Lucky, the Boy Scout
Date: 2024-10-02T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Spy stories; Family -- Juvenile fiction; Boy Scouts -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: Lucky, the Boy Scout

Author: Elmer Sherwood

Illustrator: Alice Carsey

Release date: October 2, 2024 [eBook #74504]

Language: English

Original publication: Racine: Whitman Publishing Company, 1916

Credits: Susan E., David E. Brown, Rod Crawford, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LUCKY, THE BOY SCOUT ***

HIS LITTLE FORM HURLED ITSELF THROUGH THE AIR (See Page 37)

LUCKY, THE
BOY SCOUT
by
ELMER SHERWOOD

Illustrated by Alice Carsey

Whitman Publishing Co.
RACINE, WISCONSIN

COPYRIGHT, 1916
By
WHITMAN PUBLISHING COMPANY

Printed in U. S. A.

To the Boy Scout
Who Strives to
Live Up to His
Pledge

CONTENTS

I. | LUCKY MEETS JOHN DEAN | 13
II. | MISS WHITE’S STORY | 20
III. | THE FIRE | 31
IV. | JOHN DEAN FINDS A “FRIEND” | 41
V. | NEWS FOR THE DOUBLE X | 47
VI. | DEAN MEETS COLONEL SANDS | 56
VII. | TED AT HOME AT THE DOUBLE X | 63
VIII. | RED MACK AND TED INVESTIGATE | 69
IX. | THE MARSHES PAY A DEBT | 77
X. | A LOSING GAME | 83
XI. | TED AT WAYLAND | 92
XII. | THE TRAIN-WRECKERS | 102
XIII. | TED IS CHOSEN FOR A MISSION | 111
XIV. | BOUND FOR CHICAGO | 118
XV. | PLANS ARE MADE TO MEET TED | 126
XVI. | TED ARRIVES IN CHICAGO | 135
XVII. | TED MEETS STRONG | 141
XVIII. | SETTING A TRAP | 149
XIX. | STRONG SEEMS CHECKMATED | 159
XX. | THE DICTAPHONE AT WORK | 170
XXI. | WINCKEL CALLS A HALT | 182
XXII. | AT OTTAWA | 189
XXIII. | TED RECEIVES A REWARD | 196
XXIV. | TED GOES BACK | 203
XXV. | THE MARSHES REUNITED | 210

ILLUSTRATIONS

HIS LITTLE FORM HURLED ITSELF THROUGH THE AIR | FRONTISPIECE
DOWN TO THE LAKE FOR A SWIM | 27
RED CAME SHEEPISHLY FORWARD | 61
TWENTY MEN WERE OFF TO BRAND CATTLE | 70
THE MEN FROM THE OUTSIDE CREPT CLOSER | 90
THE TWO BOYS WENT ON A FISHING TRIP | 97
HE WAVED THE RED SWEATER | 109
TED FREES THE PRISONERS | 179

Lucky, the Boy Scout

CHAPTER I
LUCKY MEETS JOHN DEAN

“WATCH my papers, will you please, Mister?” Scarcely waiting for a reply, the bright eyed little newsboy left his stand and darted across the street, where he confronted a ragamuffin, nearly a head taller than himself.

“You have to play fair,” he began hotly, “or you can’t sell papers in this block.” Then calling to a youngster who looked little more than a baby, and who was standing several yards away where the bigger boy had chased him, he said:

“Come back here, Billy! You have as much right to this corner as Spot. And don’t you forget that, you Spot,” he flung back over his shoulder as he recrossed the street.

The big stranger who had been left in charge of the papers, watched the proceedings with considerable amusement.

“What’s the trouble, sonny?” he asked, and beneath the stern lines of his face lurked a smile that invited confidence.

The boy recognized him as a rancher, for many of his type came to this great packing center, bringing their herds from the big ranches of the West. You could easily tell them by their breezy manners and friendly ways.

“Oh, that Spot chases every little feller off the block, so there won’t be any com—com—”

“Competition?” the ranchman suggested.

“That’s it—competition. Spot’s nothing but a bully. He won’t pick on anyone his size.”

“And you take it upon yourself to ‘beard the lion in his den’ and act as champion?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” replied the boy, flushing, “but how are all these little fellows going to get a start in business unless somebody takes their part?”

The cattleman eyed the boy keenly. He was quite different from the other little “newsies” shouting hoarsely the startling news of their papers’ headlines. He appeared underfed, as did many of the children of the slums crowding the streets; his clothes were patched and repatched, but they were clean. His face, too, was clean, and his hair, somewhat ragged and uncut, showed the industrious use of comb and brush. He was a lad of about twelve.

John Dean—for that was the stranger’s name—looked down the narrow, dirty, ill-smelling street, with its crowds of surging humanity, down the dingy rows of tenement houses with their crying children and their scolding mothers standing in the doorways. He saw the heavy trucks pounding over the brick pavements, and the rattling wagons, and he thought of the calm that rested over his own boundless country. What a difference there was between the fetid air that rose from this cavernous street and the invigorating breeze that swept across his prairie lands out West! What a difference there was between his stalwart, robust cowboys and the wan-faced, hollow-chested men he saw about him!

The boy before him, according to all the rules of the game should have been another victim of the environment in which he lived. Dean found himself liking the lad, his actions, and especially his championship of the weak. Was there much of such material in this crowded, unwholesome place, he wondered, as he continued on his way.

The business that had called Mr. Dean to Chicago was completed and yet he was compelled to wait four days more because he had promised to meet a certain man, who would not arrive in Chicago until then. Time would hang heavily on his hands, he thought. His thoughts traveled back to the newsboy.

There came to him a sudden impulse; he decided to follow it and so he retraced his steps to where the boy was stationed.

“Back again, mister?” The boy smiled in greeting as if to an old friend. But it could be no more than a second’s greeting, for customers kept him busy.

“What’s your name, sonny?” the man asked, when the opportunity offered.

“Ted—Ted Marsh,” answered the boy.

“Will you soon be through?” Dean inquired. “I’ll tell you why I ask. I should like you to take me about the city. I know something about it, but there are lots of places I want to see which you can show me. I will pay you for your time, of course.”

The boy thought for a minute. He turned and looked squarely at the man. Dean liked that—he met his eye.

“You will have to wait until I finish my papers,” the boy said. “Then I will have to run home and let my mother know. Otherwise she would worry. But I’ll tell you what, sir”—a new idea had come to him—“I can take you down to the Settlement; you can see that while I finish up.”

“That’s all right, lad. I’ll watch awhile and see you doing business.”

This promised to be quite interesting, John Dean decided, with a sudden zest. He looked forward to the evening before him. He watched the boy, his quickness and his method, and he noted that Ted was the least bit quicker than the other boys and that he seemed to enjoy the competition and the struggle of selling papers. Dean decided it was a hard game. The boy’s stock of papers was rapidly diminishing.

“I can take you over now, Mr.——”

“Dean,” answered the owner of that name, smiling.

“Then I can return and finish up, get home and be back, all in about an hour. Will that be all right?”

“It will—fine,” was the reply.

The two walked down to the Settlement. On the way Ted explained how fine a place it was, just what it did, the clubs in it, and the gymnasium classes. He told the man, quite proudly, that he was a Scout.

“My! I wish you could meet Miss Wells,” the boy added.

The man started. He turned eagerly at the name. He was about to ask a question—stopped—changed his mind and allowed the boy to continue telling of the many fine points of the place to which he was being taken. The boy did so with tremendous pride.

“I suppose you go to the Settlement often?” he remarked.

“Sure,” was the reply. “It’s better than idling about on the corners. More fun, too,” he added.

The man’s interest grew. He asked many questions, all of which the boy answered as best he could.

Miss White, one of the workers, came to the door.

“Hello, Ted,” she greeted him pleasantly. She also smiled a welcome to the man.

“This is Mr. Dean, a friend of mine,” said Ted. “Is Miss Wells in, Miss White?”

“No, she will not be in until late in the evening. Can I do anything?”

The boy explained and added that he wanted Mr. Dean to know the place. Miss White promised to show it to him, while Ted hurried back to finish the sale of his papers before going home.

To Miss White, who was very friendly and likable, Dean explained his impulse and his impressions, his desire to know more of the boy. Miss White was fully acquainted with the facts, she knew Ted quite well and also knew his family.

The man listened closely while she told the boy’s history.

CHAPTER II
MISS WHITE’S STORY

THE story, as Miss White told it, was not unusual in that part of the city, but to John Dean there was every element of newness in it.

He listened without interruption as the story unfolded itself.

Mrs. Marsh, Ted’s mother, had had a hard time of it. Bill Marsh had married her eighteen years ago. Bill was a good mechanic, but after about six years of happiness things began to go wrong. He lost his position and at that time work was not easy to get. Day after day he had searched for something to do. Discouraged, he had taken to drink. Then there was a day when Bill did not return. In all these years Mrs. Marsh had never heard of him. She felt he was dead, yet even that she did not know.

It was a hard struggle afterward. Sewing and washing, early and late, and many a day she went hungry, so that the two children could eat. The mother often spoke of how Ted, when eight years old, had gone out one afternoon and had not returned until seven o’clock. Without a word he had put fifteen cents on the table and then had turned to eat. He showed by the way he ate how hungry he was. After the meal was over, he explained how he had made up his mind to support the family, and so he had bought some papers; the fifteen cents was profit. His capital, also some extra pennies, was intact, so that he could buy more papers.

“I’m going to support this family,” Ted had said, “I’m the man and it’s up to me.”

That was the beginning of Ted as a newsboy. He was very proud of his newsboy badge, and gradually, as he grew older, his help was quite a big share of the family expense, it counted against the family burden.

When Ted was almost eleven, he had joined the Settlement. Miss Wells, who grew to know the boy, his fine qualities, his independence and manliness had had a wonderful influence upon him. But there was also in Ted that mischievous streak, that spirit of fun, and even of trouble-making that every healthy, normal boy has.

It was through one of these mischievous pranks that Miss Wells had first met Ted. One day the boys had shut themselves in a room, six or seven of them, and bolted the door. When Mr. Jones, who was the Settlement Boys’ Worker, had asked them to come out, none of them wanted to show the white feather, and so they had not answered him, but had continued to stay in there. Mr. Jones locked the door with a key and left them, expecting that very soon they would call out, send an S. O. S., and beg to be let out. But there was no call, and after a half hour or so he had gone back to the door. It was very quiet within, unusually so. He managed to open the door after quite a lot of work. The room was empty.

There was only one other way out, through the window. It was a sheer drop of twenty or more feet, so to escape from there seemed out of the question. The last boy dropping out of the window could not, of course, stop to close it, and the fact remained that the window was closed.

Could they have come out through the door? He was sure they had not done so, as he had been very near the room all of the time. Then, too, it was hardly likely that any of the boys would have had a key to fit the rather unusual lock.

Cautious was Mr. Jones. These observations had to be made without creating any suspicion in any of the other watching, grinning boys all about. He did not wish them to know that things were not as they should be and that he was at sea as to how they had made their escape. Pretty soon the boys who had been in that room, one after another, came into the building. They were all so innocent looking, butter would not have melted in the mouths of any of them. They never did tell him, but they did tell Miss Wells and the rest of the workers, how Ted would not let them open the door and had refused to let them call Mr. Jones when the door had been locked a half hour. How he had called for help to some older boys who had been passing in the street below. They were not members of the Settlement and were ready for any mischief. They had obtained a ladder that Ted told them was lying on the ground near a close-by fence. He had been the last to leave on that ladder, which almost touched the window-sill, and he had carefully closed the window after him. He warned them not to tell Mr. Jones, but it was too good a joke not to tell others.

It was after this that Miss Wells had spoken to Ted and had realized how much fineness there was in the boy, in spite of his mischievous, fun-loving disposition. There were other times Ted had been caught in mischief, but there never had been any suspicion of meanness in any of the escapades. He was honest, you felt that, and he looked at you fearlessly, truthfully. He learned to love Miss Wells; she could do things with him, when others could not. She could make him see what was right and what was wrong, what was fair and what was not fair. She made him see ahead, too; to have ambitions and a desire to be something worth while. He had a good head and he often used it, too.

A great opportunity came to Ted and to the other boys. A scout master came to the Settlement and Ted, now over 12, became a Scout. He did many extra little things so that he could earn the necessary money for the suit and the other expenses, such as initiation and dues. The sale of the Posts helped him and he eagerly watched the announcements of the many awards of the Saturday Evening Post. While not often successful in prize-winning, the help he received from his sales was invaluable. He soon passed his tenderfoot test and earnestly and successfully tried to understand woodcraft and all the other things a Scout should know. He was loyal to his oath. It had to be a very good deed each day for him to be satisfied. Being a good Scout was a great ambition, so he found.

Much trouble he had had with the boys of the neighborhood. Once he had seen three or four of them laughing at and poking a tiny mongrel to whose tail they had tied a tin can almost as big as the pup itself. There was a good deed to do, and so he sprang at the laughing, jeering urchins, who gave way for but a moment and then proceeded to pound him. It was a hard fight and they were succeeding fairly well when two of the Settlement boys came along and the other youngsters scampered.

The poor pup, after Ted had untied the string, licked his shoes, whining eagerly, and so, with a sudden impulse, the boy had picked up the pup and brought him home. Mrs. Marsh had not been specially pleased, but she let Ted have his way. The dog stayed.

Between school and the Settlement Ted was receiving an education equal to that of any one. Only the summer before Miss Wells had spoken to Mrs. Marsh and then both of them had insisted that Ted was to go to the Settlement Camp for two weeks.

“I can’t go,” answered Ted. There was regret in his voice. To go seemed the most wonderful thing in the world. “Who’s going to tend to my papers and my Posts? I’m not going to lose my customers; can’t afford to build up a new business.” The voice sounded final.

“You can get some of the other boys to do it for the two weeks,” Miss Wells replied. “I’m sure Tom and Arthur would do it for you and then, when they go, you can help them.”

