enemy, thelongshoreman had his chance; with asmothered voicing of his disgust (forOne-Eye wished to make as little noise aspossible in that semi-public place), downwent the cowboy to his knees.

Several brunette heads were thrust outof doors above and below. MelodiousItalian voices exclaimed and questionedand replied, mingling with cries inYiddish and East Side English. All thewhile One-Eye clasped Big Tom about thelegs, and held on grimly, and received, oneither side of his weather-beaten

countenance, a score of hard slaps.

These were skull-jarring, and not to beendured. So One-Eye thrust his headbetween Big Tom's spraddled legs; then,calling upon every atom of his strength, heforced his shoulders to follow his head,loosening the longshoreman's clutch; andwith a grunt, down came the giant, fallingupon the cowboy (which accounted foranother grunt), and pinning him to thedusty floor.

Sprawled, as it were, head and tail, acontest for upper place now began. One-Eye writhed like a hairy animal (this theswish-swishing). Being both slender andagile, he managed to wriggle out frombeneath Big Tom, who instantly turnedabout and caught him, and once more laid

upon him the whole of his great, steel-constructed bulk.

The pair strained and rolled. Afterseveral changes of position, in whichneither man was at all damaged except inhis appearance, Barber came to the topand stayed there, like the largest potato ina basket. Then straddling the lighter man,who was blowing hoarsely, Big Tomcuffed him leisurely.

As Father Pat listened to all this,leaned against the door with his earcocked, he hoped with all his heart for thetriumph of right over might. "And I can butstand by t' give consolation and bearwitness!" he mourned, though how he wasbearing witness was not apparent.

"Oh, stop them! Stop them!" pleadedCis, a hand over each ear, for her couragewas lessening. "Oh, I'm afraid he's hurtingOne-Eye awful! Oh, Barber'll kill him,Father! And what good'll that do us?"

Thus implored, the priest took a swiftsurvey of the hall. But, "Oh, don't go!" Cisbegged. "And shut it! Shut it!"

"Who's on top?" Johnnie wanted toknow.

"They're wrastlin'," announced theFather. "So don't be alarmed. And Mr.Gamboni's out there, and he'll not seebloodshed!"

"I don't worry!" boasted Johnnie. "Cis,what makes y' talk the way y' do? Barber,

he can't lick a cowboy!"

"Y' pesky critter!"—this from the hall,in unmistakable westernese.

"Y' hear?" joyously demanded Johnnie,recognizing One-Eye's voice. "Y' hear,Father Pat? Oh, I don't have t' look! Iknow how it's goin'! I can see it! One-Eye's got him down! He's hammerin' himgood!—Oh, go for him, One-Eye! Go forhim! Go for him!"

Slap! slap! slap!

To judge from these sounds, thecowboy was carrying out Johnnie's wish.So with that rapt look, and that moving ofthe nostrils which betokened excited day-dreaming, Johnnie gladdened himself with

a soul-satisfying picture of the contest:Big Tom prone on his face, spent,helpless, cowering, pleading, bleeding,while the dashing One-Eye rained blowafter blow upon him—bing! bing! bing!("Makin' a meal outen him," as the manfrom the West would say). Next, he sawthe longshoreman stretched upon a bed ofpain, admitting all of his shortcomings toFather Pat in weak whispers.

It was all so real to Johnnie that he fellto pitying Big Tom!

He pitied him more as the scenechanged swiftly to that of a funeral(Barber's, of course), at which he—Johnnie—in a new suit, with Cis besidehim, made one carriageful in an extendedline of carriages, all rolling circumspectly

along. That One-Eye's plight, under suchcircumstances, might be trying, to say theleast, Johnnie forgot to consider, whollypassing over the small matter of an inquiryon the part of the police authorities! Whathe did anticipate, however, was a flat that,in the future, would be a peaceful, happy,quiet place—the home of just Grandpa,Cis, and himself.

"Oh, Father Pat, by now One-Eye'sdead!" wailed Cis. "Oh, why didn't someone stop them! Oh! Oh, dear!"

This interruption to Johnnie's visioningwas followed by a loud laugh, and theturning of the hall doorknob. Johnnieraised himself on an elbow, lifting ahopeful face. "One-Eye!" he cried."Hooray! Hooray!"

But it was Barber who strode into theroom.

He was grinning from one huge,outstanding ear to the other. "Ha! ha! ha!ha! ha!" he chortled triumphantly. "GuessI'll have t' go t' the Hospital! Look how I'mall beat up! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

As he stood laughing, his bristling facesplit across by the brown line that was histeeth, his bulging eyes shut withmerriment, his wide, fat nose giving itssidewise jerk with each guffaw, Johnnie,staring up at him, thought of the terribleAfrican magician: of the murderous, cruelMagua: of wicked Tom Watkins and allthe man-eating savages whom the valiantCrusoe fought.

Here was a man worse than them all!Also—there was no doubt of it—here wasthe victor!

But what about One-Eye?

"One-Eye!" wailed Johnnie, in terror.For suddenly his imagination furnishedhim with a new picture, this time of theWesterner. And, oh, it was a sadlydifferent picture from that other! It showedthe cowboy, torn, broken, beaten,stretched dead in his own lifeblood.

"Oh, Dio mio!—Oy! oy! oy! oy! oy!—He oughta be pinched!"

The opening door let in this much ofthe heated opinion of a portion of thebuilding. The opening door also admitted

the cowboy. Slowly, soberly, almostcrawling, he came.

He was mournfully changed. Thatsingle eye was puffing redly. His straw-colored hair was almost dark with sweat,and inclined to lie down. From eithershoulder hung woefully a half of his vest,which had ripped straight down its back!And, yes, there was blood in evidence!—on the knuckles of both hands! This brightdecoration was from a nose whichdripped scarlet spots upon the frontsections of the vest.

"Oh, One-Eye!" moaned Cis, yet notwithout relief. At least he was alive—could stand—could walk!

"Goodness!" Johnnie's exclamation had

in it a note of pure chagrin. His cowboyhad not won! "What did he do t' y'?" theboy wanted to know, almost blamefully.

"Do?" repeated the cowboy,wrathfully. "Say! He went and busted myfountain pen!" He began feeling his waytoward the stove. When he got as far asthe mattress, he first hunted hishandkerchief and applied it to the stoppingof that nasal stream, then, gruntingpainfully, he lay down.

"Git all y' wanted?" inquired thelongshoreman.

"My land!" returned the Westerner. "Igot a hay-wagonful!"

"Man dear!" gasped Father Pat, making

for the wash basin.

Johnnie felt suddenly heartsick. Wouldnot the tale of One-Eye's defeat scatter inthe neighborhood? and if it did, would nothis own proud position be threatenedalong with the cowboy's? Whipped byTom Barber! That was all right for a kid!But for a man who wore hair on hisbreeches——!

The boy sank back in the morris chair."I'd sooner Big Tom'd whip me again!" hedeclared under his breath.

Barber was mocking One-Eye. "Yes,man dear!" he said. "Heaven didn't makey'r arm as strong as y' wanted it, eh?" Hewas very cocky, and pushed out eithercheek importantly with his tongue.

Father Pat was now washing a rapidlyclosing eye on a sadly batteredcountenance. "Shure, Heaven'll deal withye in its own good time!" he promised,nodding a portentous head.

Big Tom snorted. "He's been waitin'and waitin'," he observed; "—ever sincehe first met me. That's why he give mesuch a hidin'!"

One-Eye, the stains of carnage wipedfrom lip and chin, peered up through a tinyslit between those puffing lids. "Big as abarn," he asserted, but without temper."Big as a Poland Chinee pig! All beef! Allfat!" And to Johnnie, sunk in his quilt,"Don't y' beller, sonny, I ain't got no gruntcomin'. I done my best. But he's stronger'nme, that's all they is to it, and heftier. But

it all goes to show that if I ain't no matchfor him, he's lower'n a sheep-eatin'greaser t' go hit a kid—'r a girl!" Beforethat eye slit closed, he crawled to wherehis hat, coat and gauntlets were, took themup, and fell to warping them into shapeagain. "But y'r time'll come, sonny!" hevowed. "Y'r time'll come! Jes' y' wait!"

"Well, I didn't keep you waitin',"bragged Barber, with another loud laugh."And if there's anybody else—" His looksought the priest. "Why, say! You're afighter, ain't y', Father Pat? Wasn't y' in thetrenches? I wonder y' don't lick mey'reself. Ho! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

At that, the red anger spread itselfamong the stubble of the same hue on theFather's still unshaved jaws. "No," he

answered grimly, speaking with thethicker brogue that always came into hisEnglish along with his wrath. "No, Oican't give ye the dustin' that's comin' t' ye,Barber."

"It'll take a man t' lick me," declaredthe longshoreman proudly. He thumped hischest. "Yes, sir, a reg'lar-sized man! Now,Furman, he says that, barrin' the WorldChampion, 'r some guy like that, there ain'ta man standin' on two feet in this wholecountry that can down me!" He thrust outhis lower lip.

"Ha-a-a-a!" breathed the priest,scornful. He helped guide One-Eye to thekitchen chair. "Well, the man Oi oncewas, Oi presinted him t' me counthry. Sohere's what's left av me. But, Barber,

punishment's comin' t' ye! Mar-rk me wor-r-rd!"

Suddenly Big Tom gave a shout. "Say!"he cried. "Maybe here's a gent that'd liket' try his hand at lickin' me!" For the halldoor had opened again, and anothervisitor was entering—breathlessly,anxiously, swiftly. "What'd d' y' say,Mister Eye-Glassy, White-Spatty, Pinky-Face?"

"Yes, sir! I'll try to do just that! In fact,that's why I've come. Can't have you strikea girl, you know, Mr. Barber, or a littlechap like Johnnie; not without trying topunish you. So if you'll oblige me——"

Thus, with one wave of a gloved hand,was Big Tom once more bidden to fight,

this time by Mr. Perkins.

"Oblige?" repeated the longshoreman,delighted. "Dear Mister Perkins, y're oneperson that I'm jus' achin' t' spank!" Thenonce more showing his pipe-stained teethin a grin, "Oh, but I hate awful t' muss y'up! I hate t' spoil y', Perksie! Y' look sonice and neat and sweet! Almost like astick o' candy! And, nobody'll want t' lookat y' after I git done with y'!"

Mr. Perkins was not ruffled by thelongshoreman's attempt at humor. "Don'twaste your breath on compliments, Mr.Barber," he advised; "you may need it."He laid a new, black bowler hat on thekitchen table, and proceeded to draw offhis gloves.

"God grant he will!" cried Father Pat,fervently. "For besides what he's done tothese children, look how he's treated ourpoor friend from Kansas!" And the prieststepped from between the scoutmaster andOne-Eye.

The Westerner waved protestinghands. "Wy-o-ming!" he corrected, withmore than a shade of irritation. "NotKansas! Wy-o-ming!" He held up acountenance that was now wholly—iftemporarily—blind.

"Wyoming," repeated Father Pat,hastily. "And here's Mr. Perkins, One-Eye,and he's wishin' t' shake yer hand."

At that, out shot the cowboy's right. Itwas still bloody over the knuckles, the

Father having confined his washing toOne-Eye's face. "Put 'er there!" invited thesightless one.

"How are you!" greeted Mr. Perkins,heartily; yet his tone carried with it justthe right amount of sympathy.

"Jes' so-so," answered One-Eye. "Lookhow he slapped me in the eye!"

"Cis, my sweetheart, are you all right?"inquired Mr. Perkins.

She ran to him, and he took her hands."Oh, yes!" she cried happily. "But, oh, I'mso glad you've come!"

As Father Pat said afterward, it wasthe sweetheart that did it. As those younghands met, of a sudden Barber's good

humor went. "That'll do!" he ordered."Jus' y' shut up on them pretty names!"

"Ah! You don't believe in affection, doyou?" rejoined Mr. Perkins. Hiscountenance wore an exasperating smile.

"I don't b'lieve in puppy love!"answered Big Tom. "I don't b'lieve in thesoft, calf stuff! And I'd jus' like t' knowhow it happens that you two guys 're hereat this time in the mornin'! How does itcome? Some one must 've fetched y'! AndI'm goin' t' know, 'r else I'm goin' t' breakev'ry last bone in y'r dude body!"

"Oh, my goodness!" quavered Johnnie.He turned and twisted in the big chair.And he wished with all his might that hewas having either a very bad think, or a

torturing nightmare. Seeing this secondfriend come, he had felt an awful sinkingof the heart. If the Westerner, rough andready and leathery as he was, could notconquer Big Tom, what would the youngscoutmaster be able to do?—and he soslender and light when compared to thegiant longshoreman! And now the latterwas working himself into a rage! Johnnie,head thrust from the folds of the quilt, toldhimself that the whole world was comingto an end.

But Mr. Perkins did not seem to bedisturbed by Barber's threats. "Fancythat!" he said calmly. "Every bone! Butwhere will you take it, Mr. Barber?"

"Take what?" asked the longshoreman.

"Your whipping," answered Mr.Perkins; "—the good, sound, punching thatI'm going to give you." He began to get outof his coat.

A shout of laughter—from Big Tom,who next addressed the ceiling. "Oh,listen t' this cute baby boy!" he cried. "Hethinks he can lick me! Me!—one o' thestrongest men on the whole water front!One-Eye, tell him how far you got! Oh,save his life, One-Eye! Save his life!"

"Wisht I had a chunk o' fresh beefsteakfer this lamp!" declared the cowboy, toomiserable to care about what was goingforward.

"Well," continued Mr. Perkins, "ifyou're so certain on the score of what

you're going to do to me, Mr. Barber, then,of course, you'll be willing to make abargain with me. Yes?"

Barber was in fine spirits. "Go ahead!Course I'll bargain! Anything y' like! Git itout o' y'r system!" He sucked his teethnoisily.