That plan suited Tom and Arthur just as much as it did Ted. So he went to camp for two weeks. I do not have to tell any of the boys who read this of the fun he had. Tramping, going to the village, swimming, rowing.

DOWN TO THE LAKE FOR A SWIM

The bugle awakened them at six-thirty. Down to the lake for a swim and setting-up exercises. Or, if you happened to be on the Cook, Waiters’ or Mess Tent Committee, you had to arise at five-thirty to prepare breakfast. At seven you were so hungry you could eat shoeleather. At seven-fifteen, you went to it.

Then your work, whatever committee you were on, Grounds, Tent, Water, such as it was, had to be done. At ten-thirty, inspection, then a tramp or another swim, perhaps rowing or reading, if you were lazy. Dinner, for which you were quite ready, or, perhaps, this was the day for a long “hike” and you were off somewhere, with lunch.

There usually was a baseball game in the afternoon. Some of the boys, Ted too, caddied for a neighboring golf club several afternoons of the week. The money thus earned paid for Ted’s stay at camp.

At night there was a campfire and songs. Ted had a wonderful time, but the two weeks were up very, very soon. Without a useless regret, he went back to his papers and his daily job.

Mrs. Marsh’s lot became a little easier. Thanks to her daughter Helen’s wages and Ted’s earnings, things had been bettered.

Miss White went on to explain about Helen. She was sixteen years old, for more than a year she had been one of the many salesgirls in one of the big department stores of Chicago. She was a bright girl, always willing, and so attentive that the miserable wage with which she had started had been doubled in the one year. It was still pitifully small notwithstanding.

“Mrs. Marsh has often said, ‘I am rich in my children, if in nothing else’,” she quoted.

“She certainly is,” John Dean answered heartily.

There were more things Miss White told John Dean. As he listened he made up his mind to do what he could, for here was a youngster who had the makings of a fine man. Dean felt that this was a great opportunity for him.

When Ted came in soon after he found his two friends going through the Settlement and Miss White explaining to an interested and earnest listener the things the Settlement was doing, just how it was making good future citizens.

As Mr. Dean turned to leave, he asked Miss White for pen and ink and left a check for a large amount with her.

“Just a little to help in the work,” he remarked. And because he was a modest and a very bashful man, he blushed. Ted and he hurried out.

CHAPTER III
THE FIRE

“TED,” Dean turned to the boy, “I should like to go through that part of the city in which you live. I want to see the streets around there and what is on them.”

Ted wondered why anyone should want to see that part if they did not have to do it. But he did not question; after all, it was for his friend to say what to do and where to go.

So they walked that way. After fifteen minutes or so, Ted turned to Dean and said:

“This is my street.”

They walked a few more blocks and Ted added, “I live a little way further up.” The man continued observing and made no comment. He was thinking—thinking hard. He turned to the boy and was about to speak.

“Ted, how long—”

Even as he spoke came the distant, insistent clang of bells, the blare and blast of many whistles, shrieking their warnings. It seemed but a second later when a belching fire-engine, followed by a stream of trucks, dashed perilously through the crowded street, while in their wake came a mob of hurrying people pouring from the dark doorways of the tenements. From a side street came a police patrol.

The boy climbed to the top of a stand and from that vantage point he saw a cloud of smoke issuing from a tenement building a couple of blocks away. As he looked a tongue of fire shot from one of its windows and licked its way up the side of the building.

“That’s down near where I live,” John Dean heard the boy say, as he leaped down from the box and started on a run. The rancher hastened after him, threading his way through the crowd. Back of them came another newsboy.

“Your house is burning up, Ted,” he shouted, but Ted had already seen the disaster that had come upon his home. It was a poor one indeed, but a home, nevertheless, that sheltered his mother. Ted wondered where she was. He knew that Helen at least was not there.

The cattleman had never seen a city fire. Before they arrived at the burning building, the police had driven back the fighting crowds and had drawn ropes across the street, past which no one dared go. Helmeted firemen rushed through doorways, drawing long lines of hose, while now and then, through the smoke and fire pouring from the windows, heroic men could be seen clinging to the face of the dingy building, pushing upward from ledge to ledge with their line of ladders.

Some of the men entered through the broken windows, only to appear again suffocated and choking from the smoke and flames, then returning to risk life and limb for those who might still be in the house, cut off from escape.

John Dean saw little of this, however. Back and forth he tramped through the crowds, never losing sight of his little newsboy friend. Ted’s face was white and tense.

“Has anybody seen Mrs. Marsh? Anybody seen mother?” he inquired on every hand, and the man took up the question, “Has anyone seen Mrs. Marsh?” But no one had.

They pressed their way to the rope, searching the faces of the long line of spectators.

“Move back there!” commanded the officer, and pushed the crowd from the straining rope. Ted scarcely heard the warning. He was standing gazing at a certain curling line of flame eating its way up the casement of a fourth floor window, and as the heated pane cracked and fell shattered to the pavement below, a sob broke from his lips. An instant later he darted beneath the rope, past the officer and toward the burning building.

“Stop that boy!” shouted the officer. “The little fool! Heaven help him get out of there,” for Ted had slipped past the clutching hands of the firemen and had entered the burning building.

People who had seen the boy rush in, shuddered with apprehension. A second officer stood threatening big John Dean, forcing him back into the crowd.

“You go after that kid and I’ll arrest you,” he said, flourishing his club. “His mother isn’t in there, anyhow. The firemen will take care of the boy.”

The restless, surging crowd, after a time, became hushed and silent. Only the hissing engines and the captain’s orders could be heard above the crackling flames, except as shattering glass and falling brick told how surely the fire was gaining headway.

As moment followed moment and Ted failed to appear, the officer took the anxious cattleman by the arm.

“Stay where you are,” he admonished. “You couldn’t get the boy if you went in. I have a youngster of my own,” he added. Then excitedly they pointed to an upper window. “They’ve got him,” he cried, and all through the crowd went a ripple of expectancy.

But the form that was slung across the fireman’s shoulder, as he climbed through the window onto the ladder, was not that of the little newsboy. It was the limp body of a brother fireman rescued from the smoke, the last of the firemen who had followed Ted into the seething tenement. A waiting ambulance hurried the unconscious man to a hospital.

Presently a warning cry from the chief caused the firemen to retreat hastily, withdrawing their lines of hose, as their attention was called to a long, widening crack zigzagging its way across the face of the building.

“The wall is going,” the officer told Dean, and the words struck a chill into the heart of the big Westerner. He turned his back. For what seemed to him hours he waited for the impending crash that meant the destruction of his heroic little friend. Suddenly a resounding cheer broke from the crowd. Dean turned and saw, high upon the edge of the building, battling his way along through the smoke, appearing for an instant and then lost to sight, Ted’s figure creeping along the cornice. One arm was held tightly to his bosom.

“Easy, lad, easy,” the chief called up encouragingly through his megaphone to the boy. A dozen firemen had seized a blanket and stood with it outspread, waiting for Ted to jump. “Are you afraid?” the chief shouted, and he glanced anxiously at the widening crack. “All right, boy. One—two—” Ted straightened up slowly. A cloud of smoke enveloped him, but through it, five stories above, the crowd saw his little form hurl itself through the air and drop into the blanket below. A crashing wall drowned their cheers.

All up and down the rope barrier the officers were forcing back the excited spectators, but out of the crowd came a little pale-faced, anxious woman. She hastened to the side of the doctor, who bent over Ted as he lay in the blanket. John Dean hurried after her unmolested, and as he saw what Ted had held so tightly to his breast, he uttered an exclamation.

“By George! Now what do you think of that!” he cried, for there, whining and nosing about the boy’s feet stood a weak-limbed, helpless little puppy. The doctor was making a hasty examination.

“No, Mrs. Marsh,” he repeated again and again, “your boy is not dead. He will come around soon; pretty much shaken up. No bones broken. Yes, of course he is breathing. Hospital? Yes, but don’t you worry about the expense; arrangements can be made.”

“Doctor, see that he has the best there is; I will foot the bills, for Ted is a friend of mine,” Dean broke in impulsively.

A waiting ambulance, which the doctor beckoned, drew up and cut off any further conversation. As they placed Ted on the stretcher, John Dean hailed a taxi and helped Mrs. Marsh in. “Follow that ambulance,” he directed, as he stepped in beside the little mother.

A few moments later they were seated in the waiting room of the immaculate hospital. Mrs. Marsh sat opposite the doorway watching anxiously each trim, white-capped nurse as she sped noiselessly down the hall, and feeling strangely out of place in the fine surroundings, so different from the sordid tenement she had called home.

“I hope my daughter has not heard of this as yet. She would be so worried. I wish I could get a message to her, so that she will know things are not so bad,” said Mrs. Marsh anxiously.

“If you will give me the address I will attend to that,” said Dean.

Mrs. Marsh gave him the address. He summoned a messenger boy and wrote a reassuring message to the girl and added that she should come to the hospital when she could.

“You are all so good,” the woman said, gratefully. “I do not know what I would have done without you, sir, and I do not know how I can ever thank you.”

“That will be all right, Mrs. Marsh,” the man answered. “I know Ted; he and I are friends.”

Very briefly, he explained his acquaintance.

“Mrs. Marsh,” he added quietly, “you need not worry because of the fact that Ted is in the hospital. Do you know what you are going to do? No? Well, I am going to tell you. There is good stuff in that boy of yours, Mrs. Marsh, and I feel sure that he won’t always be a newsboy. I am going to loan to you, through him, one hundred dollars. No, I won’t listen to any objections. I tell you it is only a loan. And out of that hundred dollars you can buy such things as you must have at once.”

With that he removed the broad leather belt he wore and from it drew an astounding roll of bills of large denomination. He thrust five of them into Mrs. Marsh’s hands with an air of finality that gave her no reason to refuse.

CHAPTER IV
JOHN DEAN FINDS A “FRIEND”

THE next half hour was an anxious one. Then Helen appeared. Dean liked her looks. Things were explained to her. She did not become hysterical, but gave her attention and thoughts to the comfort of her mother.

“There is nothing to worry over, mother. Ted will soon be well and as for the things that are burned, at least we are insured. Think of the many people who could not afford insurance, they are in a much worse plight than we are.” She certainly was a brave soul, Dean thought.

Dr. Herrick came in a little later. He smiled reassuringly. Turning to Mrs. Marsh he said:

“There is a little boy in Room 30 that wants to see his mother. Second door, main hall, to the right. Miss Wells just came. She has a very busy night before her, don’t you think, Mrs. Marsh?”

“Bless her kind heart! That is just like her,” Mrs. Marsh exclaimed fervently. “She is an angel, Mr. Dean. A friend of every poor child and mother in the district. She is a real lady, too; not like the kind of folks that live on our street, you know—but you have no idea the good she does nor the comfort she gives.”

The doctor had motioned the cattleman to go with Mrs. Marsh and Helen, and as they entered Room 30, Mrs. Marsh ran quickly to the side of the small white bed where the brave little patient lay. For an instant Ted’s eyes fluttered open, and then shut. A look of contentment passed over his pain-drawn face.

Facing the window, speaking in a low, soft voice to the nurse, Dean noticed the young woman Dr. Herrick said would be there. “The settlement worker,” he said to himself. Then, as the girl turned in the full light of the window, a gasp of astonishment escaped him.

“Amy Wells! So you are the Miss Wells? Oh, Amy! Amy! I might have known—” but what John Dean might have known was not said just then, for the young woman, equally as surprised as he, held up a warning finger and quickly led him out into the broad hall.

Now what was said between them matters but little, but the poor people who lived on Ted’s street afterwards told how a fabulously rich cattleman spent half the night helping Miss Wells find homes for all those who were made homeless by the fire that destroyed the big tenement house. They exaggerated and repeated the stories so often that had big-hearted John Dean heard but half of them, he would have reddened with embarrassment. Nevertheless, it was true that many of the poor families had their empty pocket books replenished that night by the generous stranger.

A week later, more news spread up and down the street, to the effect that Miss Wells, too, had once lived in the West, where she and John Dean had been the very, very best of friends, but somehow they became not-friends, and now they were reconciled, and Miss Wells was going to leave them all and go back with John Dean to a wonderful new home. But the news brought much unhappiness to the mothers on that street, and many a little group stood in the hot, dirty stairways and told how the pretty settlement worker, whom they all loved, had saved their babies when they were expected to die, and had watched over their sick children night after night when the heated city gave no relief to the fever patients.

And Ted Marsh, to whom the news had slipped in, was unhappiest of all.

“Aren’t we ever going to see Mister Dean and Miss Wells any more after they leave, mother?” Ted asked the seventh afternoon as he lay in the hospital. Mrs. Marsh did not speak for a minute. Finally, evading his question, she answered:

“They will be here to see you this afternoon.” And then, as she heard footsteps in the hall, “There they are now.”

But the visitor proved to be Dr. Herrick. Walking over to where Ted was sitting up in bed, he began to examine him thoroughly, after which he stood back and surveyed him with a good-natured smile.

“Well, lad, you have pulled through pretty well. Hair a little singed, but that will grow out—hands healing nicely, and lungs in good shape. I tell you, boy, you are fortunate. A few weeks out in the country would be all that could be asked to make you sound as a bell.”

“Is that all that is required, Doctor?” asked Mr. Dean, for he and Miss Wells had stepped into the room, just in time to hear the last sentence. “Don’t you think I owe Ted a few weeks in the country for finding Miss Wells for me again, when I hadn’t seen or heard from her for five years? Ted, you are a regular little mascot.”

At the word “mascot” a sudden idea seized John Dean. Drawing Amy Wells aside, he began speaking rapidly in a low voice. What he had to say evidently pleased her very much, but a look of doubt caused her to knit her pretty eyebrows. Mr. Dean, too, looked more sober, but he turned and came directly to Mrs. Marsh.

“Mrs. Marsh,” he began without preliminaries, “Ted, here, must go west with Amy and me. He has the kind of stuff in him that goes to make a man, and we can’t get too much stock of that sort out in our part of the country. You owe it to him—we all owe it to him—to get him out of the life he must face if he goes back to the street and his news-stand. He needs opportunity, and a chance to live in a place where he can fill both lungs with clean, fresh, health-giving air. He can’t get it in the city; he can on the ranch, and I’ll see to it that he gets the best education that money can obtain. Ted is our mascot. Amy and I can’t leave him here.”