"If I come out winner," began thescoutmaster, very deliberately, "then I'mto have Narcissa for my wife—and you'llsign your consent. And we shall go at once—this morning—and be married."

"So that's y'r bargain, is it?" said BigTom. "Well, I'll say this: if y' can lick me,which y' can't, then I'll make y' a present o'Cis——"

"Don't give away what isn't yours!" Cisinterrupted sharply. "And pleaseunderstand, bargain or no bargain, that I'mleaving here this morning. If I can't marryMr. Perkins without your consent, then I'lljust wait till I can."

The longshoreman ignored her. "I stickby what I've jus' said, Perksie," he wenton, impudently. "BUT—if I lick you, andI'm goin' t', then out y' trot, and down, andy' lose her! Y' understand?"

"I understand that I lose her until she isold enough to do as she chooses,"amended Mr. Perkins.

"After t'day, y' don't see her again,"insisted Big Tom, "till she's growed up."

"I'll see him every day!" cried Cis."Every day!—Don't agree to that, Algy!The marriage part, yes, because we can'thelp ourselves. But he's not going to partus! I'm leaving, but wherever I am, I'mgoing to see you!"

The longshoreman turned toward hernow, and his look was full of hate. "Iguess y'll do jus' about what I tell y' to,"he said significantly. "Algy's goin' t' betoo sick t' look after y'."

Johnnie emitted a woeful little peep."Oo-oo! Mister Perkins!" he pleaded."Couldn't y' put off fightin' till—till someother time?"

Johnnie's anxious demand amused BigTom. It amused Cis, too, but for a wholly

different reason. As they laughed together,each challenged the other with angry eyes.

Johnnie, feeling fainter every moment,marveled as he stared at Cis. There wasno question as to her perfect confidenceregarding the outcome of the fight. And hemarveled even more when he looked atMr. Perkins. The latter was cheerful—even gay! He forgot nothing. First, heshook hands with Father Pat; next withOne-Eye. "Maybe you'd like to have meput you into a taxicab before this rowstarts," he said to the cowboy.

"Nope," was the answer. "I'm goin' t'stay fer the concert."

Mr. Perkins went to Cis, took herfingers in his, bent gallantly, and kissed

them. "Wish me good luck!" he bade her.

"It won't be luck," she answered.

"Ain't his hands nice and clean!"mocked Barber. "Ain't his nails shiny!"There was an ugly glitter in the bulgingeyes once more. A moment later, as hefound himself close to Mr. Perkins (for thelatter had come to join him), he acted upona sudden temptation. Reaching out, with animpudent grin he tweaked the younger manlightly by the nose.

Biff!

The blow was so sudden, so powerfuland straight to its mark (which was ajaw), that Big Tom's breath went—as histoes tipped up, and he began to reel

backward, fanning the air with both arms.

"Ha-a-a-a!" cried the priest. "Nowonder ye stand t' yer feet, Johnnie lad!Shure, that puts the faith into ye, don't it!"

Barber was against a wall, choking,spluttering. "You—you—you—!" hepanted. "The idear o' hittin' a man withoutwarnin'!"

"I know," agreed Mr. Perkins, good-naturedly. "Also, the idea of pulling aman's nose without warning."

Now Big Tom was in the proper frameof mind for the fight. "You go ondownstairs!" he ordered. "And let me telly' this: When I git done with y', they'll picky' up on a quilt! Git that?—on a quilt!"

Mr. Perkins opened the hall door. "Youlead the way downstairs," he said. "I trustyou, Mr. Barber, but somehow I don't trustyour feet."

Then the two went out, thelongshoreman trembling with rage.

T

CHAPTER XXXIV

SIR ALGERNON

O the right, at the rear end of the long,black hallway that connected the areawith the street on the north, was a

good-sized room which had once beenused by a job printer—as proven by therubbish in it: strips of wood, quantities ofold type, torn paper, and ragged, inkycloths. The room had a pair of largewindows looking out upon the brickpavement; but as these windows weresmeared and dust-sprinkled, the placeoffered privacy. And Barber, leading the

way down from his own flat, did not haltuntil he stood in the center of it.

"I'm not goin' t' have no cop stop thisfight," he declared grimly.

Mr. Perkins, entering, shut the door athis back. "Neither am I," he answeredquietly.

There was a moment's pause, as thetwo men, separated by several feet, gazedat each other. Physically, the contrastbetween them was horrific. Slight, neat,dapper, showing even no ill-temper, Mr.Perkins seemed but a poor match forBarber, whose appearance was moregorillalike than usual (hair disheveled,heavy shoulders humped, teeth grindingsavagely under puffed and bristling lips,

huge hands at the ends of long, curvingarms, spreading and closing with thedesire to clutch and rend). Yet Big Tomwas plainly not so cocksure of himself ashe had been, while the scoutmaster worean air of complete confidence.

Suddenly, muttering a curse, thelongshoreman lurched forward andreached for the younger man. In the sameinstant, Mr. Perkins clenched his own fistsand held them before him on guard. Butalso he advanced, though elusively,slipping to one side of those great paws.As he side stepped, with a duck of thehead he gathered himself together,snapped forward, and landed a jab squareupon Barber's right eye.

"Ow-oo!" It was a bellow, mingling

surprise with rage and pain. Involuntarily,the longshoreman fell back a pace, andlifted a hand to his face. As he did so,with another down-jerk of the chin, andanother leap, once more the scoutmasterrammed him—upon the left eye. Andfollowed this up with a lightning stroke onthat big, twisted nose.

At this, Big Tom made a rush. So far,the fight was not of the kind he had wagedwith One-Eye—a rough-and-tumble affairin which brute strength and weight countedin his favor. But pounds, combined withlack of training, slowness, andawkwardness, put him at a saddisadvantage when facing this smaller,lighter man who had speed, and science,and was accustomed to bouts. Since

Barber could not change his own methodof fighting, he understood that he mustchange the tactics of his adversary; mustgrab the scoutmaster, bear him to thefloor, and beat him. This he determined todo. Wildly he churned the air with thoseknuckles of steel.

"If I git my hands on y'," he stormed,"I'll tear y' in two!" The taste of his ownblood was in his mouth now, for a warmstream of it was spreading from hisnostrils to his lips and chin.

"You won't get your hands on me,"promised Mr. Perkins. He dodged nimblyfrom side to side as the longshoremancame on, and kept just beyond the latter'sgrasp. Watching his chance, he darted inand landed a fourth blow—under an eye;

then got away again, carefully preservinghimself against being struck while doingthe greatest amount of damage possible tothe enemy.

All the time he watched to see that hewas not cornered. A moment, and thejunction of two walls came over close tohis back; so under one of those flesh-and-blood flails he slipped; and, coming upbehind Big Tom, struck the latter awhanging blow on an ear. "You're goingto spank me, are you?" he taunted. "Well,come on and do it! Come on!"

More maddened than ever, andswearing horribly, the longshoremanwhirled and started a second pursuit. Heblew the blood from his lips, the better tobreathe, spattering the scarlet countenance

of Mr. Perkins with scores of dots whichwere a deeper red. And as he blew, he cutthe air with his arms, hitting nothing.

"Why don't y' stand up and fight!" heraged. "Stop that jumpin' 'round!"

"Oh, you want to wrestle, don't you!"mocked Mr. Perkins. "But this time you'vegot to box!"

"Y' won't git ev'rything y'r own way!"vowed Big Tom, panting curses, and stillwhirling his arms like the fans of awindmill.

Changing his steps like a dancer, thescoutmaster fell back. But now he was at adisadvantage, for his face was towardthose windows, and the light was in his

eyes. As he flitted and shied, tiring Barberand shortening the big man's wind, hewatched his chance to bolt under and byas before. Foot on foot the space betweenhim and the rear wall of the roomlessened. He sprang, now right, now left,on the alert for his opening. It came. Heshot forward——

A staggering clout from a heavy handhurled him against a side wall like abattering-ram. The breath was driven outof his lungs. Dizzily he plunged forward tohis hands and knees among the débris onthe floor.

"Ha-a-a-a-a!" It was a shout of triumphfrom the longshoreman.

But that wallop, hard as it was, had

been delivered accidentally. And asBarber, whose eyes were now swellingfrom the scoutmaster's initial blows,scarcely knew where his opponent was,he failed to seize Mr. Perkins, who wasup like a cat, and on, and facing round.

"Now I'll git y'!" cried Barber. As he,in turn, faced about, he began to kick outfuriously, now with one foot, now with theother.

Each moment was passing in painfulanxiety to the group in the Barber flat.Mrs. Kukor made one of that group,having teetered in directly Big Tom andMr. Perkins were gone. Now her hat was

off and her apron on; with the latter sheconstantly fanned a face which, its colorsped, was a sickly shade of tan. All thewhile she murmured strange words underher breath, only breaking out every nowand then with an "Ach! poor poy! Poorpoy!" As she did not look at either Johnnieor One-Eye, it was evident that she hadMr. Perkins in mind.

As for Father Pat, he complained abouthimself. "If I only had me lungs!" hemourned. To and fro he walked, to andfro. "If only I could do annything excepttalk! Dear! dear! dear! dear!"

The cowboy, blinder than ever,comforted himself with praising the absentscoutmaster. "That young feller's O. K.,"he asserted. "I can tell it by the way he

grabbed my paw. Yas, ma'am! I liked theway he shook hands. He'll come outbetter'n me. Watch if I ain't right! I ain'tworryin'!"—this though the sweat ofconcern was even then dampening hiscountenance!

Johnnie, listening and watching, curledhimself farther and farther into his quilt,and feebly groaned. He was seeing,seeing, seeing, and what he saw wasagonizing. "Oh, Mister Perkins'll belicked!" he faltered. "Oh, I wish I could'vewent along. But I'm weak! Oh, Father Pat,the next time I git licked, I'll keep it t'myself!"

"Oh, don't be silly!" admonished Cis,apprehensive, but calm, being buoyed upby hope based upon solid information.

"Didn't I tell you, Johnnie, to 'wait till Mr.Perkins finds out'? Well, we waited, tiedto the table like two thieves, or something.And Mr. Perkins has found out, and he'sgiving Tom Barber a sound thrashing! SoI'm not worrying!"

"I can see y' ain't," declared One-Eye,admiringly. He was back at the sink oncemore, allowing Niagara to lave thatinjured eye, now a shining purplish-black."Bully fer the gal! That's the stuff! Y' gotbackbone! And spirit, by thunder! Andsand! Jes' paste that in yer sunbonnet! But,Cis, w'y don't y' skedaddle right now? Gowhilst the goin's good! Gosh, I'm 'feardthat some one's likely t' git hurt pretty bad,and it won't be Barber! So whoever it iswill need t' be nursed."

"Oy! oy! oy! oy!" lamented Mrs.Kukor.

"I'll nurse him!" cried Johnnie, hardlyable to keep back the tears. "I'll go withhim, and take care of him, and cook forhim."

"Don't you understand, Johnnie? I'mgoing with him! I'm to be Mrs. Perkins!And—I'll be right here when Algy comesin."

"But—but—!" whispered Johnnie.What he was thinking made allowance forno such charming event as a wedding;rather for the same sort of dolefulprocession he had pictured before, onlynow Big Tom was in the carriage withhim, while poor Mr. Perkins——!

One-Eye had something of the sort inhis own mind, for as he forsook the sink,Mrs. Kukor leading him, he shook arumpled head at her. "Barber's bigger'n abarn!" he observed grimly.

"Pos-i-tivvle!"

Cis laughed, tossing her head. "I don'tcare how big he is," she declared, "orhow mad! Algy can take care of himself."

Looking at her, Johnnie felt both pityand disgust—pity for the grief she wouldundoubtedly suffer soon, disgust for hergirl's lack of understanding. Was not theyoung, boyish, slender scoutmasterfighting this very moment for his life, andthat with a steel-constructed giant? "Aw,jus' look at One-Eye!" he counseled

argumentatively, and groaned again.

"Wait for Algy," returned Cis, crossingto slip an affectionate arm about Mrs.Kukor's shoulders. "And don't fret.Because Algy's the amateur light-heavyweight champion of his club, and it'san athletic club, and——!"

"What-a-a-at?" roared Father Pat."He's the—he's the—oh, say it again!"

But even as Cis opened her lips tospeak, swift steps were heard on the stairsoutside. She knew them. She rushed to thedoor and flung it wide. And the nextmoment, fairly bouncing in, and looking aspink-faced, and white-spatted, and dapperas ever, was none other than Mr. Perkins.

The dude had whipped his man.

A

CHAPTER XXXV

GOOD-BYS

CHORUS of happy cries greetedhim: "Dearest!"—"Oh,gee!"—"Satan's defeated!"—"Goli'th

wass licked, und David wassboss!"—"Whoopee!"

Then, great excitement. Cis ran to Mr.Perkins, laughing, "Oh, you're safe! You'resafe!" Whereupon he kissed her fingersagain; and Johnnie, on his feet now, feltthat here, indeed, was a young knight comefrom defending his lady. And he askedhimself why he had ever thought that Mr.

Perkins was too much of a gentleman to beawe-inspiring.

Meanwhile, Father Pat and Mrs. Kukorwere shaking hands like mad, andmingling their broken English in a torrentof gratitude. To their voices, Grandpa, outof sight beyond the bedroom door, addedhis, not knowing what the celebration wasabout, yet cackling hilariously.

As for One-Eye, his conduct wasextraordinary. Suddenly showing new life,once more he took off his coat, found hishat and gauntlets, flung all under him, andupon them did a grotesque dance of joy.And "Yip! yip! yip! yip!" he shouted. "Y'tole him he'd need his breath! Oh,peaches-'n'-cream! Oh, cute baby boy! Oh,who's on the quilt now?"

"One-Eye, did ye ever see annythinglike it in Kansas?" demanded the Fathertriumphantly.

"Wy-o-ming! Wy-o-ming!" roared thecowboy. "Yip! yip! yip! yee-ow!"

Johnnie was no less delighted, but hewas still too weak to do very much. Hecontented himself with taking a turn up anddown the room, walking like Mr. Perkins,holding his head like Mr. Perkins (so thatan imaginary pince-nez should not falloff), and talking to himself in truescoutmaster style—"To insure a long life,to defend oneself, to protect others.Training, that's the idea! Be prepared!"

Next, he lost himself in a gloriousthink. This time it was far in the future. He

was big and strong and brown. And hesaw himself rising quietly in the very teethof some stalwart villain to say that thematter of the beautiful young ladyconcerned (dimly she was a larger, but aperfect, copy of the little girl on the fireescape) would be taken up downstairs,where a fight would not disturb poor, oldMr. Tom Barber.

At that he fell to doing his exercises;first, the arm-movements—up, down! updown! then the leg—out, back! out, back!adding a bend or two of his sore body byway of good measure, and resolving to dobetter and better along these lines everymorning of his life from now on.

Mr. Perkins was the only person whowas perfectly calm. He found his coat and

put it on; he adjusted his glasses. In fact,the scoutmaster, returned unscathed fromhis battle, might have been taken as amodel for all victors. For he did not smileexultantly, did not swagger one step, butwas grave and modest. "Put on your hat,sweetheart," he said to Cis. His voice wasdeep and tender.

At once there was hurry and bustle.Mrs. Kukor gave one prodigious doll-rockwhich turned her square about, and shedisappeared into the tiny room, evidentlyto help with the packing. "Oh, but I'm allready!" declared Cis, following the littleJewish lady. "And, Father Pat, you won'tmind coming with us?" asked Mr. Perkins."I'll do that with pleasure," answered thepriest, heartily.

Johnnie felt a touch on his arm."Sonny!" One-Eye whispered. "Can't y'hear somethin'? Listen!"

All listened. From the area belowunmistakable cheers were rising, andtaunting shouts. They came boomingthrough the kitchen window. Barber wascrossing the brick pavement to the door ofthe building, and his neighbors weretriumphing in his defeat.

Father Pat came to Johnnie. "Laddear," he said, "tell me: as ye hear 'emyell at him, and all on account o' what hedid t' Cis and yerself, and because they'reglad he's been whipped,—tell me, scoutboy, how d' ye feel towards him in yerown heart?"

"We-e-ell,—" began Johnnie; "we-e-ell—" and stopped. Countless times hehad punished Big Tom in his own way;and had looked ahead to the hour when,grown-up, and the longshoreman'sphysical equal, he could measure out tothe latter punishment of a substantial kind.Yet now that Mr. Perkins had done justthis, where was the overwhelmingsatisfaction? He was glad, of course, thatMr. Perkins had come out victor, and hadnot been beaten as One-Eye had beenbeaten; but so far as he himself wasconcerned, the truth was that Big Tom'smortification was dust in his mouth, andashes, though, somehow, he shrank fromadmitting it. "Well, Father Pat," he addedfaintly, "I—I guess I—I'm not—er—whaty'd call glad."

"Ah, me grand lad!" exclaimed thepriest. "Ye feel like I want ye t' feel!Because that's how a fine, decent ladought t' feel! Not glad! Not gloryin' over abully that's had his desert! Not holdin' on t'hate once the fight is done! Lad dear, yedon't ever disappoint Father Pat! And, oh,he thanks God for it!"

Johnnie felt boyishly shy and awkwardthen, looking at the floor and wriggling histoes, and taking back into his cheeks quitea supply of color in the form of blushes.

One-Eye also broke forth withcommendations. "That's the ticket!" hecried. "No crowin'! Aw, Johnnie, y're ablamed white kid!" Whereupon, feelingaround close to the floor till he locatedone of Johnnie's ankles, he made his way

up to those narrow—and sore—shoulders,and gave them such a hearty slap ofapprobation that tears started in a certainpair of yellow-gray eyes.

"I'm glad, too, that you feel as you doabout it," said Mr. Perkins, earnestly."And, Johnnie, have you done your goodturn yet to-day?"

"No, sir," answered Johnnie,apologetically. "But y' see, I been tied t'the table, and also I jus' only come to, and——"

"I understand," broke in thescoutmaster quickly. "But perhaps whenMr. Barber comes in—his face, you know.Could you wash it up a bit?"

"Ye-e-e-es, sir,"—reluctantly; foryoung as he was, Johnnie realized thatwhatever his own feelings toward thelongshoreman might be, they were nogauge of the feelings of the longshoremantoward him. However, dutifully he went tofind the wash basin, and fill it; and heaccepted from Mr. Perkins a mostimmaculate wash cloth, this one of thosewonderful handkerchiefs which hadcolored borders.

He was prepared for his good turn nota moment too soon. For the stairs outsidewere creaking under slow and heavysteps. "The conq'rin' hero!" announcedOne-Eye, with a blind, but sweepin' bowin the general direction of the on-comer.

"Sh!" cautioned Mr. Perkins.

One-Eye did a comical collapse uponthe mattress, his reinhand, as he chose toterm his left, well stuffed into hismustached mouth. The others were silent,too—as the door opened and Big Tomcame crawling in.

This was a woefully changed Big Tom.His great, hairy face was darker thanusual, what with the battering it hadreceived, and the blood which was dryingupon it. There was a scarlet gap acrossone of those prominent ears, the lobe ofwhich was as red as if set with a ruby. Ashe swung the door and advancedunsteadily, he tried to keep his faceaverted from those in the room, andhitched petulantly at a sleeve of his shirt,which had been ripped from end to end by

a blow. Spent, bent, beaten, half-blind,puffing pink foam from his mouth at eachbreath, he stumbled toward the bedroom.The back of one hand was cut and raw,where he had driven it with all his mightagainst a side of the old printing shop,hoping to strike the scoutmaster. From itfell drops which made small, round, blackspots on the dusty floor.

At sight of the big man, so cowed andhelpless, "God save us!" breathed FatherPat, astounded, and sat down.

"Mister Barber!" It was Johnnie,timidly. Yet he forced himself to go closeto the longshoreman, and held thebrimming basin well forward. "Can I—will y' let me wash y'r face?"

"Lemme alone!" almost screamed BigTom. With a curse, and without turning hishead, he made one of those flail-likesweeps with an arm, struck the basin, andsent it full in the face of the boy. Itdrenched the big, old shirt, emptied out thewet handkerchief, and whirled to the floorwith a clatter.

Then, mumbling another curse, thelongshoreman spat, and a large, browntooth went skipping across the room. Itsowner lumbered against the bedroomdoor, bumping it with knees and forehead,opened it awkwardly against himself, halffell upon the wheel chair as he crossed thesill, swore louder than ever, and slammedthe door at his heels, shutting from thesight of the others his wounds and his

injured pride.

For a little, no one said anything.Johnnie, with the water dripping from hisyellow hair, was no longer in thatgenerous, good-scout state of mind. On thecontrary, he was enjoying somesatisfaction over Big Tom's plight. Howlike a bully was his foster father acting!—bellowing with delight when he overcamea man smaller than himself, and one whohad poor sight; and raging when a secondsmaller man met and bested him in a fairfight. But Johnnie made no comment as hepicked up the handkerchief and the basin,wrung out the linen square andmethodically hung it up to dry, and putaway the pan.

"Man dear," whispered Father Pat to

the scoutmaster, "don't ye ever be visitin'here agin! For, shure, Barber'll kill ye!"

"Oh!"—Johnnie was frightened. "Andmaybe he'll have y' 'rested!"

"No, old fellow," said Mr. Perkins,reassuringly. "He's lost out, and he's notlikely to advertise it. —But I'm sorryabout that tooth." He hunted it, found it,and examined it carefully. "It's a fronttooth, too." He dropped it into the stove.

"Too-ooth?" drawled One-Eye,suddenly sitting up. Not being able to see,he had not been able to note the effect ofthe scoutmaster's art upon Big Tom. Butnow, understanding a little of the damageMr. Perkins had done, the cowboy beganto giggle like a girl, wrapped his arms

about his fur-covered knees, laid his headupon them, and set his body to rockinghilariously. "Oh, gosh, a tooth!" he cried."Oh! Ouch! And he begged me t' save thisyoung feller's life!"

Mrs. Kukor came stealing out of thetiny room. "He wass fierce!" she declared,under her breath. "Nefer before wass hesoch-like!"

"Oh, Mister Perkins, hurry up and gitaway!" begged Johnnie. (Suppose BigTom should come bursting out of thebedroom to renew the trouble?) "It's beenawful here ever since yesterday and itseems like I jus' couldn't stand no more!"

"All right, scout boy." Mr. Perkins tooka paper from an inner pocket of his coat,

and from another a fountain pen whichBarber had not damaged. He handed bothto Father Pat, who rose at once and boldlyentered the bedroom. "That's the consent,"the scoutmaster explained to Johnnie. Hegot One-Eye into a chair and bandaged hisswollen eye in the masterly manner onemight logically expect from the leader of atroop. This addition to the cowboy'salready picturesque get-up gave him analtogether rakish and daring touch.

By the time the bandaging was done,here was Father Pat again, all wide, Irishsmiles. "Signed!" said he. "And, shure,Mr. Perkins, he paid ye a grandcompliment! Faith, and he did! It was afterhe scratched his name. 'That dude,' saidhe, 'if he was t' work on the docks,' said

he, 'would likely out-lift the whole lot ofus.' Think o' it! Those were his verywords!"

Cis came forth from her room now,hatted, and carrying what she was taking—a few toilet articles and one or twocherished belongings of her mother's, allcarefully wrapped in a shoe box. That itwas pitiful, her having to go with so little,occurred neither to her nor to Johnnie. Butit was just as well that they did notunderstand, as the older people in thekitchen did, how tragic that shoe box was.

She was carrying something which shewas not taking: Edwarda, until recently sotreasured and beloved. She laid the dollupon the oilcloth, glanced at One-Eye, andput a finger to her lips. "You can give it to

some little girl, Johnnie," she said; "—some real poor little girl."'

"All right." (He had decided on theinstant who should have Edwarda!) "ButI'd go 'long fast, if I was you," he added,with a fearsome look toward the bedroom.

Cis came to him. "Mrs. Kukor'll beright upstairs," she reminded (the littleJewish lady was trotting out and away, nottrusting herself to look on at theirfarewells).

"And I'll drop in often," interposedFather Pat; "—please God!"

One-Eye divined what was goingforward. He got up uneasily. "Dang it, if Iain't sorry I'm goin' West so soon again!"

he fretted. "But I'll tote y' back with mesome day, sonny—see if I don't! Also, I'llpeek in oncet 'r twicet afore I go—that is,if my lamp gits better."

"All right," said Johnnie again. He hadbut one idea now: to get every one safelyaway. So he was not sad.

"You—you can have my room now,"Cis went on, swallowing, and trying tosmile.

"Thank y'."

They shook hands, then, both a littleawkwardly. Next, she bent to kiss him.Boylike, he was not eager for that, withFather Pat and Mr. Perkins looking on. Sohe backed away deprecatingly, and she

succeeded only in touching her lips to atuft of his bright hair. But at once,forgetting manly pride, he wound his armsabout her, and laid his hurt cheek againsther shoulder; and she patted his sore backgently, and dropped a tear or two amongthe tangles brushing her face.

When he drew away from her, he sawthat neither Father Pat nor Mr. Perkinswere watching them. The former had ahand across his eyes (was he praying, orjust being polite?); while the scoutmaster,hands behind him, and chin in air, wasstaring out of the window.

"I'm ready, Algy,"—Cis tried to say itas casually as if she were going only tothe corner. She joined Father Pat and One-Eye at the door.

Now it was Mr. Perkins's turn. Hecame over and held out a hand. "Well,John Blake," he said (he had never used"John" before), "you'll be in our thoughtsevery hour of the day—you, and Grandpa.You know you're not losing a sister; you'regaining a brother."

They shook hands then, as men should.But a moment later, by an impulse thatwas mutual, each put his arms about theother in a quick embrace.

"My little brother!"

"My—my big brother!"

"Hate to leave you, scout boy."

"Aw, that's all right. Y' know me,Mister Perkins. I don't mind this old flat.

'Cause,—well, I don't ever have t' stay init if I don't want t'. I mean, I can bewherever I want t' be. And—and I'm withAladdin most o' the time, 'r King Arthur.And this next day 'r so, I'm plannin' t'spend on Treasure Island." All this wasintended to make them feel more cheerful.Now he smiled; and what with the shine ofhis tow hair, his light brows and his flaxenlashes, combined with the flash of hisyellow-flecked eyes and white teeth, theeffect was as if sunlight were falling uponthat brave, freckleless, blue-striped face.

The four went then, the Father guidingOne-Eye, and Cis with Mr. Perkins. Theywent, and the door closed upon them, anda hard moment was come to test his spirit—that moment just following the parting.

Fortunately for him, however, Grandpademanded attention. Beyond the bedroomdoor the little, old soldier, as if heguessed that something had happened, setup a sudden whimpering, and tried to turnthe knob and come out.

Johnnie brought him, giving not aglance to the great figure bulking onBarber's bed, and shutting the door as softas he could. He fed the old man, talking tohim cheerily all the while. "Cis is goin' t'be married," he recounted, "and have, oh,a swell weddin' trip. And then some day,when she gits back, she'll pop in hereagain, and tell us a-a-all about it! So nowyou go s'eepy-s'eepy, and when y' wake,Johnnie'll have some dandy supper f'r y'!"

His boy's spirit buoyed up by this

picture of great happiness for another, hebegan to sing as he wheeled Grandpabackward and forward—to sing under hisbreath, however, so as not to disturb BigTom! He sang out of his joy over the joyof those two who were just gone out totheir new life; and he sang to bringcontentment to the heart of the little, oldsoldier, and sleep to those pale, tiredeyes:

"Oh, Cis, she's goin' t' beMrs. Algernon Perkins,

And live in a' awfulstylish flat.