Ted listened, open-mouthed, to all that was said that afternoon, for John Dean’s speech brought forth a long and earnest discussion in Room 30. Little Mrs. Marsh’s protests became fainter and fainter, until finally she reluctantly gave her consent, realizing it was a great opportunity for Ted.

It was Helen who had really convinced Mrs. Marsh when she said: “We must let Ted have his chance, mother. We must not be selfish.”

A few days later found Ted Marsh standing, bright eyed, on the observation platform of a Pullman, watching the country roll behind him.

CHAPTER V
NEWS FOR THE DOUBLE X

“SAY, boys, the boss is coming tomorrow.” Smiles, the speaker, proved the correctness of his nickname, for there was a broad grin on his countenance as he gave the message.

Fourteen men were sitting about a table. Busily, noisily too, they were clearing away the food. There was no pretense as to the finer points of table etiquette, the food came and it went; speed was the object. They were hungry men.

“How do you know he’s coming?” asked Pete.

“Jim Wilson passed by and left the message. Telegram. What’s more, here is the real news. He is not coming alone, he’s married.” And Smiles—Arthur Holden, at such times when his dignity and his position as foreman of the Double X required it—grinned with the full appreciation of the sensation his words caused.

“Married?” echoed Pete, who seemed to be the only one whose tongue did not seem paralyzed. “To whom?”

“Well, you see, it’s like this.” The first speaker drawled out the words. “I hate to confess it, but Jack neither asked me nor told me the particulars. I shall have to chide him, I fear.”

“I suppose he should have asked your permission,” Pete agreed.

“What I want to know is, would you have given it?” This, from another of the men, Al Graham.

“Yes, Smiles, with your experience, how would you have decided?”

Smiles was notoriously bashful and could never be found when any women folks were about.

“I guess Smiles’ experience in the last twenty years has been seeing the Wells over beyond. If he saw them first he’d vanish, pronto.” The last speaker was older than the rest, quiet appearing, a little sad. They knew him as Pop. He had given his name as Dick Smith, when he first came, many years ago. The ethics of the West is never to ask questions of a man’s past. It judges a man by his present. The speaker continued: “But I tell you fellows, being married is too good for most of us It’s a wonderful thing, if you can make a go of it, if you can support the proposition.”

The talk continued about the surprise and an eager desire to see the couple was expressed by many of the men. There was a general feeling of pleasure, also, at Dean’s coming home. These men were all good friends of John Dean. But, mixed with it all, curiously, was that tone of sadness and regret, as if the subject of the conversation had gone from them. They all seemed to feel that his being married placed them beyond his pale.

“Do you know, some day I expect Jack Dean to get very tired of this neck of the woods and pull up his stakes. He will be one more of the many who drift to the big town and think that that is the life. I wonder how Mrs. Dean—sounds funny, doesn’t it?—” continued Al Graham, “is going to stand it? It’s hard for anyone who doesn’t like it.”

“Well,” said Pete, “that’s just it, Al. Jack likes it as much as any of us. He can’t stay away from it. It calls him, same as it does you and me. But as to Mrs. Dean, I’m doing some wondering myself.”

“Seems to me,” Red Mack spoke for the first time, “you folks had better not worry too much over it. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if they had thought of that matter a little bit themselves. I gather they must have, since it’s their particular business.”

Someone threw a boot at the speaker. “You sarcastic creature,” said Pete, lovingly. “But, anyway, I hope Mrs. Dean will like us.”

Pipes were lighted now, the men were comfortably lolling about; it was a period of rest and calm. The light of day held a touch of the gathering twilight—it seemed as if some master painter was tingeing his colors, so bringing a darker shade. Some of the men drifted away, lazily bound for some little task or pleasure. Some of them remained ready for anything that might come.

It was not always so quiet at this hour. Possibly the news that they had heard had a sobering effect. Then, too, most of the men were off on a roundup and the few that were left felt lonesome.

“I feel,” said Pete, “that things are becoming so quiet around here we’ll die of ennui.” Pete delighted in springing a new word upon the crowd and he did it often to show his knowledge. The boys understood the spirit of fun in which it was done and that it was not to show superiority. He continued:

“Time was, when the Indians would give us some excitement. Now Lo, the poor Indian, is so wealthy and has waxed so fat, thanks to a paternal government, he won’t fight. The sheep-men seem to have found their place, though if it were I who decided on the place they deserve, you know where I’d be sending them. As it is, you never can tell when they will make trouble. Here’s hoping it’s soon.”

“Well, there’s McGowan,” Pop said. “He and his followers are always about, ready to oblige. Things can never be said to be quiet while they are up and doing. As for myself, youngster, I find plenty of trouble comes without going to seek it.”

“Yes,” added Smiles, “McGowan is a regular border lawyer. He always manages to be mighty near it when the trouble has boiled. Although there’s a crowd over in Montana that will be ready for him the next time he crosses over.”

Then the conversation turned back to Dean. Said Pete:

“I guess Jack will not be doing some of the things he was in the habit of doing. Mrs. Dean will see to that. Say, Al, what’s happened to Amy Wells—Jack used to be sweet on her, if I remember rightly?”

“Seeing that things are as they are, Pete, and since she’s gone, I guess I’ll tell. Jack may not like it, but then he needn’t know.”

“I think Amy Wells went back East. She came back here fresh from college. Jack had known her since the time when they were just boy and girl pals. Jack is not the kind that likes more than one for all time and until now I didn’t think he’d ever like anyone else. When she came back here he was very bashful. It bothered him so much that he spoke to me about it.”

“‘You see, Al, it’s like this. There’s nothing here for a girl like her; she’s East all over. She couldn’t be satisfied out here. I know it. It came to me a while back. She doesn’t see me when I’m about and I fear I don’t count at all.’

“Well, it was true; she didn’t seem to see him. You all know Jack. Since she didn’t pay any attention to him, he saw to it he wasn’t there much. Then, you remember that chap, Stephen Browne, with an e at the end of Brown, if you please. He was very good-looking. A thoroughbred, too. You only made the mistake once, of not thinking so. You had to like him.

“Well, at that time, as some of you know, I was foreman over at the Wells, so I had many chances to watch. I didn’t like Browne. I did like Jack. That was so, at first, then I found myself liking this Easterner. Hated to own up to it, but I did. You had to like him, he was such a good scout. You could see how he felt about Miss Amy.

“Mr. Wells just sat back and watched it all. He was very fond of his niece. He liked Jack and he liked this new fellow, too. He is not the kind that would say much. Jack Dean’s staying away didn’t seem to help Jack’s chances. Jack was not moping, but he felt he wasn’t wanted nor needed.

“Then he had to go to Victoria. When he came back three months later Miss Amy had gone East, so had Browne. He never asked any questions and Mr. Wells never offered any information.

“If I had had half a chance, I’d have told him my suspicion. But you can’t go to a man like Dean with a suspicion and nothing more. For another thing, it was Dean’s fight and he wasn’t asking for any help. But my suspicion is this, that Miss Amy didn’t care for Browne in that way. I learned that from a word or two I overheard. I don’t know even now whether she cared for Jack, she didn’t show her hand that easily.”

“How many years ago is that, Al?” asked one of the listeners.

“Nearly three years, I think. I suppose they both have forgotten each other by now, at least Jack has, hasn’t he? It’s funny, is all I can say.”

“Well, I’m for the hay,” said Smiles.

Some of the men still stayed about, others followed Smiles’ example. Red Mack, who was to meet the returning party early next morning, had long since retired.

A fast train, eating up the space, five hundred miles away, was bringing a surprise to all of them. Throughout the shadows of the night and on the wings of the morning the onrushing train with Mr. and Mrs. Dean and Ted Marsh was speeding.

At four, when the sun was about to herald the new day, Red Mack, driving a fast Packard, started on his five-hour journey. Skilled and expert, even as much the master of this steel steed as of his beloved Brownie, he raced onward at full speed, the joy of the morning and of the wind in his blood.

CHAPTER VI
DEAN MEETS COLONEL SANDS

FOR two days the fast Canadian Pacific flyer had raced through changing country and towns. To Ted, who had never before been on a railroad train, every moment held fascination. He watched the flying country, the busy stations and the people on the train. Very important people some of them seemed to be.

But the luxuries of the Pullman service and the dining car were his chief interest. It seemed so wonderful to be able to go the distance they were going and still be so comfortable.

Trim and neat was Ted. You would hardly have recognized him as the same boy. He was thoughtful, too. He realized that Mr. and Mrs. Dean liked to be alone, so he passed much of the time in the observation car.

He was sitting out there on the platform, the second morning, when an elderly, military-looking gentleman came and sat down beside him. They were the only people on the platform, for it was a little too cool for most of the passengers. Ted noticed that the man was looking at him and so he smiled in friendly fashion.

“Belong to Canada or United States?” the man asked him.

“United States,” replied Ted.

“It’s a great country you belong to, my boy. Always be proud of it and be ready to do more than just be proud of it.”

“I want to, sir,” Ted answered, “I am a Scout,” the boy added, proudly.

“That’s fine,” answered Colonel Sands. “Ready to do your share for your country, aren’t you? Well, you can’t tell when you will be needed. If I were not an Englishman, I would want to be an American—so be sure to remember to be very proud that you are one. Are you traveling alone?”

“No, sir, I am with Mr. and Mrs. John Dean. We are going to the Double X Ranch near Big Gulch.”

“Is Mr. Dean Canadian or American?” asked Colonel Sands.

“Canadian, sir. He’s a car or two further back. If you would like to meet him—would you like me to take you to him?” he added.

“Yes,” said the colonel, “I should like to meet him.”

Colonel Sands met Mr. and Mrs. Dean upon Ted’s introduction. Mr. Dean and he went to the smoking car and they stayed there for several hours. Mrs. Dean spoke to Ted for a little while, then turned to a magazine.

It suddenly came to Ted, as it had not until then, that his mother and his sister were there in Chicago and he would not see them for a long time. He never would have admitted how near the point of tears he was, as he wistfully peered out of the window. Many things passed his view, flying swiftly past him; but he saw only Chicago, his home and his dear ones. He began to wish he was home. Mrs. Dean looked up and caught the wistful look on his face. She did not interrupt his thoughts, but sat and watched him. Suddenly he looked up and smiled a little shamefacedly, as he saw her watching him.

“Well, Ted, you will have lots of chances to show how much you are the man of the family. You are getting older, you see, and a man’s work lies before you.”

“Yes, I know,” he answered soberly, “I mean to make my way, so that mother and Helen can come out to this country. Isn’t it fine to know that you belong to it—that you are an American—there never was anything like it.” Then he laughed, a little embarrassed. “Of course, being a Canadian is almost the same,” he added loyally.

“Yes, we feel it is,” said Mrs. Dean, smiling.

The two men came back and Ted heard Colonel Sands say:

“We can’t tell when it will happen. But I think you should know. It is likely to come any minute. When it comes Canada must and will do its share. The Germans are prepared, tremendously prepared. I am off to Australia in a week. If you will undertake what I suggest—I can leave with the assurance that the matter is in safe and cautious hands. For I want to tell you, Mr. Dean, it is a big undertaking. I’ll see you again.”

When the colonel left, John Dean explained to his wife. There was the possibility of war, the big European war that has since come, but which then, only a few months before that fateful August, very few people would have believed possible. There were some men in England who knew it would come—but they were being laughed at—so they had to do their work quietly. Colonel Sands was one of these men. He had been in Canada for many months and now was on his way to Australia. They wanted men in Canada, in Australia, in all the provinces, to prepare, to do what they could. As John Dean spoke, there came to Amy Dean a feeling that if war did come, her husband would be marching off to the front. And, with this feeling of fear, there came also a great pride.

Ted listened, wide-eyed and interested. It stirred his fancy, his thoughts. He was, he felt, an American always, but Canada held a close second place. What if he could help?

Early the next morning the train pulled into Big Gulch. A car was waiting for them. Red Mack came sheepishly forward. He stared open-mouthed at Mrs. Dean.

RED CAME SHEEPISHLY FORWARD

Things simply had to be explained to him. Ted also had to be explained. Boy and man looked at each other with instant liking.

Still another passenger there was. They brought him from the baggage car and he ran to Ted and kept close to Ted’s heels—the dog which Ted had named Wolf that first day, hoping the name would make the dog.

CHAPTER VII
TED AT HOME AT THE DOUBLE X

THE surprise of the cowboys who had speculated as to Amy Wells and Mrs. Dean was so apparent that Jack Dean, who had an idea as to the reason for it, felt quite embarrassed. It amused Mrs. Dean, who knew many of the men and who with great tact made things easy. The men felt somewhat guilty, especially Al Graham.

But things soon were normal again. John Dean knew that all these men were friends of his, that they were his peers. His position was such that he was their leader, but he never had to make them feel that it was a case of employer and employee. He knew the sterling independence of the West, which held no man superior to another. And no one believed in the principle more than Dean. So that when the men were at ease there were great doings. The cowboys, when alone, were crude and rough. Now, with Mrs. Dean about, their manners were such as any gentleman might own. Perhaps a little rough in manner and appearance, but not one of them lacked manliness and gentleness, the main requisites of a gentleman. Of course, breeding is more than mere polish, but much more than just breeding is necessary for the true gentleman.

The men liked Mrs. Dean from the first moment. Her charm and her loveliness kept even the timid Smiles in the circle about her. She was pleasant to all and enjoyed their company so much that they responded naturally and their quick wit had full play.

Nor was Ted an outsider. Under the protecting wing of Red Mack the boy had a chance of meeting the men without awkwardness.

The men took to him. They tested him to find out if there were a man’s qualities in him. Your shrewd, self-reliant man of the plains soon sees through a person.