There's a carpet andcurtains in the flat,

And a man 'most asgood as Buckle t' do all

the work.And she's goin' t' have a

velvet dress, I think,maybe,

And plenty o' goodthings t' eat all the time—

Butter ev-ry day, Iguess, and eggs, too,

And nice, red apples, ifshe wants 'em——"

And so, caroling on and on, he put oldGrandpa to sleep.

But how his song would have died inhis throat if he could have guessed that, ofthe four who had just left,—those four

whom he loved so sincerely—one, and oh,what a dear, dear one, was never to passacross the threshold again!

E

CHAPTER XXXVI

LEFT BEHIND

MPTY!

He did not enter the tiny room.Now, all at once, it seemed a sacredplace, having for so long sheltered herwho was sweet and fine. And he feltinstinctively that the blue-walled retreatwas not for him; that he should not stretchhimself out in his soiled, ragged clotheson that dainty couch-shelf where she hadlain.

He stood on the threshold to look in.

How beautiful it was! From to-dayforward, would she truly have another anyhandsomer? The faint perfume of it (justrecently she had acquired a fresh stock oforris root) was like a breath from someflower-filled garden—such a garden as hehad read about in The Story of Aladdin.And yes, the little cell itself was like oneof Aladdin's caskets from which had beentaken a precious jewel.

Just now it was a casket very much indisarray, for Cis had tumbled it in wind-storm fashion as she made ready to leave,carelessly throwing down several thingsthat she had formerly handled delicately:the paper roses, the sliver of mirror, thepretty face of a moving-picture favorite.As for that box flounced with bright crepe

paper, it was ignominiously heaved to oneside. And that cherished likeness of Mr.Roosevelt was hanging slightly askew.

But Johnnie did not set straight thephotograph of his hero, or stoop to pickanything up. He could think of just onething: she was gone!

And she would never come back—never, never, never, never! He began torepeat the word, as he and Cis had beenwont to repeat words, trying hard torealize the whole of their meaning:"Never! never! never! never." And oncemore there came over him that curious lostfeeling that he had suffered after AuntSophie was gone in the clangingambulance. Once more, too, he grewrebellious. "Oh, why does ev'rything have

t' go 'n' bust up!" he questioned brokenly,voicing again the eternal protest of youthagainst an unexpected, pain-dealing shiftin Life's program.

That time he had run away, she hadpromised that she would never leavehim!—had said it with many nevers. "Andshe ain't ever before stayed out in theevenin' like this," he told himself. No, notin all the years he had been at the Barberflat.

However, he felt no resentment towardher for going. How could he? Now thatshe was away, she seemed unspeakablydear, faultlessly perfect.

But, left behind, what was he? whatdid he have? what would become of him?

To all those questions there was only oneanswer: Nothing. He was alone with ahelpless, childish, old man and that other."And I've tried 'n' tried!" he protested (hemeant that he had tried to please Barber,tried to do his work better, tried todeserve more consideration from thelongshoreman). And this was what hadcome of all his striving: Cis had beendriven away.

"Oh, nothin' worse can happen t' me!"he declared despairingly. "Nothin'!nothin'!" What a staff she had alwaysbeen, and how much he had leaned uponthat staff, he did not suspect till now,when it was wrenched from under hishand. He had a fuller understanding, too,of what a comfort she had steadily been—

she, the only bright and beautiful thing inthe dark, poor flat! And to think that,boylike, he had ever shrunk out from underher caressing fingers, or fled from herproffered kiss! O his darling comrade andfriend! O little mother and sister in one!

"Cis!" he faltered. "Cis!"

An almost intolerable sense of lossswept him, like a wave brimming the cupof his grief. His forehead seemed to bebulging, as if it would burst. His heart wasbursting, too. And something was tearing,clawlike, at his throat and at his vitals.Just where the lower end of hisbreastbone left off was the old, awful,aching, gnawing, "gone" feeling. Much inhis short life he had found hard to bear;but never anything so appalling as this! If

only he might cry a little!

"Sir Gawain, he c-cried," heremembered, "when he found out he wasf-fightin' his own b-brother. And Sir G-Gareth, he c-cried too." Also, no law ofthe twelve in the Handbook forbade ascout to weep.

His eyes closed, his mouth lengthenedout pathetically, his cheeks puckered, hischin drew up grotesquely, trembling as iftortured; then he bent his head and beganto sob, terribly, yet silently, for he fearedto waken Grandpa. Down his hurt facestreamed the tears, to fall on the big, oldshirt, and on his feet, while he leanedagainst the door-jamb, a drooping,shaking, broken-hearted little figure.

"Oh, I can't git along without her!" hewhispered. "I can't stand it! Oh, I want herback! I want her back!"

When he had cried away the sharpedge of his grief, a deliciously sad moodcame over him. In The Legends of KingArthur, more than one grieving person hadsuccumbed to sorrow. He wondered if hewould die of his; and he saw himself laidout, stricken, on a barge, attended by threeQueens, who were putting to sea to takehim to the Vale of Avilion.

The picture brought him peace.

There followed one of his thinks. Hebrought Cis back into the little room,seated her on her narrow bed, with herslender shoulders leaned against the

excelsior pillow which once she hadprized. In her best dress, which waswhite, she showed ghostily among theshadows. But he could see her violet eyesclearly, and the look in them was tenderand loving.

He held out his arms to her.

Somewhere, far off, a bell rang. It waslike a summons. The wraith of his ownmaking vanished. He wiped his eyes, nowwith one fringed sleeve, now with theother, stooped and felt round just insidethe little room for his scrap of mattressand the quilt, took them up, softly shut thedoor, and turned about.

That same moment the hall door beganslowly to open, propelled from without by

an unseen hand. "St!" came a low warning.Next, a dim hand showed itself, reachingin at the floor level with a large yellowbowl. It placed the bowl to one side,disappeared, returned again at once with agoodish chunk of schwarzbrod, laid thebread beside the bowl, traveled up to theoutside knob, and drew the door to.

He knew that the dim hand was plumpand brown, and that it belonged to thelittle Jewish lady, who never yet had beenforgetful of him, who was always promptwith motherly help. He knew that; and yet,as he watched it all, there was somethingof a sweet mystery about it, and he wasreminded of that wonderful arm, clothedin white samite, which had come thrustingup out of the lake to give the sword

Excalibur to great King Arthur.

He did not go to get what had been left(noodles, he guessed, tastily thickening abroth). Grandpa was already fed for thenight, and asleep in the wheel chair,where Johnnie intended to leave him, notliking to rap on the bedroom door anddisturb Big Tom. As for his own appetite,it seemed to have deserted him forever.

Noiselessly he put down his beddingbeside the table. And it was then that hemade out, by the faint light coming in atthe window, the two dolls, Letitia andEdwarda, huddled together on the oilcloth.Letitia, small, old, worn out in longservice to her departed mistress, had onesawdust arm thrown across Edwarda. AndEdwarda, proud though she was, and

beautiful in her silks and laces, had asmooth, round, artfully jointed arm thrownacross Letitia. It was as if each wascomforting the other!

Johnnie picked up the old doll.Somehow she seemed closer and dearer tohim than the new one. Perhaps—whoknew?—she, also, was mourning theabsent beloved. (If there was any feelingin her, she had been inconsolable this longtime, what with being cast aside for agrander rival.) "Well, Letitia," hewhispered, "here we are, you and—andme!"

It was growing dark in the kitchen.Besides, no one was there to mark hisweakness and taunt him with it. He put hisface against faithful Letitia's faded dress

—that dress which Cis herself had made,pricking her pink fingers scandalously inthe process, and had washed and ironedseason after season. That was it! He lovedthe old doll the better because she was apart of Cis.

"Oh, dear Letitia!" he whispered again,and strained the doll to his heart.

Then he took up Edwarda, who openedher eyes with a sharp click. Edwarda,favorite of her young owner, smelledadorably—like the tiny room, like thebirthday roses, like apples. And her daintypresence, exhaling the familiar scent of thedressing-table box, brought Cis evennearer to him than had Letitia. With achoking exclamation, he caught the newdoll to him along with the old, and held

both tight.

Then dropping to the mattress, he laidthe pair side by side before crumplingdown with them, digging his nose into oneof Edwarda's fragrant sleeves. The instanther head struck the bed, Edwarda hadclicked her eyes shut, as if quiteindifferent to all that had happened thatday (not to speak of the previous night),and had fallen asleep like a shot. Not sothe sterling Letitia, who lay staring, open-eyed, at the ceiling.

But Johnnie, worn with emotion, weakfrom yesterday's whipping, sick andweary from last night's long hours acrossthe table edge, sank into a deep andmerciful and repairing sleep.

H

CHAPTER XXXVII

UPS AND DOWNS

E awoke a changed boy. How it hadcome about, or why, he did not try toreason; but on opening his gray eyes

at dawn, he felt distinctly two astonishingdifferences in himself: first, his sorrowover Cis's going seemed entirely spent, asif it had taken leave of him some time inthe night; second, and more curious thanthe other, along with that sorrow hadevidently departed all of his old fear ofBig Tom!

The fact that Johnnie no longer stood in

dread of Barber was, doubtless, due to thefact that he had seen the giant outmatchedand brought to terms. He hated him still(perhaps even more than ever); yetholding him in contempt, did not indulgein a single revenge think. He understoodthat, with Cis away, the longshoremanneeded him as he had never needed himbefore. So Barber would not dare to beugly or cruel again, lest he lose Johnnietoo. "If I followed Cis where'd he be?" theboy asked himself. "Huh! He better becareful!"

As to Cis, now that he had had a goodrest, it was easy for him to see that thischange which had come into her life was athing to be grateful for, not a matter to bemourned about. After her trouble with

Barber, she could not stay on in the flatand be happy. Granting this, how fortunateit was that she could at once marry theman she loved. (And what a man!)

He saw her in that splendid, imaginaryapartment in which he had long agoinstalled Mr. Perkins. And was he, JohnBlake, wishing that she would stay in atiny, if beautiful, room without a window?

"Aw, shucks, no!" he cried. "I don'twant y' back! I miss y', but I'm awful glady'r gone! And I don't mind bein' left here."

He felt hopeful, ambitious,independent.

He rose with a will. He was stiff, justat first, but strong and steady on his feet.

As in the past he had never made a habitof pitying himself, he did not pity himselfnow, but took his aches and pains as hehad taken them many a time before, that is,by dismissing them from his mind. He washungry. He was eager for his daily wash.He wanted to get at his morning exercises,and take with them a whiff of the outdoorscoming in at the window. By a glance athis patch of sky he could tell that thiswhiff would be pleasant. For how clearand blue was that bit of Heaven which hecounted as a personal belonging! And justacross the area the sun was alreadybeginning to wash all the roofs with itsaureate light.

Three sparrows hailed him from thewindow ledge, shrilly demanding crumbs.

Crumbs made him think of Mrs. Kukor'sstealthy gift. Sure enough, the yellow bowlheld soup. In the soup was spaghetti—thewide, ribbony, slippery kind he especiallyliked, coiled about in a broth whichsmelled deliciously of garlic. As for theblack bread, some nibbling visitor of thenight had helped himself to one corner ofit, and this corner, therefore, went at onceto the birds.

"My goodness!" soliloquized Johnnie."How the mice do love Mrs. Kukor'sbread!" And he could not blame them. Itwas so good!

Then, a trifle startled, he noted that thewheel chair was not in the kitchen; butguessed at once that Barber had quietlyrolled Grandpa into the bedroom at a late

hour. Next, his roving glance droppedback to the old mattress, and he caughtsight of the dolls. Forgetting what acomfort they had been to him the eveningbefore, this while feeling boyishlyashamed and foolish at having had themwith him, in a panic he caught them up andflung them, willy-nilly, out of sight uponCis's couch; after which, looking sheepish,and wondering if Big Tom had, by anychance, seen them, he put away hisbedding, filled the teakettle, and reacheddown the package of oatmeal.

It was not till he started to build a firethat he remembered! In the fire box stillwas all that remained of his uniform, hisbooks, and the Carnegie medal. He lifted astove lid; then as a mourner looks down

into a grave that has received a dear one,so, for a long, sad moment, he gazed intothe ashes. "Oh, my stories!" he faltered."Oh, my peachy suit o' clothes!"

But it was the medal he hunted. Onpressing the ashes through into the ash-box, something fell with a clear tinkle, andhe dug round till he found a burned andblackened disk. Fire had harmed itwoefully. That side bearing the face of itsdonor was roughened and scarred, so thatno likeness of Mr. Carnegie survived; buton the other side, near to the rim, severalwords still stood out clearly—that a manlay down his life for his friends.

After more poking around he found allthe metal buttons off the uniform, eachshowing the scout device, for, being

small, the buttons had dropped into theashes directly their hold upon the clothwas loosened by the flames, and soescaped serious damage. Also, followinga more careful search, he discovered—thetooth.

The clock alarm rang, and he surmisedthat Big Tom had wound it when he cameout for Grandpa.

"John!"

Somehow that splintered bit ofBarber's tusk made Johnnie feel moreindependent than ever. With it between athumb and finger, he dared be soindifferent to the summons that he did notreply at once. Instead, he took the buttonsto the sink and rinsed them; rinsed the

tooth, too. Then he put the medal into theshallow dish holding the dead rose leaves,filled a cracked coffee cup with thebuttons, and tossed the tooth into thedrawer of the kitchen table.

"John!"—an anxious John this time, asif the longshoreman half feared the boywas gone.

"I'm up."

"Wish y'd come here."

Johnnie smiled grimly as he went. That"wish" was new! Always heretofore it hadbeen "You do this" and "You do that."Evidently something of a change had alsobeen wrought in Big Tom! The bedroomdoor was ajar an inch or two. Through the

narrow crack Johnnie glimpsed Grandpa,in his chair, ready to be trundled out. ButBarber was lying down, his face halfturned away.