They found Ted true. He had a good-natured grin and a fearless eye. Green and new he was, and many pranks were played on him, but he took them all good-naturedly. Despite the protection his closeness to the boss, and the household would give him, it never entered Ted’s mind to complain. From afar Dean watched the trying out of the boy’s mettle with keen interest. He felt fairly certain of the result.

He learned to ride a horse in quick time. Red Mack felt that it was up to him to give the boy the rudiments of the rancher’s education. Ted could not have had a better teacher in the whole of western Canada.

The time passed very quickly in this way. Mrs. Dean attended to Ted’s education and each day he had to give three to four hours to study. At other times you could see him, sometimes with Smiles, sometimes with Al or Pete, but mostly with Red. Wherever he went, Wolf was at his heels. Wolf never would be a wolf, but he was growing and he was beginning to hold his own. The West seemed to be the place for him.

But if Ted spent most of his time while in action with the three men mentioned, he also liked to sit and listen to Pop, who had taken a deep interest in the boy. The cowboys had seen how much it had affected the older man when Ted came. They thought that perhaps Pop might have had a boy of that age and so it had brought memories. But they forebore to discuss or to question Pop, for, after all, it was his own affair.

There was, however, a good deal more to it than that. When Pop had heard the boy introduced as Ted Marsh, a curtain seemed to have been drawn aside—a curtain that had hidden about fourteen years of his life. And from what Pop heard of the boy’s history through Dean and as related by Ted himself, he realized that Fate had played a rather queer trick. There came a great hope to Pop, or, rather, Dick Smith, as he was known on the ranch. He dared to think that perhaps he could come through and that Ted would be the means.

For Pop, as the reader may realize, was the long lost father of Ted. He was the Bill Marsh that had disappeared and for whom Mrs. Marsh still mourned, not knowing whether he was dead or alive.

The hard times of the Marsh family, many years before, had worried Bill even more than Mrs. Marsh. A strong man, he brooded over his inability to make things go, and gradually, as he grew more and more despondent, took to drink. Then there had been a quarrel between husband and wife, and the man had felt that he was useless. Mrs. Marsh had been the one who had supported the family and this made the man morose and bitter. He left home, intent upon getting what he could not earn. He had been drinking heavily.

The only thing he remembered the next morning was that he had had a terrific fight sometime during the night. If he had not remembered it, he would have been sure to have known of it because of the condition he was in. He had been sentenced to sixty days. He knew that he must not let it be known who he was, as he did not want to disgrace his wife and daughter. It was while he was in the workhouse that he decided he would be of the greatest help to his family by dropping out altogether. He felt that his wife never could have any further use for him. So he had gone west and gradually had found things as satisfactory as anything could be under the circumstances at the Double X. He had sworn off drinking.

Now Ted, the babe that was born after he had left Chicago, was here.

He decided not to say anything, but let events develop. He must not force himself back into his family, for they seemed happy and contented as they were. But he was bound up in the boy. From him the boy also learned much. To him, also, the boy often spoke of the folks at home, because, instinctively, he felt that the man was interested.

The winter came on and Ted found many new things to interest him. There was skiing, skating, and then there would be times when, wrapped up in warm clothes, they would go off in sleighs to great distances. It was often 50 degrees below zero. Ted grew strong and Wolf especially seemed to acclimate himself.

And then spring came.

CHAPTER VIII
RED MACK AND TED INVESTIGATE

TED was to leave for Wayland Academy the latter part of April. Mrs. Dean thought that he would be able to enter then and still be up with his class, thanks to the studying he had done at the ranch. Ted liked the ranch so much he was not looking forward any too anxiously to schooltime.

Ted was one of the twenty who went off one April morning for a great roundup and branding of cattle. Suspicion was afoot that the Double X cattle were being stolen. The Wells had also reported trouble at the Double U, so stock was to be taken.

Ted took great pride in his place among the men. He had begged to be allowed to go with them, since his days were to be so few at the ranch, and Mrs. Dean had permitted him to go.

TWENTY MEN WERE OFF TO BRAND CATTLE

The men had a busy day and Ted played a useful part. They pitched camp early. Supper was soon over and most of the men decided to turn in at once, for they wanted to start work early the following morning.

“Want to go a little way?” asked Red Mack.

“Certainly,” answered Ted, who was not at all sleepy.

“All right, then, let’s start.”

Off they went, at a steady trot. Red did not say just where they were going. He usually, Ted had found, did not volunteer information.

“Why don’t you use the car more, Red?” questioned the boy.

“A car is all right, but the horse for me. Brownie and I”—he fondled the horse’s neck—“are chums, have always been. Haven’t we, old horse?”

The horse looked up at Red understandingly. Ted hoped he and his horse, Scout, would be on such good terms.

Red understood the boy’s thoughts.

“Treat him kindly always. Make him understand he amounts to something, that he has a friend. Horses need more kindness than human beings.”

They rode for more than a half hour. Then Red spoke again.

“Ted, I have a suspicion there are some thieves about. Cattle thieves. I think I know where they are.” He paused. “I didn’t want to say much until I was sure, but I’ll make sure very soon. Perhaps you can help.”

The boy’s pulse beat faster. He didn’t know just how he could help, but he knew he didn’t want to fail his friend.

“I know you have grit, from what Jack has told us. But you also have to keep your head here,” Mack added.

They rode about three miles more. “There is a cave a little further up there, a good and likely place for them. Let’s turn our horses back into the woods here. No noise, now.”

Silently, slowly, they worked their way forward. There was but a touch of the waning day to show them the way.

They stopped often and listened. It was slow progress. Then they heard the faint murmur of voices. Mack drew nearer and tried to make out the voices or what was said, but found it impossible. He came back and motioned to Ted that they were to go back. And just as slowly they worked their way to the starting point.

“Can’t tell who they are, can we?” Red mused. “They may be peaceable, law-abiding citizens. They might be folks with business which isn’t my particular concern. I’d hate to inspect, make trouble, get nowhere and have good and kind friends tell it to you on every occasion. No, I’m going to make sure.”

Ted whispered: “I have an idea, Red. Let me go in there, pretend I’m lost, and that I am looking for my way.”

“Won’t do,” Red interrupted. “Lot’s of reasons why. First, they wouldn’t let you know anything and I could only guess from your description. Second, if trouble came, what do you think folks down there would say to me? Nice, agreeable, pleasant things, eh? Tell you, boy. I’ll go in. You wait where we were. If I don’t call you, it’s a sign things are not friendly—you speed back and get Smiles and the boys. I think you had best tell them to hurry, although I don’t think they will need any urging when they find out it is friend McGowan. They can’t hurry any too fast to suit me, because about the time they are due things will be getting interesting and warm. Know the way back, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know it,” answered Ted.

“So long, Ted,” said Red Mack.

Red crawled back to where the horses were. He rode forward as if he were going to a picnic. Ted heard him breaking through the brushwood, leading his horse. Then he heard him say, “Hello, friends.” He heard the call repeated, but there was no answering hail. Silence still, as Red seemed to have reached the cave, except that he heard men moving about. Ted heard Mack’s voice—smooth, very pleasant, and most polite.

“I guess I’ll move on, since you don’t seem glad to see me. I seem to have interrupted you, I would say.”

There was a second’s pause, then Ted heard someone speak.

“Throw up your hands, Red, quick. I think, now that you’re here, you’ll stay awhile.”

Ted’s heart jumped. It was beating so loudly that he was sure they could hear it.

The boy wanted to stay and hear more, but he knew there would be great need of haste. Cautiously he made his way back to where his horse was busy trying to find something at which he could nibble.

Once out of earshot, the boy made speed. His friend was in trouble and he was depending upon him to get help. Red certainly was brave and fearless, thought Ted, as he urged his horse to his best speed. He was very glad that Red had taken him along on this adventure. He hoped that he could be of service. What if he were too late? Faster, faster.

Scout proved his gameness. He seemed to understand what was wanted of him and he waited for no urging.

A little more than an hour later a very excited boy was explaining to wide-awake Smiles. That same Smiles had awakened at the first call and even as he listened had awakened the other men. None of them asked questions. They worked on the principle of getting ready first, then questioning could come later. And so, even before Ted was through, they were ready.

As they started off, Smiles turned to some of them and explained: “Red has the McGowan gang up above. Rather, the McGowan gang has Red. He’s expecting us, but we had better hurry, or it might get too warm for him. Ted was with him until Red hurried him back to us while he palavers with them and makes them feel that he is all sorts of a fool and hasn’t had some such little plan as this all along. If it was anyone else, I’d say that they would see through it all, but I have faith in Red. It’s up to us to hurry.”

Twenty eager men, ready for anything. The possibility of trouble pleased some of the more reckless, like Pete, but all of them were interested in getting McGowan, against whom they had sworn enmity.

Ted was able to guide them without any trouble. When they reached the place they tied their horses. But as they started to creep forward they heard something move a little way off. Cautiously, one of them investigated and found it was Red’s horse, Brownie.

“Good,” said Smiles, “we may find him very necessary.”

Some of the men had already gone forward and the rest joined them. They could see the cave dimly, but they could hear quite clearly. All of the men, ready at a second’s notice, watched Smiles, from whom the signal for action would come.

CHAPTER IX
THE MARSHES PAY A DEBT

MRS. MARSH, her day’s work completed, was doing some sewing. Her thoughts often turned to her beloved son, twice beloved, since he was not about. Ted had sent her a picture of himself on horseback and she was looking proudly at it. It was an unusually long letter she had received that morning. Ted had told of Red Mack, Smiles, Pop, and the others. How his horse, Scout, and he were great chums, and how Wolf had grown and was a dog any boy could be proud of. How fine and important Mr. Dean was and how good to him Mrs. Dean was, always. Throughout the boyish letter, the mother read of the boy’s happiness in his new surroundings. But Ted also made her feel that he missed her and that he missed Helen.

What a fine picture it was of him. How manly he looked. The mother was quite sure there never was a boy like her Ted. But she missed him so. And, thinking about how much she missed him, she looked for a moment as if she would cry.

But instead of crying, she suddenly smiled.

“I must not be selfish, as Helen says. It is his chance. Bless the Deans.”

Ted in his first letter of that week had written about the Academy at Wayland and that he was to arrive there on May 1st. She knew that Mrs. Dean had kept him up in his studies in the eight months he had been away from school, but she was glad to know that he was again to get back to a regular school.

After a while she started to set the table. Helen would soon be home and Mrs. Marsh was always sure to have things ready for the hungry girl when she reached home. After the table was set, Mrs. Marsh reopened the letter received that morning from Ted and placed it conspicuously, so that Helen could not fail to see it.

Her thoughts still stayed with Ted. She did not mind receiving the monthly remittance from the Deans, she mused, just as had been arranged, before they left for the West, yet she was glad that it would not be necessary to receive this money very much longer. What they had accepted up to now would be paid back by the three of them, the mother, Helen and Ted. But both of them were very anxious to pay back at once the hundred dollars Mr. Dean had insisted that she take when Ted had gone to the hospital. That was a burden which the Marshes were anxious to clear as soon as possible.

The bell rang. “It cannot be Helen. She does not ring. I wonder who it is?”

She pushed the button that opened the door below. After a time there was a knock at the door.

She opened it and a man stepped in.

“Mrs. Marsh?” he asked.

“I am Mrs. Marsh,” she answered.

“I am the insurance adjuster and I want to settle as to your losses through that fire. The company wants to offer you $25.00, which I think is very fair.”

“But it was supposed to be $100.00,” said Mrs. Marsh, uncertainly.

“We cannot make it $100.00; we do not intend to give more than $25.00. You can take it or leave it.”

The man made a move as if to go. Mrs. Marsh, uncertain, wished for Ted or even for Helen, and as if in answer to her wish Helen stepped into the room.

“Hello, mother!” She kissed her lovingly, then saw the stranger. She looked up at the man.

The mother explained.

“We will not take less than the $100,” said Helen decisively.

“We will give you $50, no more,” said the man.

Helen shook her head.

“You take $75 now, or $25 if I once leave the room.” The man started for the door. Helen let him go. He opened the door and went out.

“You should have taken the $75,” said the mother tearfully. “We need it badly, you know.”

“I think we will get the $100, mother,” quietly answered the girl.

The man came back into the room. He pulled out a paper, then five twenty dollar bills, and showed Mrs. Marsh where to sign.

Mrs. Marsh did so after Helen had first read the paper and had approved of it. The man left.

Mother and daughter looked at each other, happily.

“Do you know, mother, I just wish we could send it off tonight. It will feel so fine to get the burden of this big debt from our shoulders. Isn’t it fun to be able to pay your debts?”

“I am so glad,” said the mother, no less enthusiastic. “It worried me so.”

“Yes, mother, and I have some more good news. I have been given a raise and my pay is to be ten dollars a week.”

“It’s wonderful, but no more than you deserve,” said the mother, loyally.

“Why,” said Helen, “here is a letter from Ted and you never told me. What a perfectly fine picture.” There was silence while the sister read the letter and the mother watched her appreciation.

“Ted is going to be a great man some day, mother; I know it.”

“And you will be a fine woman, too,” said the proud mother.

“I wish we could go out there and join Ted. In another month we ought to be able to tell the Deans we do not need their help. My, that will be so fine.”

“Yes, Helen, and the first thing in the morning I am going to send this money to them and get through with that.”

CHAPTER X
A LOSING GAME

RED had given his hail as he went forward—“Hello, friends.” Even as he did so, he realized who they were, for he recognized McGowan, as that worthy came forward to see from whom the greeting had come. Red whispered to Brownie, gave him a pat and the horse loped off. It was too late for him to turn away, even if he had any desire to do so. He saw other men join McGowan at the front of the cave. He also heard excited whispering.

No answer greeted him. There was a moment’s distrustful gaze and then the leader said surlily:

“What brings you here? What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” answered Mack. “I heard folks talking and wondered if it wasn’t some of our boys. I went off to Big Gulch, day before yesterday, and knew our boys would be somewhere about. Didn’t exactly expect you folks,” he added whimsically, “or I might not have been so free with my call. I guess I’ll move on, as I seem to have interrupted you,” he added in a louder voice.