"Wheel the old man into the kitchen,"said the latter as he heard Johnnie. Hespoke with a lisp (that tooth!), and hisvoice sounded weak. "And then bring mesomethin' t' eat, will y'?"

Having said Yes without a Sir, Johnniewagged his head philosophically, thewhile he steered the chair skilfully acrossthe sill. "Plenty o' good turns t' do now,"he told himself; "and all o' 'em for him!"

But—a scout is faithful. He built thefire and cooked a tasty meal—toast, withthe grease of bacon trimmings soaking it,

coffee, and rolled oats—and placed it onGrandpa's bed, handy to thelongshoreman. Then he shut the bedroomdoor smartly, as a signal that Big Tomwas to have privacy, and returned to hisown program.

He scampered downstairs forGrandpa's milk and his own, taking time toexchange a grin with the janitress, towhom Barber's defeat of yesterday was nogrief. Then back he raced, washed,combed and fed the little, old soldier,helping him to think the gruel a "swellpuddin'," and the service Buckle's best.After that there was a short trip toMadison Square Garden where, despiteall facts to the contrary, a colossal circushad moved in. Johnnie summoned lions

before the wheel chair, and tigers, camels,Arab steeds and elephants, Cis's roomserving admirably as the cage whichcontained these various quadrupeds. And,naturally, there was a deal of growlingand roaring and kicking and neighing,while the camels barked surprisingly likeBoof, and the elephants conversed withsomething of a Hebrew accent. All ofwhich greatly delighted Grandpa, and hecackled till his scraggly beard was dampwith happy tears.

When he was asleep there wassweeping to do (with wet, scattered tealeaves, and a broom drenched frequentlyat Niagara falls, all this to help keep downthe dust). A few dishes of massy goldneeded washing, too. The stove—that iron

urn holding precious dust—called for thepolishing rag. Of all these duties Johnniemade quick work.

Then, without a thought that Big Tommight come forth, see, and seeing,disapprove, Johnnie switched to the floorthat square of oilcloth which so oftencovered the Table Round, rolled thewash-tub into place at the cloth's center,and partly filled it. At once there followedsuch a soaping and scrubbing, such asplashing and rinsing! Whenever the coldwater struck a sore spot there were gaspsand ouches.

A close attention to details was notlacking. Ears were not forgotten, nor theareas behind them; nor was the neck (allthe way around); nor were such soil-

gathering spots as knee-knobs and elbow-points; nor even the black-and-bluestreaks across an earnest face. Andpresently, the drying process over, andCis's old toothbrush laid away, a pink andglowing body was bending and twistingclose to the window, and shooting out itslimbs.

When Johnnie was dressed, and stood,clean and combed and straight on his pins,his chest heaving as he glanced around akitchen which was shipshape, and uponhis aged friend, who was as presentableas possible, it occurred to him that when acaller happened in this morning—Mrs.Kukor, Father Pat, or Cis; or when he,himself, fetched King Arthur, or Mr.Roosevelt, or Robinson Crusoe, no

excuses of any kind would have to bemade. He and his house were in order.

Mrs. Kukor. So far he had not noticed asound from overhead. When the brownshoes were on, he rapped an I'm-coming-up signal on the sink pipe. There was noanswer. He rapped it again, and louder,watching the clock this time, in order togive the little Jewish lady a full minute torise from her rocking chair. But she didnot rise; and no steps went doll-walkingacross the ceiling. At this early hour couldMrs. Kukor be out? He went up.

Another surprise. Another change.Another blow. At her door was hermorning paper, with its queer lettering; onthe door, pinned low, was what lookedlike a note. Feeling sure that it had been

left for him, Johnnie carried it half-way tothe roof to get a light on its message,which was sorry news indeed:

Der Jony my rebeka has so badsicknus i needs to go by hir love LeahKukor.

He was so pained by the explanation,so saddened to learn that his devotedfriend would be gone all day, that hedescended absentmindedly to the flatdirectly below Barber's, where he walkedin unceremoniously upon nine Italians ofassorted sizes—the Fossis, all swarmedabout their breakfast in a smoke-filledroom.

With a hasty excuse, he darted out;then, his heart as lead, climbed home.

Poor Mrs. Kukor! Poor daughter Rebecca!Poor baby, whose mamma had a "badsicknus!" And, yes, poor husband, Mr.Reisenberger!—even though he was"awful rich."

The broom had swept from under thestove those lengths of clothesline. Withmore philosophical wags of the head,Johnnie fastened them end to end withweaver's knots, and rehung the rope,knowing as he worked that he could neveragain bear to telephone along that mendedline.

"Gee! Barber spoils ev'rything!" hedeclared.

After the rope was up he felt weak. Hesat down at the table, thin legs curled

round the rungs of the kitchen chair, cleanelbows on the restored oilcloth, a big fistpropping each cheek; and presently foundhimself listening, waiting, his eyes on thehall door. At every noise, he gave a start,and hope added its shine to that othershine which soap had left on his face.

And so the long morning passed.Shortly after noon, he carried dinner in toBig Tom, and took away the breakfastdishes. Grandpa went as far as the doorwith him, and opened grave, baby eyes atsight of his prostrate son. "Oh, Tommiesick!" he whispered, frightened. "PoorTommie sick!"

"Shut up!" growled "poor Tommie,"roughly, and Grandpa backed off quickly,with soft tap-taps.

"Maybe y' better have a doctor,"essayed Johnnie, practically, and ascalmly as he might have said it to Cis.

"You mind your business."

The afternoon was longer than themorning. Johnnie sat at the table again.His face was hot, and he kept a dipper ofwater in front of him so that he could takefrequent draughts. Sometimes he watchedhis patch of sky; sometimes he shut hiseyes and read from the burned books, orlooked at their pictures; now and then heslept—a few minutes at a time—his headon his arms.

Toward evening, though restedphysically, he found his spirits againdrooping. Bravely as he had started the

day, its hours of futile waiting had triedhim. (Could it be possible that grief was amatter of the clock?) As twilight oncemore moved upon the city it brought withit the misery, the loneliness and the painwhich had been his just twenty-four hoursbefore. Oh, where, he asked himself, wasthe light step, the tender voice, the helpfulhand of her who had hurried home to himevery nightfall of the past?

He understood then what a differencethere could be between bodily sufferingand mental suffering. His whipping,severe as it had been, was over and done,and all but forgotten. But this sorrow—!"Gee!" he breathed, marveling; "how itsticks!"

No; he had not realized when Cis left

how hard it would be to stay on at the flatwithout her. And ahead of him were howmany days like this one? He seemed thereto stay for a time that was all but forever!

That night it was Boof who shared themattress with him. He whispered to thedog for a long while, recounting histroubles. Afterward, he said over the tenthlaw, that one having to do with bravery."Defeat does not down him" the Handbookhad said; and he was not downed. Hethought of every valiant soul he knew—Aladdin, Heywood, Uncas, Jim Hawkins,Lancelot, Crusoe. He fought the tears. Buthe felt utterly stricken, wholly deserted.

—By all save Polaris, now risenabove the roofs. "Oh, you can seeev'rything!" Johnnie said to the star,

enviously. "So, please, where is FatherPat?"

But Polaris only stared back at him.Bright and hard, calm and unchanging,what difference did it make to so proud abeacon—the woe of one small boy?

Joy cometh with the morning. This timeJoy wore the disguise of a cowboy whohad a black eye, a bag of apples, anewspaper, and two cigars. Also hecarried a couple of businesslike packages,large ones, well wrapped in thick brownpaper and wound with heavy string.

The excitement and happiness that

One-Eye roused when he shuffled in camevery nearly being the end of Johnnie, whocould not believe his own eyes, but had totake hold of a shaggy trouser leg in orderto convince himself that this was a realvisitor and not just a think.

The Westerner appeared to havechanged his mind about Big Tom in muchthe same way that Johnnie had changed his(and, doubtless, for the same reason).Dropping all of his packages, and fishingthe cigars from a top vest-pocket, hestalked boldly into the bedroom. "Say!" hebegan, "here's a couple o' flora dee rope.Smoke you' blamed haid off!" Then, asBarber, grunting, reached a grateful handfor the gift, "An', say! I've brung the kidsome more of all what y' burned up. So

tell me—right now—if y' got anyobjections."

"No-o-o-o!"—crossly.

"If y' have, spit 'em out!"

"Gimme a match!"

It was a victory!

"That feller's lost his face!" One-Eyeconfided to Johnnie when the bedroomdoor was shut. He winked emphaticallywith that darkly colored good eye.

"L—lost his face?" cried Johnnie,aghast. "What y' mean, One-Eye? But hehad it this mornin'! I saw it!"

"Aw, y' little jay-hawk!" returned the

cowboy, fondly.

Then, excitement! In a short space oftime which the Westerner described as"two shakes o' a lamb's tail," Johnnie wasgarbed from hat to leggings in a brand-new scout uniform, and was gloating andgurgling over another Robinson Crusoe,another Treasure Island , another Last ofthe Mohicans, another Legends of KingArthur, and another Aladdin. Each hadtinted illustrations. Each was stiff withnewness, and sweet to the smell. "And thesky-book, 'r whatever y' call it, and thescout-book, w'y, they'll come t'morra, 'rthe day after, I don't know which. —Wal,what d' y' say?"

"I say 'Thanks'—with all of me!"Johnnie answered, trembling with

earnestness. They shook hands solemnly.

"Oh, our books!" cried Grandpa. "Ournice, little soldier!" To him, the cowboy'spresents were those which had gone intothe stove.

There was something in that newspaperfor Johnnie to read. It was a shortannouncement. This had in it no element ofsurprise for him, since it told him nothinghe did not already know. Nevertheless, ittook his breath away. In a column headed"Marriages" were two lines which read,"Perkins-Way: April 18, AlgernonGodfrey Perkins to Narcissa Amy Way."

"It's so!" murmured Johnnie, awed."They're both married!" Seeing it in printlike that, the truth was clinched, being

given, not only a certainty, but a dignityand a finality only to be conveyed by type."One-Eye, it's so!"

One-Eye 'lowed it was.

"And, my goodness!" Johnnie added."Think o' Cis havin' her name in thepaper!"

They sat for a while without speaking.Grandpa, having been generously suppliedby the cowboy with scraped apple, sleptas sleeps a fed baby. Johnnie stacked andrestacked his five books, caressing them,drawing in the fragrance of their leaves.One-Eye studied the floor and jiggled afoot.

"Sonny," he said presently (it was

plain that he had something on his mind);"y' won't feel too down-in-the-mouth if Itell y'—tell y'—er—aw—" The spurredfoot stopped jiggling.

"What? Oh, One-Eye, y're not goin'away right off?"

"T'night."

"Oh!"

"But, shucks, I'll be sailin' back Eastagain in no time! These Noo York big-bugs is jes' yelpin' constant fer my poloponies."

"I'm glad." But there was a shadownow upon a countenance which a momentbefore had been beaming. Things weregoing wrong with him—everything—all at

once. It was almost as if some maligngenie were working against him. "Mrs.Kukor's away, too," he said. "And withCis gone—" He swallowed hard.

One-Eye began to talk in a huskymonotone, as if to himself. "They's nobodyelse jes' like her," he declared; "that's acinch! She's shore the kind that comes onein a box! Whenever I'd look at her, I'dallus think o' a angel, 'r a bird, 'r a little,bobbin' rose." He sighed, uncrossed hisshaggy knees, crossed them the other way,shifted his quid of tobacco to the oppositecheek, and pulled down the brim of thewide hat till it touched his leathery nose."Such a slim, little figger!" he added."Such a pert, little haid! And—and a cuteface! And she was white! Plumb white!"

Johnnie, as he listened, understood thatthe cowboy was talking of Cis—no oneelse. He was not mourning his owndeparture, nor regretting the fact that asmall, lonely boy was to be left behind.Which gave that boy such a pang ofjealousy as helped him considerably tobear this new blow.

"Wal," went on One-Eye,philosophically, "I never was a luckycuss. If the sky was t' rain down greenturtle soup, yours truly 'd find himself withjes' a fork in his pocket."

What was the cowboy hinting? Howhad luck gone against him, who wasgrown-up, and rich, and free to travelwhither he desired? And, above all, whatconnection was there between Cis and

green turtle soup?

Johnnie could not figure it out. With allhis power of imagination, there was onething he never did understand—the truthconcerning One-Eye's feeling toward acertain young lady.

J

CHAPTER XXXVIII

ANOTHER GOOD-BY

OHNNIE could hear a fumbling outsidein the hall, as if some one was goingslowly to and fro, brushing a wall with

gentle, uncertain hands. Cautiously hetiptoed to his own door and listened, hisheart beating a little faster than theoccasion warranted, this because he hadjust been scooting about the deck of theHispaniola again with Jim Hawkins,eluding that terrible Mr. Hands; and hewas still more or less close in to the shoreof Treasure Island, rather than in New

York City, and hardly able to realize thatin the gloomy, old kitchen he wasreasonably safe from a pirate's knife.

The noise in the hall traveled awayfrom the Barber door to another on thesame floor. Johnnie concluded that theItalian janitress was giving the darkpassage its annual scrub. As he had nowish to exchange words with her, muchpreferring the society of the rash, butplucky, Jim, he stole back to the table, andonce more projected himself half theworld away.

Three days had passed since One-Eye'sdeparture. They had been quiet days. Mrs.Kukor was still gone. Big Tom venturedforth from his self-imposed imprisonmentonly late at night. Cis and Mr. Perkins,

save for a cheery greeting scribbled on apost card that pictured the Capitol atWashington, seemed utterly to have cutthemselves off from the flat. As for FatherPat, of course he had not forgottenJohnnie, not forsaken a friend;nevertheless, there had been no sign ofhim.