We know McGowan’s answer. There was a consultation for a half minute. They suspected that what Red Mack told them was not the truth; on the other hand, he would hardly have come to them if he knew who they were. There were no others with him; if there were, they would not have given the thieves time to get ready.

“What are you men up to? Stealing cattle is mighty dangerous.” He sat down and rolled a cigarette while the men watched him distrustfully and uncertainly. “This is good catching time, you know.” A pause. “What are you going to do with me?” But he seemed absolutely unconcerned as to what they would do.

“Well,” answered McGowan, “we might make you food for animals, if you really have a desire to know. We are somewhat uncertain as yet. You haven’t any say, although I admit you have some interest in our decision. I’m inclined to think,” added the speaker, “you can’t harm us if we keep you here while we do our job.”

“Yes,” one of the other men added. “Our reputations won’t be hurt much by what you may be mean enough to say after we are through. Catching time is a long way off, the border-line is much nearer. Day after tomorrow the U.S.A. for us.”

“I’ll tell you this, Red. If any of your friends come to investigate, you’re going to make an easy shot,” McGowan warned him.

“My friends are not welcome, then?” Mack smiled. “But why blame me, if I’m popular?”

Both the prisoner and the cattle thieves seemed to be in the best of humor. But both sides were watching each other very closely.

“I reckon,” said one of the other men, “the Double U and the Double X will not miss what we want. We need it much more than they do.”

“Well, now,” and Mack smiled, “I take it that you need that carcass of yours much more than they do. While folks are taking things, we’ll probably take that.”

And so they talked, in the main, quite humorously and good-naturedly. Mack wondered how his friends could come to his help without making the matter of receiving help a matter of extreme danger to him. For these men would blow his brains out at the first sign or even hint of interference from the outside. That would be their game. They had not even bothered to tie him, simply had taken his gun away.

But, knowing Smiles as he did, he knew he could count on him. He knew that Smiles would figure all these things before he made a move. For his friend was a pastmaster at this kind of game. Of course, there was the possibility that Ted might not have brought the warning to Smiles, but that possibility was quite remote, so Red decided he could count on Ted. The thing for him to do was to be ready and act when the time came.

McGowan now turned to one of the men.

“Better get outside and watch awhile. I don’t expect trouble, but that’s the time it usually comes.” Out of the corner of his eye he watched Red Mack to see if he would give some sign, but the prisoner never changed expression.

So a half hour more passed. The man outside grumbled at being kept there when all his interests were inside. His watch was divided, half his time being spent in listening and watching the men inside.

There was a sudden crashing of underbrush. Almost with the noise a gun was at Mack’s head. Then the call of the sentry. “It’s a horse—reckon it’s Mack’s.” The gun came down.

“It won’t be his very long,” remarked McGowan.

Men in the West who know each other, also know each other’s horses. So Brownie was at once recognized. There was nothing wrong to the men in Brownie’s coming to where his master was, nothing at all wrong in that. But to Mack it meant everything. His horse would never come unless called or sent. So he must have been sent. That meant that Smiles was at hand and had taken this method of letting him know that it was his move.

He could blow out one of the lights and kick the other one over. It would require quick, instantaneous action, but it could be done. Should he then rush forward and out? They would shoot him if he did. No, he would make his rush, but it would be to the back of the cave. He would make an attempt to escape in the dark when the opportunity came. If he only had his gun!

Yes, he must make them think he was rushing out.

“You know, Pete,” he talked even as he was thinking, “I could forgive everything but one thing. The horse is mine, now and always. My not wearing a gun makes no difference. When I go, my horse goes with me. And I reckon I’m—”

There was sudden, intense darkness.

“—going now.”

Something crashed the next instant. There was much noise, voices, pistol shots. A pause of a few minutes. In that pause Mack had managed to get outside of the cave. The men inside were uncertain, hesitating because they were sure they had heard shots from the outside. They did not know what to do.

Probably, too, it would have been a good time for the men on the outside to have closed in on the outlaws. But they also were uncertain and the dark in those first few minutes helped the men on the inside. As the two factions each hesitated, a voice came to them from the outside.

“I reckon, Smiles, you can go to it.” It was the voice of Mack. And even as he spoke there were answering shots from the men within at the place from which the voice had come.

There was a pause. “Will you do a little barking, so I can tell where you are?” It was Mack’s voice again.

Mack saw, then, the place from which his friends were shooting and a few seconds later was among them.

“Thanks,” he said. “Pete McGowan and his men are in there looking for trouble.”

“Well, they’ll find it,” and Smiles smiled his broadest.

“Better come out, Pete. We’re too many for you,” the foreman called. Shots answered him. The men from the outside did not waste any shots. They crept closer.

“Say, Smiles,” called out Pete, “if we come out, we want your promise that there is not going to be any hanging, but that you’ll turn us over to the Mounted Police. We want you to promise that, otherwise we might as well fight.”

THE MEN FROM THE OUTSIDE CREPT CLOSER

“That’s fair,” answered Smiles. “I promise you.”

“All right, then, we’ll come.”

They came out. To their credit be it said, they came, heads up, as men. They had made their fight, a foolish fight, for the wrong-doer always pays. But they did not whimper. Such is the stock of the West, whatever the course they may follow, bad or good, they are almost always—men.

To Ted it was a tremendous experience. It gave him an idea as to what length these easy-going men would go. Mack and Smiles were his heroes, the men in turn did not forget to say a good word to him for his part.

Pop had not been with them in the roundup. But when he heard of it, he wanted to know all the details of Ted’s share in it. He got it from both Smiles and Red Mack. Mrs. Dean also wanted to know all about it. She scolded Mack for leading the boy into danger, but she did not altogether regret it. It would harden Ted, she thought.

Several days later the boy left for Wayland.

CHAPTER XI
TED AT WAYLAND

TED had been a member of the student body two weeks and had already made a number of friends. Mr. Oglethorpe, who was the dean of the Academy and a close friend of John Dean, did everything he could for him.

But it was not altogether easy sailing. There was one boy, who, from the first moment when Ted arrived, seemed to take a violent dislike to him. He immediately started in and continued to make things unpleasant for him. Ted wanted no quarrel, he knew that no matter how much in the right he might be, it would count against him, since he was the newcomer. So he grinned good-naturedly at the many attempts of Sydney Graham to make trouble for him. Yet often he wished he could fight things out with his tormentor and be done with it. But better sense always came to the rescue.

The studies took about five hours each day and there was at least two hours of military training. In addition to which Ted had to have some private tutoring to make up some of his studies. So that his days were full and he did not have much time for anything else.

Ted was entered in the Cavalry Division. He rode cowboy fashion, as Mack and Pop and Smiles had taught him to do. The other boys all rode in the way they had been trained, as military men ride. Captain Wilson, in charge of the military and scout training at the school, had decided not to attempt to change Ted’s style of riding. As he explained to Ted and to some of the other boys who were about, the important thing was to sit on a horse as if horse and rider were one.

But Syd Graham sneered at Ted’s way. There were some remarks he made that brought a sharp rebuke from some of the other boys. Then, too, Ted’s good nature seemed to bring out the very worst in Syd.

There was to be a meeting of the Boy Scouts. The boys, who knew that Ted had already qualified as a tenderfoot in Chicago, wanted to elect him to membership.

“I’m against any Yankee joining,” protested young Graham. “Let’s have a little class to it, not bring in every ordinary shop-boy or farm hand.” He made a pretense of being very English, don’t you know. But, despite his objections, Ted came in. It made him very glad, for he had never forgotten those first principles he had learned and although not active for many months he felt as if he still were a Scout.

The Boy Scouts at Wayland were a source of great pride to the Academy. They had entered tests, tournaments and games with other Scout groups. Their standing was high. Captain Wilson spent much time and took painstaking care that what they did learn was the thing they should learn. He made it clear, too, that the Boy Scout training, while it had nothing to do with the military training which was part of the curriculum of the Academy, was nevertheless, in his opinion, just as important.

A very little matter brought things to a head between Syd and Ted. Ted had made a two-base hit in a baseball game. The center fielder, by quick work, had relayed the ball to second and had made it necessary for Ted to slide into the base. In doing this he had spiked and upset Syd, who was covering second. Under ordinary circumstances, both boys would have laughed at it. Instead, Syd, even as he arose, gave Ted a vicious kick, then sprang at him.

But Ted was ready. Syd was heavier by almost ten pounds. But the one thing in Ted’s favor was the training of the street gamin of the big city. He had the greater endurance and was the quicker of the two. He also had the experience and the cunning acquired from many street fights.

No one interfered. All the boys knew that the test now on would have to come, why not now? Then, too, if the truth must be told, they were not at all averse to seeing a fight, and this proved to be an exciting one.

At first, it looked very much like Syd’s fight, then Ted’s stamina began to tell. Very soon Syd was on the defensive, no longer did he rush, but he became as careful as was Ted. Then there was a cry of warning, the boys closed in on the combatants, picked up their clothes, and all of them started off, the boys keeping Syd and Ted from open view.

“Run, here comes Ogie and Cap.” When they reached their dormitories the boys separated. Ted went to his room and began to doctor up his face. What bothered him most was not the sting of the blows he had received, but the utter uselessness of the enmity of Syd. As he thought over it an idea entered his mind. It was a sudden decision; he would go to Syd Graham’s room and talk things over with him. They need not like each other, but they would come to a clear understanding and then each go his way.

As he opened the door he saw Syd coming down the hall. When he saw Ted he stopped for a moment, then came forward a little more quickly. Reaching Ted he said, “Let’s go to your room for a moment, old man. I want to talk to you.”

They went in, Ted a little uncertain.

“That was a good scrap, wasn’t it?” laughed the visitor. “My, but my nose and a dozen parts of my body hurt like thunder. You’re some pugilist and with the weight all against you.”

THE TWO BOYS WENT ON A FISHING TRIP

“Look at my eye,” answered Ted. “I think you can do some teaching yourself.”

“Say, Ted,” said Syd, straightforwardly, “I came to apologize. That was a mean display of temper on my part.” He stopped for a moment. “I don’t know why I’ve been this way, but I want to be friends from now on.”

Ted smiled and reached out his hand. “I was just going over to see you and have it all out, for I have wanted to be friends all along. Well, it’s all over—we’re friends.”

They talked for a long time after that. Syd confided that he wanted to join the British army. Ted, he found, hoped some day to be the kind of man John Dean was. Ted told the other boy of the ranch, of Red and of Smiles, and also all about Chicago. They separated at the first call for dinner.

Not so many days later the two boys, now fast friends, went on a fishing trip to a neighboring lake.

The town of Wayland was an important railroad center; it was one of the keys to the far Canadian West. The boys had to go through the town and stopped off to make some purchases and also watch the incoming train. There were several people who got off and, as is usual in a place of the size of Wayland, the newcomers were observed rather closely.

The boys had to cross a bridge on their way back, as they were making a short cut home and were not going through the town. As they passed, Syd said to Ted, as he motioned to a man sitting a little way off, “There is one of the people who got off the train a little while ago.” Ted looked at the man curiously and wondered what had brought him to Wayland, as the train that had stopped was a through train and it meant that the man must have come some distance. The man seemed to be drawing or writing, and he kept looking up at the bridge. He saw the boys, but paid very little attention to them as they stopped to watch him.

The boys continued on their way.

“What nationality would you take that man to be, Syd?” asked Ted.

“Search me,” answered Syd, who had not seen as many classes of people as had Ted. “What do you take him to be?” he in turn asked.

“I guess he’s German,” was the reply.

The fact that the man was German brought up only one thing to Syd—the study of German.

“My father says we’ll fight the Germans some day. So, why do they make us study it?”

As Syd spoke a thought struck Ted. He remembered the talk John Dean had had with Colonel Sands on the train. What should he do? Of course, this man was probably harmless and if he said anything he might be laughed at. Yet, after all, Ted decided it was his business to speak.

He said nothing to his companion. The thing for him to do was to say nothing to anyone except Mr. Oglethorpe.

When they reached the school he excused himself to Syd and hurried off to see the dean. Mr. Oglethorpe was in and to him the boy explained.

“Where did you see him, Theodore?”

“On the bridge, sir. He was either writing or drawing.”

“Did you speak to him or tell anyone?” the dean asked.

“No, sir! Not even to Sydney Graham, who was with me. I thought I should tell you first.”

“That was quite right. Let us see. I will send for Captain Wilson.” The dean seemed very much disturbed.

The captain soon arrived.

“I think,” said the captain, as soon as things were explained to him, “I had better take some action in this matter. This will have to be done quietly, for our countrymen still do not realize how the time is drawing near and they would laugh at us and call us alarmists. The fact that this stranger will in all probability claim American citizenship makes it doubly necessary for silent work.”

“Ted,” he now turned to the boy, “whether there is anything to this or not, you have shown you have a good head and you use it.”

Then the captain left him and Ted went to his room.

CHAPTER XII
THE TRAIN-WRECKERS

ABOUT three-quarters of an hour later—a seemingly surprised (but not altogether so) German was held up by a masked highwayman. He gave up such papers as he had—money was not taken—a very queer highwayman who would not take money. One thing he had managed to throw into the river below, but he was made to understand that another attempt to throw anything else into the river would mean instant action on the part of the hold-up man. He was told that so plainly that he could not fail to understand.

“I shall let you go,” the masked man said.

“It is an outrage,” said the German, but his voice did not sound very convincing. “I shall report it at once to the police.”

“You can do so, but the next time we catch you it may be your last time. We may be ready for you then.”

The German went off. The masked man removed his mask and proved to be Captain Wilson. He tried to recover the paper thrown into the river, but was unsuccessful.

It was but one of the rumblings of the storm to come. One month later Austria was to march on Servia, the storm would be breaking.

From this western point another proof went forward to a certain departmental official. Proof that all was not quiet even if the surface showed an apparent smoothness.

That evening at dinner Captain Wilson asked Ted to come to the dean’s room.

When he entered, the captain and the dean were in close conversation.

“We feel, Theodore, that you should know that the man you reported was a German spy drawing plans of the bridges and railroad terminals. We found some valuable maps on him. We hope we have not been too late to intercept others he may have drawn, although it is almost too much to hope for that. I know that Mr. Dean will be specially pleased because of your valuable help.

“You will be adding to the debt we owe you if you do not speak of it to anyone. We do not report such things, for there are ever so many who would consider us alarmists. We are doing what we can, but it must be done in the dark.”

The German spy made no complaint at the police office. One of a wonderful nation, he took it calmly, boarded a train to the United States and, probably, just as painstakingly, began the work over again in a few days.

Captain Wilson, a few days later, announced that a special drill of the Infantry and Cavalry Divisions of the Academy would be held on the Saturday following. It was to precede an inspection of the Scouts—tests and promotions were to be made.

There were to be some officers and other gentlemen present. He knew, he said, that the students of Wayland would come up to their usually high standard.

Many of the boys’ fathers and guardians were to be at the drill-inspection. Syd’s father, Colonel Graham, John Dean (with whom Mrs. Dean was coming to see Ted) and about six others were due on one train which ran from Derby, a junction station just below Wayland.

Captain Wilson decided that the Cavalry Squad should meet this train at Derby, so at eight o’clock, Saturday morning, they started.

The road runs along the railroad track almost the entire way. When they reached about three-quarters of the distance, Captain Wilson ordered a halt and the boys rested. Some of them went walking a little way, for the captain had allowed them fifteen minutes’ time. He did not want to get to Derby too early.

As Ted walked down the track he saw some men working on the road. He passed them by and at a turn sat down on a tree trunk to tie his shoelace. As he got up and went on, the impression stayed with him that the tree trunk he had sat on had but just been hewn. What a big tree it had been!

When the men saw him returning a few minutes later they stopped short in their work. They watched him as he passed on. Without appearing to do so, the boy was also watching and observing. He did not let them see that his suspicions were aroused. When the road turned again, he hastened his steps. The boys were just mounting, but he asked Captain Wilson if he could speak to him for a minute.

Very briefly he explained. He thought it looked like an attempt at train-wrecking.

“It’s quite possible,” said Captain Wilson. “They probably know just who is coming and figure on maiming or killing a number of important people.”

Calling the sergeant to him, he directed that half the squad go forward to meet the train, the other half he ordered to remain. The boys knew something was wrong. Ted was one of those who remained.

Captain Wilson took the sergeant aside and in a low voice explained and directed him to get a number of armed men at Derby, as they would perhaps be of help.

The sergeant saluted and started off with his men. Then the captain turned to Ted and one other boy:

“Go down one mile. Should you hear a bugle call, the train can pass. If there is no call you must stop that train. The people on the train will be on the watch for a signal, for Sergeant Gilhooley will have warned them to be on the lookout. It is important, boys, that the enemy is not aware of your presence. We shall also take care that these men do not see us.” The two boys saluted and were off.

The boys who were left very quietly remained in position. After a little while the captain turned to them and said:

“Those of the boys who would like to go back may do so. There is possible danger here and none of us are armed.”

But not one of the boys, of course, would go. The captain stationed them in the woods, where they were at instant call.

Taking Syd with him, the captain crawled forward and watched the men dragging the tremendous trunk to place across the track. It took them almost a half hour to complete the task. They did not leave, but hid in the adjoining woods. They were going to make sure of their job—any newcomer would be kept away at all costs.

Captain Wilson saw no chance to clear the track. He hoped the boys who had gone ahead would be able to stop the train. It ought not be difficult, he thought, since the people on the train would be warned.

But the best laid plans go wrong very often. The train did not stop at Derby, but passed through. It was late and so had been “specialed direct.” The engineer saw boys on horseback tearing down the road and waving frantically, but decided it was a salute and returned it by a great whistling from the engine. It was going at full speed when Ted and his partner waved a red sweater, a danger signal that could not be ignored. It seemed to the excited boys as if the engineer would never see it. Then the train began to slow down, and an excited crowd of men jumped off. Amongst them was John Dean.

After the boys explained the men from the train proceeded cautiously to the danger point, guns ready. The anxious captain saw them coming and used his bugle to call the Scouts to him. There was a rush of train-wreckers from the woods. Shots were fired. Two of them fell in their tracks. The rest escaped.

Ted was congratulated. Captain Wilson turned to John Dean and said, with a pat on Ted’s shoulder:

HE WAVED THE RED SWEATER

“You know, hereafter we shall call him ‘Our Boy Scout, Lucky’. But, do you know, sir,” as Ted walked off embarrassed, “he uses his head. I am going to tell you one other case in point.” And he told John Dean of the spy.

The train came up, so did the frantic squad, with Sergeant Gilhooley at its head.

Mrs. Dean came out of the train, ran toward Ted and kissed him. Ted did not mind; he was very proud of that.

The train pulled into Wayland an hour late.

The newspapers called it an attempt of train-wreckers. One of the men who had been shot was dead and the other mortally wounded. He would not talk and was taken to the hospital.

Two days later he died.

CHAPTER XIII
TED IS CHOSEN FOR A MISSION

IT was a notable array of gentlemen and ladies who inspected the six corps of Scouts after the military drills were over. As they passed up and down the lines the Scouts, who stood at attention, eyes ahead, heard the expressed admiration and every one of them was proud and glad.

Later on Colonel Graham made a short speech.

“Scouts,” he said, “you are the future manhood of your country. Big things may come for you to do. I am proud of Wayland and the boys in it, and I want to say to you all, as man to man, that come such time as may, and there are clouds now in the sky, Canada, I know, will have reason to be proud of you.

“May I add another word? I have heard that opportunity has been given to one of you to be of service. I know that none of you would have failed, had the opportunity come. Each of you would have welcomed it. But opportunity, Scouts, hardly ever comes; it is everywhere, all about you, ready for you to grasp. It is the quick-witted man or woman, boy or girl, who sees it. Theodore Marsh, his wits ready, saw one thing, then another thing, and made one and one two. Great praise I have for him. I know, too, that all of you must also be proud of him. I thank you.”

There was the call, and the Scouts broke up. Excited words could be heard everywhere and many good-natured comments were fired at Ted, who stood aside modestly, even bashfully.

A little later, luncheon having been served, the men guests retired to the office of the dean. It was plain to almost all of the boys that the conference, now to be held, was the main purpose of their meeting at the school.

Mrs. Dean and Ted went off for a walk. Ted welcomed the opportunity, for he wanted to talk of his mother and his sister.

“Well, Ted, when did you write last?” asked Mrs. Dean. She seemed to feel and sense the fact that Ted would want to talk about his family and so made it very easy for him.

“I write twice a week, Mrs. Dean. I hear from them about that often, sometime from Helen, sometime from mother. They say they miss me, but no more than I miss them, I’ll bet.”

“Your mother is a fine woman, Ted. Did she write you how she sent the $100 insurance that she collected to Mr. Dean, because she did not want to owe any money, it made her so uncomfortable. You know the sum Mr. Dean is sending every month is only accepted by your mother on condition that it be paid back by the three of you, when the time comes. She would not take it any other way.

“And, my boy,” Mrs. Dean smoothed into place a stray lock of Ted’s hair, “I am so glad that you will make good, for her sake. Helen, too, I know, will give her much reason for pride. It is a wonderful thing for a mother to be proud of her children.”

They walked slowly on.

“I am going to make good,” Ted said, very soberly. “For your sake and for my mother’s sake. I owe you so much.”

Mrs. Dean continued: “I am worried, Ted, very much worried. As you know, there is talk of war between Germany and England. If there is, Mr. Dean would have to go. I would not have him stay even if he could, and I am desperately afraid.”

It seemed to do Mrs. Dean as much good as it did Ted to talk. So they spoke of the Chicago they both loved, the Settlement, and of the many things that had happened lately.

She brought greetings from the boys at the ranch, which made Ted very happy.

In the dean’s office, around a table, sat Mr. Oglethorpe, Captain Wilson, Mr. Dean, Colonel Graham, a Mr. Smythe, who came from Toronto, and another man who was addressed as Major Church. There were several other men present, who sat and listened.

Major Church seemed to be the leader and acted as chairman.

Mr. Smythe: “War is a matter of days. Germany has an army over on the American side. They pose as German-Americans, but they are actually Germans, armed and ready. We must watch, keep ever on the watch. We must also watch the Germans on our own side. These Germans are brave and wise, as well. Dislike them as we do, they are strong men, and we must not and cannot despise their wonderful ability.”

Colonel Graham: “If we could but know their plans, or even get an inkling of them. It is almost of no moment for them to get into Canada, except that we would become the laughing stock of the world should they capture Toronto or Montreal or Quebec. They would enter today, then tomorrow they would declare war.”

“Aye,” said Major Church, “the States will be neutral and honestly so, but the Washington Government cannot take any note of such trouble in an apparent time of peace.”

“When I was in Chicago, just before I met Sands, I found out one thing. That the headquarters of Germans in America would most likely be in Milwaukee. It is a city essentially German; sympathy would be with them. But it’s one thing to know that—another thing to know the one or two concrete things they might do. That they are meeting and planning, we are sure. To plan to get into one of these meetings is the big object of this conference. Is it not so, Major?” John Dean turned to the chairman inquiringly.

“It is, Mr. Dean. Our big asset now is that they do not know we suspect anything. They must continue not to, until the time comes. For, if they did, it might go further and upset the plans of the Cabinet in London. Who could find out these things for us, and yet not arouse suspicion?”

Many men were suggested, but none of them were satisfactory.

Suddenly Captain Wilson spoke: “I have just the one for it, if he will do it. He is not Canadian, not even English, but he might want to do it.” He turned to John Dean—“I am speaking of Ted. He has a good head, is cool and his youth would be a tremendous advantage and make it unlikely for them to suspect him.”

Every one of the men looked at Dean for his opinion. He was thoughtful for many minutes.

“It is up to Ted,” he finally said. “If he agrees to do it, I know he will bring us some information. But you, Mr. Smythe, will have to get information from the service as to where the enemy’s headquarters are at present.”

CHAPTER XIV
BOUND FOR CHICAGO

“YOU see, gentlemen,” Major Church said, “if the Germans find out there is a leak they will suspect that it leads to Washington. They have infinite contempt for our Government in London and in Ottawa. They know there are a few men who suspect them, but they believe London and Ottawa are beautifully hoodwinked, and that these few men are not worth bothering with. That suits us. It would be fatal for them to have Washington suspect them. We, on the other hand, must proceed with caution, for they will try to catch us in a trap and show how foolish we are to question their good will and intentions. Nothing would fall in with their plans so well as to make us the laughing stock of Canada and the United States. So we must be equally cautious. If Washington finds out the truth, however, not through belief, nor even suspicion, but by actual, obvious, undeniable proof—it will mean that there will be reason for watching the future actions of Germans who call themselves German-Americans. It is for us to get that proof. Once we get that, we need not worry as to trouble from the other side of the border.”

“Suppose,” said Colonel Graham, “Mr. Smythe finds out from Toronto where the headquarters are? They may know that.”

Smythe left the room at once to do so.

Major Church turned to Dean. “Shall we go and talk to the boy?”

“I think, gentlemen, I will be excused. It will be better if I am not present when you ask him. I do not want him to feel that I am trying to influence his decision. He is a loyal lad and he would not say no should I be there. You ask him. But explain it carefully. Let him make up his own mind.”

When Ted and Mrs. Dean returned from their walk Mrs. Dean went to her room. Captain Wilson greeted Ted.

“You see, Lucky—I am superstitious, Ted—so I’ll call you Lucky—I come to you on very important business. Not as Scout to Scout, but as man to man. Come and meet Major Church, both of us want to talk to you.”

They went into a small room. Major Church put aside some papers on which he had been busily engaged.

Captain Wilson introduced Ted.

“I have heard of you, young man; you are a credit to the school. We have called you before us because of those qualities you have already shown that you possess.

“I don’t know how much you do know, lad, but war with Germany is near. On the other side of the border there are many Germans who, masquerading as German-Americans, are Germans in reality. They are well armed, too. We have reason to believe that they are planning some attempt against Canada and that they intend to carry out that attempt just before a declaration of war. We also believe that the meeting of the prime movers is held in Milwaukee, possibly in Chicago. It is important for us to know their plans.”

He then carefully gave the reasons for believing that Ted might be successful in getting information.

“My boy, Canada is not your country. There is no call for you to do it. You may wish to remain neutral and we do not want you to go unless you wish to, heart and soul. But should you go, successful or unsuccessful, you will be rendering us a great service.”

“I want to go,” Ted answered very quietly. “Canada is second only to my loyalty for my own country.”

Major Church and Captain Wilson gave Ted a hand-clasp which showed their feelings.

“You are true blue, my lad,” said Major Church. “We will have information as to location from Mr. Smythe very soon. You can understand the need of secrecy when our wires are coded. By the way, Wilson,” he turned to the captain, “you have an instructor in German here, have you not?”

“We have,” was the reply.

“Better watch him a bit. My theory is that all of these Germans will bear watching.”

Three hours later Captain Wilson and Ted joined Mr. Smythe, Mr. Dean, Colonel Graham and Major Church. Mr. Smythe presented the following wire:

“Smythe,
“Wayland.
“Ekal stroper On. 2 ecalp Ees H.”

“As you know, gentlemen, they have used the simplest code because the information would only be information for us. It is the reversal of the letters of a word. Let us see:

“‘Lake Reports No. 2 place. See H.’

“H is Strong. No. 2 is Chicago. Strong is our chief operative there. Ted will have to see him to get his information and also such help as he may need. But one thing we know—their headquarters just now are at Chicago.”

“I am glad of it,” said Ted. “Since Chicago is my home town, I can do things there and may be successful.”

“Suppose,” said John Dean, “you start tomorrow, Ted. You see, speed is the thing. That will give you a chance to see your mother and sister, too.”

“I need hardly say,” said the major, “that even your mother had best not know about this, unless it should be actually necessary. Secrecy is imperative.”

“I know that, sir,” Ted replied.