But having again his seven belovedbooks (the two extra ones had arrived byparcel post), Johnnie had not fretted once.What time had he for fretting? He waseither working—cooking, washing,ironing, cleaning, waiting on thelongshoreman or the aged soldier, goingout grandly in his scout uniform to fetchthings from the grocer's, smarteningGrandpa's appearance or his own—or

else he was reading. And when he wasreading, his world and all of its caresdropped magically away from him, andthe clock hands fairly spun.

One-Eye bidden a brave good-by, oneof Johnnie's first jobs had been therearranging of Cis's closet room. Thoughhe still felt that he could not take over forhis own use the little place which wassacred to her, nevertheless he hadconsidered it a fit and proper spot inwhich to enshrine his seven volumes. Sohe had set the dressing-table box backagainst the wall, straightened its flounces,and placed the books in a row upon thisattractive bit of furniture, flanking them atone end with the lamp, at the other withthe alarm clock. Then he named the tiny

room the library.

The lamp was for use at night, so thathe could prolong his hours of study andenjoyment, seated on his mattress which,folded twice, made a luxurious seat of justthe right height to command a good viewof Mr. Roosevelt. The clock, on the otherhand, was for daylight use only. When hewas seated at the kitchen table, an elbowat either side of a book, his head propped,and his spirit far away, the clock (havingbeen set with forethought, but wound onlyone turn) sounded a soft, short tinkle forhim, calling him from Crusoe's realm, orfrom those northern forests through whichhe followed after Heywood, or fromChina, from Treasure Island, fromCaerleon; and warning him it was time to

prepare Big Tom a meal.

The fumbling about the hall door beganagain. Next, the knob was turned, slowlyand uncertainly, as if by a child. Oncemore cutting short that enthralling hunt forgold, Johnnie hurried back to the door andopened it—and looked into the beady,bright black eyes of an exceedingly oldlady.

She had on a black dress which wasevidently as old as herself, for in spots itwas the same rusty color as the few fadedhairs, streaked with gray, which showedfrom under her ancient headshawl. In oneshaking hand she held a stout cane; in theother, a slip of paper. This latter sheoffered him. And he found written on it hisown name and Barber's, also brief

directions for locating the building in thearea.

"What's this for?" asked Johnnie."What d' y' want me t' do? I can't give y'anything 'cept a cup o' tea. I'm sorry, butI'm broke."

"Mm-mm-mm-mm," mumbled the oldlady; then showing a double line of gumsin a smile, she plucked at his sleeve."Father Mmmmm!" she said again. "Ah-ha? ah-ha? ah-ha?" With each ah-a, shebacked a step invitingly, and nodded himto come with her.

Father Mungovan! A shiver ran alldown him. For instantly he knew why shehad come. Running to the stove, he wetdown the fire with some hot water out of

the teakettle, put away his book, broughtout his own quilt to cover Grandpa'sknees, swiftly laid Big Tom's place at thetable, cut some bread, made the tea, thenknocked on the bedroom door to explainthat supper was ready on the oilcloth, butthat he had to go out.

If Barber made any reply or objectionto that, Johnnie did not hear it. "FatherMungovan's sick?" he asked the old ladyas he followed her, a step at a time, downthe three flights.

"Sick," she assented, nodding theshawled head. "Ah-ha! ah-ha! ah-ha!"

She hobbled, and even on the levelsidewalk her pace was slow. He tried tohelp her, but she would not have his hand

under her elbow, pulling away from him,muttering, and pointing ahead with herstick.

"Where d' we go t'?" he asked, for itwas in his mind to set off by himself at arun. However, he could not understandwhat she replied; and soon gave up trying,feeling that, after all, a boy who intendedto be a scout should not leave such aweak, aged soul behind, all alone, butshould stay to help her over the crossings."I'm 'xac'ly like that picture in theHandbook!" he reminded himself.

But it was little assistance the old ladyneeded. At every crossing she wentstumping boldly forward, her cane high inthe air and shaken threateningly, while shelooked neither to the right nor the left,

paying no attention to on-coming vehicles,whether these were street-cars, motors orteams, only warning each and all with apiping "Ah-ha! ah-ha! ah-ha!"

People smiled at her. They smiledalso, and admiringly, at the freshlyuniformed, blond-haired boy scoutstriding beside her, whose face, by thefading marks upon it, indicated that latelyhe had accidentally bumped intosomething.

But Johnnie saw no one, so completelywere his thoughts taken up. Of courseFather Pat was sick. That was why he hadnot been back to the flat. Was there, theboy wondered, anything a scout could dofor the beloved priest? Johnnie thought ofall those instructions in the Handbook

which concerned the aiding and saving ofothers. "Oh, I want t' help him!" he cried,and in his eagerness forged ahead of theold lady, whereupon she poked himsharply with the stick.

"Slow! Slow!" she ordered, breathingopen-mouthed.

The distance seemed endless. Johnniebegan to fear that he might not reach theFather before he died. "Oh, all that fightin'was bad for him!" he concludedregretfully. "That's what's the matter! Itwore him out! I wish Mrs. Kukor didn't gofor him! But, oh, he mustn't die! Hemustn't! He mustn't!"

And yet that was precisely what FatherPat was about to do. When Johnnie had

climbed the steps of a brownstone houseand been admitted by a strange priest; andbetween long portières had entered a high,dim room where there was a wide, whitebed, he realized the worst at once. Foreven to young eyes that had never beforelooked upon death, it was plain that agreat, a solemn, and a strangely terriblechange had come into that revered,homely, kindly face. Its smile was notgone—not altogether; but still showedfaintly around the big, tender Irish mouth.But, ah, the dear, red hair was wet withmortal sweat, and lay in thin, trailingwisps upon a brow uncommonly white.

Yes, Father Pat had been right; thebridges made for him by the elderlydentist "who needed the work" were to

outlast the necessity for them. And the big,young, broad-shouldered soldier-priestwas going out even before little, feeble,old Grandpa!

"Father Pat!" whispered the boy.

The green eyes, moving more slowlythan was their wont, traveled inquiringlyfrom place to place till they found theirobject, then fixed themselves lovinglyupon Johnnie's face. Next, out stole ahand, feebly searching for another.

"Little—golden—thing!"

Ah, how hard he was breathing! "If Icould jus' give him my breath!" thoughtJohnnie; "'r my lungs!" He took thesearching hand, but turned his face away.

There was a small, round table beside thebed. Upon it were some flowers in aglass, a prayer book, a rosary, a goblet ofwater, a fan. Mechanically he counted thethings—over and over. He was dry-eyed.He felt not the least desire to weep. Thegrief he was enduring was too poignantfor tears. It was as if he had been slashedfrom forehead to knees with a sword.

"I'm not actin' like a scout," he thoughtsuddenly. And forced himself to turn againto that friend so heart-rendingly changed.Then aloud, and striving to speak evenly,"Father Pat, y're not goin' t' die, are y'?No, y're not goin' t' die!"

He felt his hand pressed. "Die?"repeated the Father, and Johnnie saw thatthere was almost a playful glint in the

green eyes. "Shure, scout boy,"—haltingwith each word—"dyin's a thing we allcome t', one time or another. Ye know,ev'ry year manny a man dies that's neverdied before."

"I couldn't have y' go," urged the boy."Oh, Father Pat, Cis, she's gone, but I canstand it, 'cause she's happy. But you—you—you—!" Words failed him.

"Lad dear,"—and now the Father'slook was grave and tender—"God's willbe done."

"Oh, yes! I—I know. But, oh, FatherPat, promise me that—that y' won't—gofar!"

"Ah!"—the dimming eyes suddenly

swam in pity.

"Jus' t' the nearest star, Father Pat! Jus't' the nearest star!"

"Little star lover!" Then after a pausefor rest, "Johnnie, ye've loved Father Pat agood bit?"

"Oh, so much! So much!"

"And I've loved the little poet—thedreamer! And I've faith—in him—as Igo."

Johnnie knelt—yes, the same Johnniewho had always felt so shy when any onespoke of God, or prayer, or beingreligious. How natural the act of kneelingwas, now that he was face to face withthis tragedy which no earthly power could

avert! It was quite as the Father had oncepredicted: "Ah, when the day comes, laddear, that ye feel bad enough, when grieffair strikes ye down, and there's nobodycan help ye but God, then ye'll understandwhy men pray." Well, that day had come.Now everything was in His hands.

Yet Johnnie could not shape a prayer—could only beg dumbly for help as heclung to Father Pat's hand, and laid hischeek against it.

It was while he was kneeling that hesaw, entering between those portières,some one dressed in white—a woman.White she wore, too, upon the silky whiteof her hair. The snowy headdress framed aface pale, but beautiful, with the beautythat comes from service and self-sacrifice

and suffering.

The instant Johnnie glimpsed that face,and looked into the sad, brave eyes, heknew her!—knew her though she wore nored cross upon her sleeve. Of course,among all the souls in the great universe,she would be the one to come now, justwhen he, Johnnie, needed the sight of herto make him more staunch!

He remembered how she had stoodbefore the firing-squad, not shrinking fromher fate, not crying out in terror of thecruel bullets. And now how poised shewas, how fearless, in this room whereDeath was waiting! Awe-struck, adoringher, and scarcely daring to breathe lest shevanish, he got slowly to his feet.

"Edith Cavell!" he whispered.

"Edith—Cavell!" echoed Father Pat."'Twas her dyin'—that helped—manny——"

"It's time to go," she said softly. "Tellthe Father good-by."

Dutifully he turned to take that lastfarewell. But now that he had the martyrednurse at his side, he determined to endurethe parting manfully. He knelt again, andtried to smile at the face smiling back athim from the pillow. He tried to speak,too, but his lips seemed stiff, for somereason, and his tongue would not obey.But he kept his bright head up.

He heard a whisper—Father Pat was

commending this scout he loved to themercy of a higher power. Next, he felthimself lifted gently and guided backwardfrom the bed. He did not want to go. Hewanted to keep on seeing, seeing that dearface, to hold on longer to that weak hand."Oh, don't—don't take me!" he pleaded.

The dying eyes followed, oh, howaffectionately, the small, khaki-cladfigure. "God's—own—child!" breathedthe priest, and there was tender pride inthe faint tones. "God's—blessed—lad!"

"Father!"

Then the folds of the portières brushedJohnnie's shoulders, and fell between hiseyes and the wide, white bed.

He had taken his last look.

He was nearly home when hediscovered the letter—a thick letter in along envelope. It was in his hand, thoughhe could not remember how it came to bethere. But it was undoubtedly his, for bothsides of it bore his name in Father Pat'sown handwriting: John Blake.

He did not open it. He could not read itjust yet. Thrusting it into a coat pocket, hestumbled on. Had he complained andcried just because Cis was to live inanother part of this same city? Had heactually thought the loss of a suit and somebooks enough to feel bad and bitter about?

Was it he who had said, after Cis went,that nothing worse could happen?

Ah, how small, how trivial, all othertroubles seemed as compared to this new,strange, terrible thing—Death! And howlittle, before this, he had known of genuinegrief!

Now something really grievous hadhappened. And it seemed to him as if hiswhole world had come suddenly tumblingdown in pieces—in utter chaos—about hisyellow head.

"L

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE LETTER

AD DEAR, I was saying to myselfthe other day, 'Patrick Mungovan,when you go home to God, what

will you be leaving—you that haven't ared cent to your name—to that mite of aboy, John?' 'Well,' Patrick Mungovananswered back, 'to be truthful, I've nothingto leave but the memory of a sweetfriendship and, maybe, a letter.'

"So down I sat, and started this. Just atthe beginning of it, where it can help toease any pain in your heart, let me say a

word about my going, for I want you to behappy always when you're thinking of me.So believe what I say: though we can't sitand talk together, as we have, still we'llnever be parted. No! For the reason thatI'll live on, not only in the spirit, but alsoin that fine brain of yours! And wheneveryou'll be wanting me, you'll think me withyou, and there I'll be, never a day older,never a bit less red-headed, or dear toyour loving eyes. So! We're friends, youand I, as long as memory lasts!

"Lad dear, I called you rich once. Youdidn't understand all I meant by it, and I'mgoing to explain myself here. And I'll startthe list of your riches with this: thoughyou've been shut in, and worked hard, andfed none too well, and dressed badly, and

cheated by Tom Barber out of the smiles,and the decent words of praise, and theconsideration and politeness that's everychild's honest due—in spite of all this, Isay, you've gone right on, ignoring whatyou couldn't help, learning what youcould, improving yourself, preservingyour sense of humor (which is the powerto see what's funny in everything), andnever letting your young heart forget tosing.

"'But,' you'll ask, 'how is it that notcaring too much about food and clothesmay be counted as a valuable possession?'And I'll answer, 'That man is strong, John,whose appetite is his servant, not hismaster. And that man is stronger yet if,wearing ragged, old clothes, all the same

he can keep his pride high. For "Is not thelife more than meat, and the body thanraiment?" Well, that's how it's been withyou!

"Some of your riches consist of thingswhich you haven't got—now that soundsstrange, does it not? And I don't mean thescarlet fever which you haven't, or a hairlip, or such like. No. You're rich in notbeing morbid, for instance,—in notdwelling on what's unpleasant, and ugly.Also because you don't harbor malice andill-will. Because you don't fret, and sulk,and brood, all these goings-on being a sadwaste of time.

"And now let's count over the richesthat you've got in your character. In theback of your Handbook, Mr. Roosevelt,

writing about boy scouts, named fourqualities for a fine lad: unselfish, gentle,strong, brave. They're your qualities, laddear. And you proved the last one whenyou took that whipping with the ropes—ah, is a boy poor when he's got the spunkin him? He is not! Well, along with thosefour qualities I can honestly add theseothers: you're grateful, you're clean (inheart and in mouth, liking and speakingwhat's good), you're merciful, you'retruthful, you're ambitious, you've gotdecent instincts—inherited, but a part ofyour riches, just the same.

"As for the way you like what helpsyou (and queer as it may seem, too manyboys don't like what helps them), that hasastonished and pleased me many a day. I

remember your telling me once that yougot tired of prunes and potatoes. And Isaid to you, 'Prunes are good for you, andnothing could be better than bakedpotatoes,'—I knowing how you relishedthem mashed! Well, after that, neveranother mashed potato dared to show itseyes! And, oh, how you did make awaywith the prunes!

"It's the good things you've got in yourcharacter, and the bad things that youhaven't got, which explain how it comesthat you're loved the way you are—byNarcissa, and Grandpa (ah, it's handsome,is that old soldier's love for you! it'sgrand!), and Mrs. Kukor, and the Westerngentleman, and Mr. Perkins, and me! Withso much love as all that, could you ever

think of yourself as poor? Now you justcouldn't!

"And then consider the way you loveeach of us in return! And no lad can sayhe's poor when he's got the power to lovein him! and the sweet sacrifice! And youknow the kind of love that all sound younghearts give to the crippled and thehelpless and the dumb. Grandpa wouldsay Yes to that if he could. And so wouldthe sparrows on the window sill!

"But, of course, we'll not be forgettingthat you've got your youth, and mostprecious it is, and two rows of teethwhich don't need bridging! Also, you're asgood-looking as any boy ought to be,you're improving in strength, and you'rehealthy. Why, there's many a millionaire

who'd give his fortune if he had that grandlittle tummy of yours, which can digest theknobs off the doors!

"Already—at twelve!—you've got thehabit of work, and, oh, what a blessingthat habit is, and what an insurance againstSatan! And you've got the book habit, aglorious one, since it gives youinformation, entertains you, and teachesyou to think, to argue things out foryourself. Yes, it's reading which makes alad strong in himself. You don't needracket, and the company of other lads, inorder to have a good time. And, John, youknow how to listen, and that's uncommon,too.

"But thinking is your greatest blessing.You get your joy, not out of what you

have, for God in His wisdom knows howlittle that is, but out of what you think. Ifthere's something you haven't, you goahead and supply it with your thoughts,creating beauty where there isn't any,building a world of your own. Neverbefore have I met a lad who could dreamas you can dream. Ah, and what it's donefor you—in that dark, dirty, little flat!

"Dreams! Behind every big thing that'sever happened was a dream! TheUniverse itself was first of all just an ideain the mind of Almighty God. In Hiswisdom and love He left it to man to workout other plans less grand. And who's everbeen great that didn't dream? First youdream a thing; then you do it. Take SamuelMorse, for instance. He had a wonderful

thought. Next, with his telegraph, he'dconstructed the nerves of the world! Andthere's Mr. Marconi. Not so long ago,they'd have burned him as a gentlemanwitch!

"Imagination! I've no doubt you'veoften envied Aladdin his wonderful lamp?(They're not making so many of thoselamps these days!) But, boy dear, everylad's got a lamp that's just as wonderful!The lamp of knowledge. Get knowledge,John. Then—rub it with yourimagination.

"And look at all the marvels that lieabout you waiting to help! The books, thepaintings, the schools, the churches, theuniversities, the music, the museums, theright kind of plays—they're all right here

in New York City. Why, lad dear, eventhe shops are an education, with their rugs,and their fine weaves, and furniture, andcrystal, and china, and all the rest of it.Think of having such a city just to go outand walk around in! And you'll not castaside a single opportunity!

"So what of your future? Here! TakeFather Pat's hand, and shut your eyes, andwe'll go on an Aladdin trip together, thisto see what became of certain other poorlittle boys. Here's a wonderful office, anda man is sitting at his desk. He heads oneof the biggest concerns in the world, he'scultured, and generous, and a credit to hiscountry. Suppose we go back with himthirty years. Oh, look, lad! He's sellingnewspapers!

"We're off again. We're in a room that'slofty and grand. And looking at a man in asolemn mantle. He's high in our nation'scounsels, he's honored, and known by thewhole world. He's a Justice of theSupreme Court of the United States ofAmerica. Let's go back with him thirtyyears. Dear! dear! what do we see! Apoor, little, tattered youngster who'sdriving home the cows!

"Ah, Johnnie, lads don't get on byhaving things soft. Give a lad a hundredthousand dollars, and it's likely you'll ruinhim. Let him make a hundred thousand,honestly, and—you've got a man!

"Seldom do the sons of rich mendistinguish themselves. TheodoreRoosevelt did (he that said, 'Don't go

around; go over—or through'). And, yes, Irecall another—that fine gentleman whowas a great electrical engineer, PeterCooper Hewitt. But most of the big men inthis country were poor boys. Having tostruggle, they grew strong.

"For instance, there were the Wrightbrothers, who turned men into eagles!Their sister was called 'the littleschoolma'am with the crazy brothers!'Robert Burns, the Scotch poet, was theson of a laboring man. Charles Dickensearned money by sticking labels in a shoe-blacking factory. William Shakespeare'sfather made gloves. Benjamin Franklinwas the son of a candlemaker. DanielDefoe, who wrote that Robinson Crusoeyou love so much, helped his father

around the butcher shop. John Bunyan wasa traveling tinker. And ChristopherColumbus was the son of a wool comber,and himself worked before the mast.

"They're gone, but their thoughts liveon, as busy as ever, whirling about us likethe rain out of Heaven. Each of themdreamed, and what they dreamed is ourheritage. When such men pass, we musthave lads who can take their places. And Ibelieve that you are one of these lads. Fornobody can tell me that the power youhave of seeing things with your brain—things you've never seen with your eyes—won't carry you far and high among yourfellowmen. And some day, you'll be oneof the greatest in this dear land. And it'llbe told of you how you lived in the East

Side, in a scrap of a flat, where you werelike a prisoner, and took care of a weak,old soldier, and did your duty, though itcame hard, and began the dreaming ofyour dreams.

"Thinking about the big ones that wonout against long odds will help you—willgive you the grit to carry on. And gritmakes a good, solid foundation, whetherit's for a house or a lad. And when you'veaccomplished the most for yourself, then Iknow you'll remember that doing foryourself is just a small part of it; the otherpart—the grand part—is what you can dofor your fellowmen.

"There's a true saying that 'God helpsthem who help themselves.' But, supposeyou lived where it wasn't possible for you

to help yourself? And there are countriesjust like that. But here, in the UnitedStates, you can help yourself! Ah, that's agreat blessing, my yellow-head! Oh,Johnnie, was there ever a land like thisone before? Boy dear, this United States,this is the Land of Aladdin!

"Young friend, as I close I want tothank you for what you've done for asmashed-up priest—gladdened his lastdays with the sight of a grand lad, a goodscout. And I've got just a single warningfor you, and it's this: Watch your play! Forit's not by the work that a man does thatyou can judge him. No; I'll tell you what aman is like if you'll tell me how he plays.

"One thing more: do you remember thevow the knights used to take in the old

days?—'live pure, speak true, right wrong,follow the king.' Father Pat knows he cantrust John Blake to keep that vow. And hislast wish, and his dying prayer is, O little,little lad, that you put your trust in God—just that, and everything else will comeright for you—put your trust in God.

"Patrick Mungovan."

Thus it ended. There the hand of thatfaithful friend had stopped. But below thename, separated from it and the body ofthe letter, was a short paragraph whichwas a prayer:

"I entreat the Saints to watch over him,to guard him and keep him all the days ofhis life, and when that life is ended, tobring him in joyful safety to the feet of

Almighty God."

J

CHAPTER XL

"THE TRUE WAY"

OHNNIE went through his regularduties in the flat, but he went throughthem in a daze. Whenever his work

was done, he sat down. Then, his bodyquiet, his brain registered sounds—a far-off voice, the slam of a door, the creak ofthe stairs, whistles, bells. But his thoughtsfixed themselves upon nothing. Aimlesslythey moved from one idea to another, yetgot nowhere, like chips on currentlesswater. If he remembered about Father Pat,that memory was dull—so dull that he

could not recall the Father's face; and hedid not even dream about him at night. Heendured no suffering. As for his tears, theyseemed to have dried up.

The truth was that, within the lastweek, he had had a great deal too much tobear, and was all but prostrated fromshock. When that condition bettered, andhe began to feel again, he was nervous andjumpy. In the night, the drip of a faucet, orthe snap of a board, would set his heart tobounding sickeningly. And, even by day,every little while his body would shakeinside that new uniform.

No Father Pat left in the world! Therealization came next, and with it asuffocating sense of loss. His friend wasgone, never to return, just as Johnnie's

father and mother were gone, just as AuntSophie was gone. From the cupboard shelfhe took down that bowl of rose leaves,and pondered over them. "Roses die," hetold himself, "and people die." There wasan end to everything.

"A dove," Cis had told him once, "if itsfeathers 're all pulled out, or it's got a leadshot in its breast, just the same it doesn'tmake a sound. It stands the pain." And thatwas how it was with Johnnie. He waswounded—sorely; but with quietresignation he bore his anguish.

He began to do things outside his dailyround of tasks. This followed a secondreading of the letter, a reading whichsoothed and strengthened him, made himresolute, and awakened his habit of work.

His first extra proceeding was the burningof the old, big clothes, by which he addedtheir ashes to ashes far dearer; his secondwas the presenting of Edwarda to the littlefire escape girl with the dark hair.

The new doll concealed in apillowcase (he could not bear to crumpleand tear for his purpose that preciousmarriage newspaper), he made his way tothe door of the little girl's home. "This isyours," he told her, stripping off the caseand holding out the gift. She heard him, butlooked only at Edwarda. "Gratzia!" shegasped, seizing the doll in both hands. Helifted the scout hat, faced about, andmarched home.

He found that he did not want to readanything but the letter—that he could not

concentrate on story or star book. But hedid not sit and tug at his hair. Action—hefairly craved it. And continued those out-of-the-ordinary jobs. The cupboardshelves had not been cleaned this longtime. He scrubbed them, and turned Cis'sfancifully scissored shelf-papers. Hewashed the chairs, including the wheeledone.

Each day, he worked till dark, thenwent to the roof. There, as he walkedabout, taking the air, he invariably thoughtabout Cis. But that thought did not makehim unhappy. She did not seem fartheraway than the Fifth Avenue bookstore, orMadison Square Garden. And he amusedhimself by trying to pick out the very roofunder which she was, among all the roofs

that stretched away and away toward thewest and the north.

Soon he was down in the flat again,because he was physically tired, andready for sleep. However, long beforedawn he was awake once more, andwatching the small, dark, ticking thingwhich was the clock he had formerlyhated. Now of a morning it did not tickfast enough to suit him! When the lightcrept in, up he got, brushed his teeth andhis uniform, took his bath and hisexercises, dressed, and had a few minutesof outdoors across the window sill, wherehe re-read his letter, and remembered tobe glad that he was living in the Land ofAladdin.

After that he ate an extra large helping

of prunes, and put potatoes into the ovento bake. Then came good turns—Grandpa,Big Tom, the sparrows, and, yes, evenLetitia, whose clothes he washed andironed and mended. On the heels of thegood turns, work again. "Lads don't get onby having things soft," and he would notlive one soft day.

Thus, by degrees, he put together hisshattered world.

One afternoon, as he sat stringingbeads, he heard a familiar rap. Before hecould reach the hall door, it opened, andthere stood Mr. Perkins, looking happy,yet grave. He entered on tiptoe. He spokelow, as if not to disturb Big Tom.

"How are you, Johnnie?" holding out

an eager hand.

"I'm all right."

"Narcissa sends her love."

How modest Mr. Perkins was!—he,the strongest man, almost, in the wholeworld! And how he lighted, and filled, theroom! New life and hope and interestsurged into Johnnie at the mere sight ofhim.

Mr. Perkins spoke of Father Pat. "Wecame the moment we heard," he explained."The account of his death was in thepapers." He had a newspaper with him,and spread it out upon the table. "TheFather gave his life for his country," headded proudly, "so they gave him a

military funeral. It's told about right here.Would you like—that is, could you bear toread about it?"

Johnnie could not; instead, he openedthe drawer of the table and slipped thepaper out of sight along with that other one—and the tooth.

"But you'll want to wear this inmourning for him," went on thescoutmaster. Now out of a pocket he tooka wide, black, gauzy band. "On your leftsleeve, Johnnie." And he pinned the bandin place.

It was Johnnie's turn to be proud. "It'llshow 'em all that he belonged t' me," hesaid.

"He did! He did!"

The letter came next. Mr. Perkins tookit to the window to read it. "I'll get you ablank book," he announced when he cameback, "and we'll paste the letter into itcarefully, so that you can keep it always.And that book will be your best, Johnnie.Say, but that's a letter to treasure!"

"And there was somethin' elsewonderful happened," the boy declared.And told about Edith Cavell. "She wasjus' like she was alive! All in white. Andwhite hair. Only I couldn't see where she'dbeen hit by the bullets."

"No, dear old fellow," returned Mr.Perkins. "That wasn't Edith Cavell. Thatwas the trained nurse, or maybe a Sister of

Mercy—anyhow, some one who waswaiting on the Father."

"Oh!" To recall that which had movedand grieved and shocked made Johnnie'sface so white that those fading marksshowed plainly upon it. And there was alook of pain and strain in the gray eyes.

"I'm afraid you've been alone toomuch," said the scoutmaster anxiously.

"Maybe. Still, y' remember, RobinsonCrusoe, he was, too, for a long time, but itall turned out fine for him."

"Things are turning out better for youright now," asserted Mr. Perkins. "Tobegin with, Narcissa and I have workedout a plan that will make it possible for

you to leave here to-morrow."

"Leave?" But Johnnie did not yetcomprehend what the other meant.

"Yes, for good and all," added thescoutmaster. "Go away—just as Narcissahas gone—to stay."