“One thing more,” Major Church added, and he spoke to the men in the room. “No matter who asks about Ted, he has gone home to see his mother; someone is not well, let us say. The slightest hint or suspicion as to the purpose of his trip would frustrate it. Will you, Mr. Smythe, telegraph to Toronto, and tell the chief just what has been done?”

Mr. Smythe nodded his head.

Ted went out first. As he closed the door, another door far down the hall opened, a head came out, a very German head—the head of Mr. Pfeffer, instructor in that language. Quietly and quickly it was withdrawn. Ted did not observe this; if he had, it probably would not have had any meaning for him. Mr. Pfeffer was a very curious gentleman, he would have given much to know the purpose of the meeting; even now, he was debating with himself whether he should do some innocent questioning of Ted. He decided against it.

Just before retiring, Captain Wilson came into Ted’s room.

“It seems silly to distrust Pfeffer, Lucky, still when you get to a station, say Winnipeg, I would telegraph your mother that you are coming. If any questions should be asked of her, she should say that she knows you are coming. See? It is best to be safe and to guard against everything.”

Early morn saw Ted on the train. It was announced to those who made inquiries that Ted had been called home. Mr. Pfeffer received the information with private wonder and doubt.

He took occasion to stroll down to the telegraph office later that same day.

“Hello, Peter,” he said to the operator.

Peter turned around to see if anyone was about, then brought out a copy of the coded telegram.

“Easy code, professor—what does it mean?” His copy already had translated the words properly.

“It may mean nothing or it may mean everything. The boy is going to Chicago—perhaps Chicago is No. 2—perhaps not. Peter, you had better send a telegram. Better be sure, eh?”

“Why would they be sending a child and for what?” Peter was incredulous.

“Did the boy send a telegram?” Mr. Pfeffer asked. “I had better see them all.”

But there was none that had been sent that morning to Chicago.

A long wire, also in code, went forward from Mr. Pfeffer to Chicago. Then that worthy strolled back to the Academy.

CHAPTER XV
PLANS ARE MADE TO MEET TED

IN a room in one of the West Side streets of Chicago, in an old-fashioned office building, which also rented rooms to lodges and societies, eight men were engaged in earnest conversation.

“You are wrong, O’Reilly,” said one of them. “England will not dare come into it. There are men in England who would want the country to war against my land. But the powers that be, and the people, too, will be against it.”

“I hate England, Berman,” said O’Reilly. “There are Irishmen who are willing to lick the hand that has beaten them and has held them in subjection, but they are not true sons of Erin. I am against England, but I do not despise the English as you Germans do. Once they are aroused, mark my words, slow as they may be at the start, they will be a mighty force.” His eyes flashed. “Many people call me a traitor, but Ireland, not England, is my country, and all Irishmen should be against the country that holds it slave.

“But to business, gentlemen. Will you, Mr. Schmidt, explain the call for this meeting?”

“That I will,” answered he who had been addressed. “There are two things for us to take up—the less important first. I have a telegram from our good friend Pfeffer up in Wayland, in Alberta, Canada, where he is doing our work, but is presumably a German instructor. Ah, here it is—”

He drew out the coded wire that Pfeffer had sent. “I have figured out the code and it reads as follows:

“‘Ference eld erecon urday h atch h oysat ed w arsh b adian t cific M eftcan erepa en l am h alledsev ome y c ther h pect b emo ssus n h ay i ee o trong w haps s as s persper ay h eekpa formation m atchin s w.’

“‘Conference held here Saturday. Watch boy Ted Marsh, Canadian Pacific, left here seven A.M. Sunday. Called home by mother. Suspect he is on way to see Strong. Perhaps he has papers, may seek information. Watch.’”[A]

There was a discussion as to the telegram. “Who is Strong?” asked O’Reilly.

“He is the chief operative—secret service man—stationed in Chicago by the Government at Ottawa. We have him watched. We have even instructions out that if he becomes dangerous he will disappear very suddenly.”

“That is bad business,” said a little man named Heinrich.

“Bad business nothing!” answered Schmidt. “No one must stand in the forward way. Germany first, last, forever. What is Strong, what are you, what am I—poof, nothing! But Germany—ah—” the speaker’s eyes gleamed.

“It will give those who are suspicious ground for proof that their suspicions are more than suspicions,” answered Heinrich.

“Let us not wander from the point, gentlemen,” another man interrupted. “As I gather from the telegram, this boy may be coming to see Strong. Now, we must first make sure of that fact, then find out what it is he is coming for and stop him in his attempt, if it concerns us.”

“O’Reilly,” asked Mr. Winckel, a man with spectacles which carried thick lenses, “can you or one of your friends, perhaps, meet the boy and pose as this man Strong? Schmidt, you or Feldman had better go to Milwaukee and try to place the boy and get such information as you can. But do not let him suspect you.”

“I’ll go,” said Schmidt.

“When is he due?” asked Mr. Winckel.

“Why, I should think it would be some time tonight,” answered Schmidt. “I’ll look and make sure.”

“Find out his home address,” added Winckel. “Telegraph it to us and one of us will hurry up and find out if his mother really expects him. How about your part, O’Reilly?”

“I’ll see to it,” answered the Irishman.

“That is finished now. Oh, yes, one more thing, Schmidt, better have Strong watched even more closely. What is the other business?” It could be seen that Mr. Winckel was the moving spirit.

“Tomorrow, eight o’clock, here—the chief will come from Washington. When Captain Knabe comes, he will tell us just when the day will be. It is very soon, very soon; the long wait is over. Then, too, he will tell us what we shall do. You will all be here? Now we shall go to our work.”

They broke up. They were very thorough, each man had his work assigned and would see it carried through.

We shall turn to John Strong, who early that morning had been slipped a memorandum in code by the waitress serving breakfast to him, announcing that Ted was to come and to meet him. Also, Ted’s home address.

John Strong was a clean-cut Canadian, hair graying at the temples. No one knew better than he how carefully he was watched. That he was able to be as useful to his government as he was, showed his ability.

He decided at once that he would not meet Ted. That would show one thing—the important thing to those who would want to know. How could he get to the boy’s mother without being observed?

To the girl who waited on him he whispered that he wanted her to arrange for two cars to wait at the main entrance of the Hotel La Salle at ten o’clock.

He strolled out and immediately felt himself shadowed. He reached the hotel, looked at the register very carefully, as if there was something there he wanted to see, then turned to the cigar-stand. Turning around, he saw another man looking just as carefully at that register. He smiled. Now he knew one of those who were watching him. He pulled out some memorandum slips from his pocket and made some notations. As if by accident he left one of the slips on the case, lighted his cigar, bought a newspaper, and sat down and lounged.

Another man came to the cigar counter, also bought some cigars, picked up some matches, and with it the slip of paper.

So there were two.

At five minutes past the hour Strong strolled to the door, made a frantic dash for the machine, which seemed very slow to start. A moment later two men entered the machine immediately next, gave the driver instructions to follow the first machine, which by now had dashed off.

The first car went south. You may remember that Mrs. Marsh lived north. The second car followed. The occupants could never suspect the innocent appearing chauffeur of that second car, as he swore and raved at the policeman who had ordered him to stop to let the east and west traffic go by at the side street. The frantic men inside were assured that he would make up the lost time; that he knew the number of the car he was following. But he never found that car. He became very stupid, although always pleasant.

John Strong reached the home of Mrs. Marsh, certain that he had eluded the pursuit.

“Mrs. Marsh, I believe?” he asked as she opened the door.

“I am Mrs. Marsh,” she answered.

“I am a friend of some friends of Ted. The main reason for his coming down to Chicago is to see me, although I am sure he will think that seeing you will count for even more than that.”

“Did you get word from him?” further asked Strong.

“Yes, I got a telegram. It said he was coming to see you, but that I was to let anyone else who might ask think that he was coming because I sent for him. I do not understand.”

Very carefully Strong explained it all to Mrs. Marsh.

“It is important that these people should not suspect that he is coming to see me, only that he is coming home, nothing more. It may even be, that one of them will be here to see you, sometime today. They surely will if they find out anything about his coming, and where you live. I will say this, that I feel I am speaking for Mr. Dean when I say it will be a great service to him and to his country.”

“I shall be glad to do anything for Mr. Dean. You can count on me. I think I understand and perhaps will be able to help. Perhaps, too, my daughter, Helen, even more so.”

“Will you have your daughter come and see me right after supper. The train comes in at 9:10 tonight, and she will meet you afterward at the station. She will go there from my office. Possibly, as you say, she can help.”

He left Mrs. Marsh, confident that she understood and that she had the ability and willingness to carry her part through.

[A] Readers will find it interesting to study out the simplicity of this code. There is special pleasure in their working it out for themselves. It is simple and unweaves itself once you have the key. For those who do not wish to decipher the code, they can use the following method. The first syllable of any word of more than one syllable is attached to the third word following. Of one syllable words the first letter is found by itself after the second word. In no case is a single letter considered a word.

CHAPTER XVI
TED ARRIVES IN CHICAGO

BETWEEN the hours of seven and nine that night many things were happening. Helen had gone down to see Strong. A man, who may have been a Dane or a German, boarded Ted’s train at Milwaukee, and O’Reilly was preparing to meet that same train, as was John Strong. At home Mrs. Marsh was leaving to meet the train. We shall follow the man who boarded the train. He entered one of the Pullmans, but no boy seemed to be there; another one, and there were two boys, but both seemed to be with parents.

But he was successful in the third car. It was Ted he saw and as he sat down very near him he pulled out a Danish newspaper and started to read.

Pretty soon he looked up. He seemed a very pleasant man. He spoke to a man in the seat in front of him, then he turned to Ted. “Have you come from far?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, sir,” answered Ted, “from Wayland.”

“So,” observed the man. “Do you live in Chicago or in Wayland?” He added, “I live in Milwaukee, but I go twice, sometimes three times a month to Chicago. My daughter lives there.”

“In Chicago,” answered Ted. Truth to tell, he was very glad to talk, the trip had been a long one.

“Where do you live, what part?” asked his new acquaintance.

“Over north, 11416 Wells street.” Ted saw no reason why he should not tell this harmless stranger where he lived. Although he had no suspicion of him, he had made up his mind that such questions he would answer, no matter who asked them.

For he realized that the one way to arouse curiosity was to appear secretive.

“My daughter lives up that way, too,” the man said. He seemed quite interested in the idea of making conversation.

“I will leave you for a minute.” The train was slowing up for Racine. His telegram was all ready except for the address. He rushed into the ticket office, added the address and had it sent collect, and had plenty of time to board the train.

“I wonder why,” thought Ted, “he should have to run into that station.” Ted’s suspicions were somewhat aroused. He decided to appear as if he had not taken note of the actions of his acquaintance.

Schmidt had underestimated the ability of the boy. He was so young, he thought, there was no necessity for special care.

Then, too, he was so very affable, so very simple. To his questions as to who would meet him Ted answered that he thought no one would, the time he was coming was a little uncertain, he added.

“No one is to meet me, either. Perhaps we can both go up home together, eh?”

“Sure,” replied the boy, “that would be fine.”

Ted fancied by now that the man was a German. But, then, he had that Danish newspaper. Maybe he was not.

“What do you do at your place—Wayland, I think you said?”

“I go to the Academy there. I belong to the Scouts—it is military and academic.” The boy was quite young and quite simple, Schmidt decided.

“Ah, that military business is bad, very bad. There will never be war anymore.”

Ted wondered if the man really believed it. He could not make up his mind. So they talked. The man grew less and less interested. He had made up his mind that the boy was really going to see his mother. Of course, that would be proven when they found out how much the mother knew about it and if she would meet the boy. Probably all this time had been wasted, but Schmidt had no regrets. After all, eternal vigilance was the watchword.

An hour later the train came into the station.

Ted, who had been quite tired, no longer felt any weariness. Here was Chicago, here was home.

As he stepped away from the train, his mother and sister ran forward. Two men watched him from close by—one motioned to the other. O’Reilly went forward.

“My boy, are you looking for Mr. Strong?”

Helen interrupted: “Looking for Mr. Who? Why, of course he’s not—he’s my brother—I guess you are mistaken. Come, Ted, we are going home first.”

Ted did not question his sister; he knew there was method in her outburst. He added:

“Sorry, sir.”

“I’m so glad you came, Ted. How I hoped you would!” his mother said.

O’Reilly turned doubtfully, as the other man beckoned him away.

“Time lost,” said Schmidt. “Let them go. No harm done. I pumped the boy on the way; he had no secret, apparently. He is but a child.”

“I was scared by that girl,” replied O’Reilly musingly. “My, she’s a Tartar. All right, then, I’m tired and I’m going home. Good-night.”

“Good-night, my friend—see you tomorrow.” Schmidt watched him go.

“Say, sis, I did have to meet a Mr. Strong.” Ted spoke in a low voice.

“I know it, Ted, but that man was not he. When we get away somewhere I’ll tell you something about it.”

“Let’s go home. I’m crazy to be back here and it certainly feels fine.”

CHAPTER XVII
TED MEETS STRONG

THERE were many eager questions on the way home. The mother listened with great pride to Ted’s account, even though he had told many of the same things in his letters.

Ted painted a great picture of his new home and it made Mrs. Marsh very happy for his sake, even though she wished a little longingly that both Helen and she could be a part of this wonderful and happy life.

Helen must have been thinking the same thing, for she spoke out:

“I wish mother and I could go out there. If there were only something I could do there. My work here is interesting, but I would gladly give it up for such an opportunity.”

“It’s all right, sis,” replied Ted. “It won’t be long before you will both be out there. I wouldn’t want to stay myself if I did not feel sure of that.” They had reached their “L” station by now and home was only a matter of a few moments.

“I guess you are tired, Ted. But I think I had better tell you what Mr. Strong wants you to do.” Then Helen told him of her going down to see Mr. Strong; how the latter had reason to believe that there was to be a meeting of the Germans the very next night. He wanted to see Ted, who was to go to a certain number on Adams street at eight the next morning. She gave him the number of the room. Ted was to wait until such time as Strong came. He might be late, for often there was difficulty in getting there unobserved. He would mention the word Dean and Helen for identification, should it be necessary.