Johnnie wavered to his feet dizzily."Me—go," he repeated. "Away—to stay."Then as the full meaning of it swept overhim, "Oh, Mister Perkins! Oh! Oh!" Thatold, dear dream of his—to put behind himthe ugly, empty, sunless flat: the tiring,hateful, girl's work: the fear, themortification, the abuse, the woundedpride, and, yes, Big Tom: to go, and stayaway, never, never coming back—thatdream had suddenly come true!

Leaning on the table, weak from thevery excitement and joy of it, slowly helooked around the kitchen. "My!" hebreathed. "My!"

"The Carnegie money is ready for younow," Mr. Perkins went on. "I went toPittsburgh to see about it."

"It is? Father Pat, he says in the letterthat I'm rich. But he didn't count in thatCarnegie money at all."

"You can go to a good school,"continued the scoutmaster; "and have thebooks and clothes that you need. Beforeschool starts, there's the country—youought to go into it for a few weeks, then tothe seashore. Of course, when vacation isover, Narcissa and I want you to live with

us. There's a room all ready for you.—Johnnie, you're holding your breath! Don't!It isn't good for you."

Half-laughing, half-crying, Johnniebent his head to the table. "Oh, gee!" hegasped. "School! And new books! And thecountry! And the beach! And then withboth of you! And my own room!"

"And a bed—not the floor."

Johnnie was seeing it all. Butparticularly was the vision of his newhome clear to him. "I'll take my father'smedal with me, too," he declared; "andMister Roosevelt's pitcher. Oh, it's goin' t'be fine! Fine! And I'll be ready, MisterPerkins! I'll be ready earl——"

Tap! tap! tap! tap!

He straightened; and stood as rigid as alittle statue; and once more he held hisbreath. While the flushed and happy lookon his face faded—faded as did his visionof peace and happiness and luxury. Hestared wide-eyed at Mr. Perkins,questioning him dumbly, pathetically.Then every atom of strength began toleave him. It went out of his ankles, underthose smart and soldierly leggings; and outof his knees. Slowly, and with a wobble,he sank into his chair.

Old Grandpa!

Now another picture: the dark, little,dismal flat, locked from the outside,deserted within; on the kitchen table,

where Big Tom's breakfast dishes arestrewn about, is the milk bottle and a cup;the beds are unmade, the sink piled high,and circling the unswept floor wheelsGrandpa, whimpering, calling softly andpleadingly, "Johnnie! Little Johnnie!Grandpa wants Johnnie!" And tears aredimming the pale, old eyes, and tricklingdown into the thin, white beard.

"Oh!" breathed the boy. Old Grandpaforsaken! He, so dear, so helpless! OldGrandpa, who depended upon his Johnnie!And—what of that "kind of love that allsound young hearts give to the crippledand the helpless?"

He began to whisper, hastily, huskily:"That time I run away and met One-Eye, Ifelt pretty bad when I was layin' awake in

the horse stall—so bad I hurt, all insideme. And in the night I 'most cried aboutGrandpa, and how he was missin' me."

"I see."

"And, oh, Mister Perkins, that wasbefore I knew anything about scouts. But,now, I am one, ain't I? And so I got t' actlike a scout. And a scout, would he go'way and leave a' old soldier? I got t' thinkabout that." He began to walk. Presently,he halted at the door of the tiny room, andlooked in, then came tiptoeing back. "He'sin there," he explained. "He went in t' seeif Cis wasn't home yet, and he fell asleep.He misses her a lot, and she wasn't heremuch when he was awake. But that jus'shows how he'd miss me."

Before the scoutmaster could reply,Johnnie went on again: "I'm thinkin' ahead,the same way I think my thinks. When y'reahead, why, y' can look back, can't y'?—awful easy! Well, I'm lookin' back, and Ican see Grandpa alone here. And it's a'awful mean thing t' see, Mister Perkins—gee, it is! And I'd be seein' it straight righton for the rest of my life!"

"But I wouldn't have old Grandpa leftalone here," protested Mr. Perkins. "Yousee, there are institutions where they takethe best care of old people—trained care,and suitable food, and the attention offirst-class doctors. In such places, manyold gentlemen stay."

"But Grandpa, would he know any ofthe other old gentlemen?"

"He would soon."

Johnnie shook his head. "He'd feelpretty bad if he didn't have me."

"You could go to see him often."

"He'd cry after me!" urged Johnnie."And go 'round and 'round in circles. Y'see, he's used t' me, and if I was t' let himgo t' that place, he'd miss me so bad he'ddie!"

Mr. Perkins looked grave. "Narcissaand I would be only too glad to have himwith us," he said, "but his son wouldn't letus."

"Big Tom wouldn't let Grandpa goaway nowheres," asserted Johnnie. "I'msure o' that. Why, Grandpa's the only

person Big Tom cares a snap about! Andif Grandpa stays here, and Big Tom's suret' keep him, why, o' course, he can't stay—alone." He paused; then, "No, he can't stayalone." Perhaps never again in all his lifewould he meet a temptation so strong asthis one—as hard to resist. "My! what'll Ido?" he asked. "What'll I do?"

"You must decide for yourself," saidMr. Perkins. How he felt, Johnnie couldnot tell. The face of the scoutmaster wasin the shadow, and chiefly he seemedtaken up with the polishing of his pince-nez.

"Y' know, I thank y' awful much,"Johnnie declared, "for plannin' out 'boutme goin' and—and so on."

"You're as welcome as can be!"

Johnnie drew those yellow browstogether. "I wonder what Mrs. Kukorwould think I ought t' do," he continued."And—and what would Mister Rooseveltdo if he was me? And that boss of all theBoy Scouts——"

"General Sir Baden-Powell."

"Yes, him. What would he think aboutit, I wonder? And then Edith Cavell, whatwould she say?"

Mr. Perkins went on with his polishing.

"Father Pat, he said somethin' once t'me about the way y' got t' act if y' everwant t' be happy later on, and have folkslike y'. Oh, if only the Father was alive,

and knew about it! But maybe he doesknow! but if he don't, anyhow God does,'cause God knows ev'rything, whether y'want Him to or not. My! I wouldn't like t'have God turn against me! I'd—I'd like t'please God."

Still the scoutmaster was silent.

"You heard about my father, didn't y',Mister Perkins?" Johnnie asked presently."He wouldn't be saved if my mothercouldn't be, and jus' stayed on the ice withher, and held her fast in his arms till—till——" How clearly he could see it all!—his father, his feet braced upon thewhirling cake, with that frailer body in hisarms, drifting, drifting, swift and sure,toward destruction, but going to his deathwith a wave of the hand. His father had

laid down his life; but his son would haveto lay down only a small part of his.

"It didn't take my father long t' make uphis mind about somethin' hard," Johnniesaid proudly.

"No."

"Well, then, bein' his boy, I'd like t' actas—as fine as I can."

He pressed his lips tight together. Hestill felt his lot a bitter one in the flat; hestill yearned to get away. But during theselast few months a change had come overhim—in his hopes, his aspirations, histhinks—a change fully as great as thechange in his outward appearance. In away, he had been made over, soul as well

as body, that by taking in, by a sort ofsoaking process, certain ideas—of honor,duty, self-respect, unselfishness, courage,chivalry. And whereas once his wholethought had been to go, go, go, now heknew that those certain ideas were muchmore important than going. Also, therewere the Laws. One of these came into hismind now—the first one. It came in a lineof black letters which seemed to besuspended in the air between him and Mr.Perkins: A scout is trustworthy.

The moment he saw that line heunderstood what he would do. This new-old tempting dream, he would give it up.

"Mister Perkins," he began again, "Ican't go 'way and leave old Grandpa herealone. I'm goin' t' stay with him till he

dies, jus' like my father stayed with mymother. Yes, I must keep with Grandpa.He's a cripple, and he's old, and—he's ababy." His jaw set resolutely.

And then—having decided—what amarvelous feeling instantly possessedhim! What peace he felt! What happiness!What triumph! He seemed even taller thanusual! And lighter on his feet! And, oh, thestrength in his backbone! in those lead-pipe legs! (Though he did not know it, thatlook which was all light was on his face,while his mouth was turned up at bothends like the ends of the Boy Scoutscroll.)

"I'm not terrible bad off here no more,"he went on. "I got this suit, and my books,and One-Eye's quart o' milk. Also, Mrs.

Kukor, she'll be back 'fore long, and you'llbring Cis home t' see me, won't y'?"

"I will."

"Things'll be all right. Evenin's, I'mgoin' t' night school, like Mister Maloneysaid. And all the time, while I'm learnin',and watchin' out for Grandpa, why, I'll begrowin' up—nobody can stop me doin'that."

Tap! tap! tap! tap!—the wheel chairwas backing into sight at the door of thetiny room.

Johnnie began to whisper: "Don't speak'bout Cis, will y'? It'd make him cry."

Grandpa heard the whispering. Helooked round over a shoulder, his pale

eyes searching the half-dark kitchen."Johnnie, what's the matter?" he asked, asif fearful. "What's the matter?"

Johnnie went to him, walking withsomething of a swagger. "Nothin's thematter!" he declared stoutly. "What y'talkin' 'bout? Ev'rything's fine! Jus' fine!"

The frightened look went out of thepeering, old eyes. Grandpa broke into histhin, cackling laugh. "Everything's fine!"he cried. He shook a proud head."Everything's fine!"

Johnnie pulled the chair over the sill,this with something of a flourish. Then,facing it about, "Here's Mister Perkinscome t' see y'," he announced, and sent thechair rolling gayly to the middle of the

room, while Grandpa shouted as gleefullyas a child, and swayed himself against thestrand of rope that held him in place.

"Niaggery! Niaggery!" he begged.

"Sh! sh! Mister Barber's asleep!"

"Sh! sh!" echoed the old man."Tommie's asleep! Tommie's asleep!Tommie's asleep! That's what I alwayssay to mother. Tommie's asleep!"

Johnnie came to the wheel chair. Then,for the first time in all the years he hadspent in the flat, the tender love he felt forGrandpa fairly pulled his young armsabout those stooped old shoulders; and hedropped his yellow head till it touched thewhite one. Tears were in his eyes, but

somehow he was not ashamed of them.

Grandpa, mildly startled by theunprecedented hug, and the feel of thattousled head against his, stared for amoment like a surprised infant. Then outwent his arms, hunting Johnnie; and thesimple old man, and the boy who lovedhim past a great temptation, clung togetherfor a long moment.

If there are occasions, as Father Patand Mr. Perkins had once agreed therewere, when it was proper for a good scoutto cry, Johnnie now understood that thereare occasions when good scoutmastersmay also give way to their feelings. Forwithout a doubt, Mr. Perkins, grown manand fighter though he was (and a husbandto boot!), was weeping—and grinning

with all his might as he wept! It was aproud grin. It set all his teeth to flashing,and lifted his red-brown cheeks so highthat his pince-nez was dislodged, andwent swinging down to tinkle merrilyagainst a button of his coat; and hisbrimming eyes were proud as he fixedthem upon Johnnie.

"Great old scout!" he said.

When Grandpa had had a glass of milk,and been trundled gently to and fro a fewtimes, Johnnie stowed him away near thewindow. "He ain't much trouble, is he?"he asked, carefully tucking the feeble oldhands under the cover. He nodded at thesleeping veteran, sunk far down into hisblanket, his white head, with its fewstraggling hairs, tipped sidewise against

the tangled, brown head of Letitia.

"No," answered Mr. Perkins. "Andyou're going to be glad, Johnnie, when theday comes that Grandpa closes his eyesfor the last time, that you decided to doyour duty. And you'll never have anythingselfish or sad or mean to try to forget." Heheld out his hand and gave Johnnie'sfingers a good grip.

With Mr. Perkins gone home to Cis,Johnnie stayed beside the wheel chair.Those yellow-gray eyes were still burningwith earnestness, and the bright head,haloed by its hair, was held high. Duskhad deepened into dark. As he looked intothe shadows by the hall door, he seemedto see a face—his father's. A moment, andhe saw the whole figure, as if it had

entered from the hall. It was supportingthat other, and more slender, figure.

"I'm your son," he told them. "I'mtwelve, and I know what y' both want t'see me do. It's stick t' my job. It'll beawful hard sometimes, and I'll hate it. ButI'm goin' t' try t' be jus' as brave as youwas."

It seemed to him that his father smiledthen—a pleased, proud smile.

At that, Johnnie straightened, his heelscame together, and he brought his left armrigidly to his side. Then he lifted his rightto his forehead—in the scout salute.

THE END

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By Annie Fellows Johnston

The girlhood of Georgina, when boardingschool, dances, and romance among hergirl friends, culminate in her own prettystory.

EMMY LOU'S ROADTO GRACE

By George Madden Martin

Emmy Lou might forget her prayers,spread whooping-cough, attend the circusinstead of the Sunday School picnic, yetshe remained a child who goes straight tothe reader's heart.

MARY ROSE OFMIFFLIN

By Frances R. Sterrett

What Mary Rose found in the way of nicefolks when she came to live in the stiff andformal city apartment house.

MARY-'GUSTABy Joseph C. Lincoln

A humorous and human story of a littlegirl who mothers her two Cape-Codguardians, a bachelor and a widower, inspite of all their attempts to bring her up.

These Are Appleton Books

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errorsrepaired.

On page 361, a section of text wasmissing and replace with repeated textfrom the paragraph below. The originalread:

"But--but--!" whisperedJohnnie. What he was Johnnie?I'm going with him! I'm to beMrs. Perkins! And--I'll be righthere when Algy comes in."

"But--but--!" whisperedJohnnie. What he was thinkingmade allowance for no suchcharming event as

As noted in the Transcriber's Note

at that point, the first line waspresumed as far as was possible.

The remaining corrections made areindicated by dotted lines under thecorrections. Scroll the mouse over theword and the original text will appear.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Rich LittlePoor Boy, by Eleanor Gates

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