Ted went to bed and slept the sleep of the just and the weary.

That next morning the newspapers printed in large headlines the ultimatum that Austria had put up to Servia. They speculated on the possibilities of war. To Ted—refreshed and no longer weary, reading the newspaper as he made his way downtown—it brought a feeling that he was in some way involved. It made him feel quite important; it increased his respect for the men who had sent him to Chicago. It was big work these men were doing; he was having a share in it. He left the elevated station with some time on his hand. It seemed so long since he had been down here in the heart of Chicago. It came to Ted that it would always hold a warm spot in his affections. After all, it was here he had spent his childhood; it was to the knockabouts received here that he owed much. If only he could be successful, if only he could obtain the necessary information and be able to deliver the message to John Strong. Without knowing very much about it all, he realized that the things for him to do were important parts of it all. A little uncertainly, because the subject was a little too much for him, and he was still a very young boy, he speculated on why nations should go to war.

“Hello, Ted,” someone greeted him. It was Spot, the fellow with whom he had had that fight at the beginning of this story.

“Hello, Spot,” Ted greeted him cordially. He was glad to renew old acquaintances. “How’s business?”

“Fine,” answered Spot. “Lots of news, lots of papers sold. What are you here for? Thought you went ’way out West?”

“I’m just paying a visit,” laughed Ted. “Seeing friends.” They talked for a few minutes.

“See you again, Spot. Is this your regular stand?”

“Sure is,” replied Spot, as he turned to a customer.

Ted went on his way. Very soon he reached the building on Adams street to which Helen had directed him. He turned in and when he came to the seventh floor he entered Room 701.

He accosted the man who looked up from a desk with:

“Want a boy?”

“Well, perhaps.” He sounded very English. “What is your name?”

“Theodore Marsh,” replied the owner of that name.

The man’s manner changed on the instant. Ted liked him then. “Come in, Ted. Mr. Strong is expected any minute, but of course he may not come for a while. We have just moved in here. We have to move quite often, for those Germans certainly are shrewd. Quick, too, and they keep us on the jump.”

He turned to work on an intricate little machine which had a long coil of wire, very thin, much thinner than a telephone wire.

“Do you know what this is?” Ted did not know.

“A dictaphone. We will have use for it. I am getting it ready for tonight.”

Ted had heard of a dictaphone, but he had not yet learned its usefulness. He was to find out that night how wonderfully useful it could be, how much danger the use of it would avoid.

It was almost two hours before a man entered. When he saw Ted he said, with a smile:

“Hello, my boy. I guess you and I have met both Dean and Helen, haven’t we? Let us go into this room.”

Ted delivered the papers he had brought for Strong. Strong took them eagerly and just as eagerly Ted gave them up. He heaved a sigh of relief at getting rid of them.

“This paper alone,” Strong picked up one of the papers from his desk, where he had placed them, “if trouble should come, would prove to the United States Government what the Germans are doing in the States and just how it affects Canada. Without this it would be disagreeable to be found doing some of the things we find ourselves compelled to do. I see, also, that this letter says that I may count on your help. We will need it, I am sure.

“Tonight, the Germans are to hold a meeting. The purpose and decision reached there we must know at all costs. We must go down there, you and Walker and I. Walker is the man in the office. He has the necessary knowledge to place a dictaphone or tap a telephone wire. Also, he, another man named Bronson, and I have already made arrangements for placing that dictaphone at the Germans’ meeting-place.”

He turned to Walker. “Are you ready?”

“In about five minutes,” replied Walker, with a grin.

While they were waiting Strong suddenly thought of something.

“As I understand—am I right?—you were a newsboy up to a year ago?”

“Yes, sir, I was,” answered Ted.

“Good. Do you think you could manage to fix yourself up as one and meet us in front of the Auditorium?”

“I think I can,” replied the boy, after a moment’s thought.

“All right, I’ll give you forty-five minutes,” Strong said, as he turned to Walker, who was now ready.

Quickly, Ted located Spot.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Spot,” he confided to the news merchant. “I’ll give you two dollars and my clothes for your clothes and papers. I want you to have a share in my good fortune and I also want to sell papers for awhile.”

Spot grinned delight. “You mean it, Ted?”

“Sure. Where can we change?”

“Any place will suit me. But I’ll show you a place. That’s easy.”

A place was very easily located. Spot had managed to wash his hands and face, while Ted’s had not yet gotten to the color they should be. They had exchanged everything from shoes to hats.

“Where are you going now, Spot?” asked Ted.

“I beg your pardon,” replied Spot. “My name is Mr. James Sullivan. I would have you address your betters properly, boy.” He never cracked a smile as he walked off, but Ted laughed uproariously.

A little later two men came out of the Auditorium.

“Paper, sir, papers?”

“No,” answered one of them. The other took a second look at the newsboy and laughed. “He certainly fooled you, Strong. It’s Ted.”

“Good work, Ted,” Strong said, with appreciation.

“Slip into that automobile while we stand in front of it.” They walked toward it. “Now, quick.” The machine was off to the German meeting-place.

CHAPTER XVIII
SETTING A TRAP

THE automobile came to a stop two blocks from the German meeting-place.

As the three walked toward it, a beggar stopped Strong. The latter gave him some coins. Ted, who was watching, saw a paper pass between the two. It was so quickly done that he was not even sure of it. He made no comment, as he knew that Strong would mention it, if he thought it necessary.

“The room is on the third floor,” Strong said. “There is someone in it now. That beggar has just been up there; he has been watching the house all morning, so that he could keep me in touch.

“Suppose, Ted, you go up and sell your papers. Go to every office. When you reach Room 318, size it up as well as you can. See what you can of 316 and 320 also.”

“All our work and our preparations have been from 418,” Walker added. “Our friends are there.”

“Yes,” Strong said, “take a look in there, even though you will meet Bronson a little later.”

A boy tried to sell his papers in the many offices. He canvassed each floor and in due time reached the fourth. He came to Room 418 and saw a sign on the glass reading as follows:

TERENCE McMAHON
INSURANCE AGENT AND ADJUSTER
MAIN OFFICE—OLIVER BUILDING

Russell Bronson, Br. Mgr.

He entered. “Want a paper?” he asked one of the men.

The man took one. Ted glanced about and then went out. He had some idea of the room. He noticed that three other doors seemed to belong to the same office, Rooms 422, 420 and 416.

He soon reached the third floor. He went through the same routine, just as carefully and matter-of-factedly, as he had done on the other floors. When he reached 320 he found the door locked and a hand pointing to 318 as the entrance. On the glass of that door he saw a sign which read:

NOVELTIES AND TOYS
A. CHRISTENSEN

Ted opened the door. A man was inside, his feet perched upon a desk and he was reading a German newspaper.

“Paper, sir?” Ted asked him.

“No,” was the answer. He did not even glance up.

“I have a Staats-Zeitung and a Wochen-Blatt,” coaxed Ted. All this time he was taking stock of the room.

“A Wochen-Blatt? I’ll take one,” the man became interested. He offered a half dollar to Ted.

“I haven’t the change, but I will get it for you.” Ted was fighting for time, so that he could form impressions.

“And run away with my money?” the man sneered. “Not on your life. I’ll wait until later.”

“You can hold all my papers. I’ll come back.”

The man grudgingly gave the boy the money. At the corner store Ted found his two friends; the automobile had long since left.

“Good work,” Strong commented, after hearing Ted. “Now, how can we get that fellow out of the building for half an hour?”

“When I suggested going out for the change,” volunteered Ted, “he didn’t want to trust me and said: ‘I’ll wait until later.’ Perhaps he intends going out.”

“Well, here is one way to coax him to go a little sooner. A German wants what he wants when he wants it, and he never stops wanting it until he gets it. When you go back, Ted, insist on being paid twice as much as the paper sells for. He probably will not pay it. He will consider it a hold-up. But he will want that paper and it may hurry his departure. It is almost lunch-time anyway.

“Walker, you go to all the news-stands within three square blocks and also any stores you may see that sell newspapers and buy up any Wochen-Blatts they have. That ought to keep our friend busy trying to get what he wants and so give us more time. We will all meet in Room 418. I’ll steal up while you two are wrangling over your high-handed outrage, Ted. Walker can come any time. There is small chance that he will be recognized. You see,” Strong added, his eyes smiling, “that’s the value of having the ordinary face Walker has. He looks like seventy-five million other folks, so no one would notice him.”

Ted rushed back to the office. “Everybody is poor around here or else they don’t want to make change. My, what trouble.” He was counting out the change and he now placed but forty cents on the man’s desk.

The man picked up the money and for a moment it looked as if he would not count it, but he did.

“Hey, boy, another nickel! You’re short here.”

“No, I’m not. I took a nickel for all the trouble I had in making change.” Ted felt mean and he knew his argument was a poor one, but he was doing it for a purpose.

“Five cents, or I don’t want the paper.” He made a threatening motion toward Ted.

Ted laughed at him. He threw the dime on the desk, picked up his paper and backed out of the door. The man was muttering fiercely in German.

Out on the street our hero watched from a nearby door. It was just mid-day and people were hurrying for their lunch. But it was at least twenty minutes before he saw his man walk out of the building. He watched him and saw him stop at one, then at another stand and try to obtain the desired paper. He was not successful and Ted saw him stroll further down the street.

Two minutes later Ted was in Room 418. Walker joined them almost at the same time.

Ted was introduced to the man to whom he had sold a paper a little earlier and then the party got down to business.

“Walker, jump down and try the door,” said Strong. “Here is the key.”

But a new problem presented itself when Walker reported back that the key would not fit the lock and Strong, incredulous, had proven the truth of it for himself.

“Phew!” whistled Strong. “They must have changed the lock. They figured the old one was too easy for anyone who had a mind to enter. Come on, Walker, we’ll try the window.”

But they found no way of entering through the window. It was securely fastened. Walker, with one foot on the edge of the fire escape and the other on the ledge of the next room’s window and holding himself secure with one hand, attempted to open that window also, but found it just as securely locked.

“There is still one way before we think of any rough stuff,” said Strong. With the other three he went down to the third floor.

“Here, Ted, get on my shoulders and try the fanlight. Let’s pray that it opens.”

It opened so very easily that they all laughed. But they found that neither Walker, Strong nor Bronson could get through. But Ted could.

“Well,” said Bronson, “I reckon it’s up to the boy, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” said Strong.

Walker now very quickly, yet very clearly explained the workings and the manipulations of the dictaphone. Ted listened carefully as he was told how the wires should be laid and connected.

“You see, Ted,” Walker continued, “the whole thing is already prepared. We knew how little time we would have when the time did come, so we did everything we could beforehand. You will find a place for these wires on the wall behind the steam-pipes. The floor moulding running along the window wall will move if you remove the screws—four of them. Then count off the sixteenth floor-board—you work it this way,” Walker showed Ted how, “and it will pry loose. It is all very simple and should take no more than twenty minutes. It would take me ten.

“The floor-board has a little groove into which the wires will fit. You will find that where this board ends is another piece of moulding which will most surprisingly give way to your magic fingers, and the screwdriver, as did the moulding at the other end. On the big cabinet that is there, try that corner of it nearest you and against the wall, and there you will find that your wires will fit snugly. Your hands are small and can get in there, back of the cabinet. You just can’t go wrong. On top of the cabinet see that the mouthpiece or, rather, the listener, is propped up so that it faces the table. If you have any doubts call out—we will be here. You will also find that it will not be seen, for the cabinet is high.”

“Be careful, Ted, about leaving things just as they were. It all will fit back snugly. Be twice as careful as you are quick,” Strong warned him.

“I shall be up here, Bronson will be one flight below, and the beggar is watching in the street. Walker will be up above passing the wires down to you.”

More than fifteen minutes had already been consumed. Strong had warned Ted to open the window of Room 420 and, should a warning come, hide in that room. A rope would be passed down for him from the window above.

Ted got to work at once. He found it even more simple than Walker had told him. In fifteen or twenty minutes he called out. “I think I am through.” He took another look about. He had carefully seen to everything and there was no sign of any disturbance.

“Wait a minute,” said Strong. There was a pause. Then he heard Strong speaking to him again, “Say something right out, not too loud, just ordinary conversation.”

“Want to buy a paper? News, Post, American, Staats-Zeitung?” said Ted to the empty air.

There was another pause, then he heard Walker say to Strong, “It’s fine and distinct, old man.”

Ted took another look about. He lifted himself on the door-knob and then eager hands helped him out. Walker ran down the fire escape to take a look around the room and Strong hoisted himself up on the knob and also looked about. Ted’s work had been thorough and neither of them made any criticisms.

“Well, that’s something of a relief,” said Walker. Ted closed the fanlight.

“Nothing to do until tonight,” and Walker grinned.

“Let’s eat,” said Strong. “Coming with us, Bronson?”

“Certainly,” was the answer.

CHAPTER XIX
STRONG SEEMS CHECKMATED

TED was too excited to eat.

“Better eat, lad,” said Walker. “We do not know when we will get another chance today.” If no one else seemed to be following his advice, he himself considered it good enough to heed. He was eating enough for two.

“I imagine it is going to be risky business tonight,” Bronson remarked. “I wish I could be with you.”

“It’s either going to be that, or it is going to be very simple,” Strong answered.

“That is the trouble with all adventure, these days,” Walker complained. “It’s always so very simple.”

“I consider this extremely interesting and exciting,” replied Strong. “It is like a tremendous game of chess with enough elements of danger added to suit the most exacting. Don’t imagine that we shall not be in danger every second tonight. These Germans are cold-blooded. If we should happen to be in their way, should they find out how much we actually know, we can say good-bye; the sun would rise tomorrow, but we might not.”

He turned to Ted. “Well, lad, are you afraid?”

“I’m going to stick, of course,” was the reply.

“Well, comrades, here is the plan. The keys you see here, one for each of us, are for Room 420. We shall separate. At six-thirty we must all plan to be in that room. No noise must be made when you come; no sound must be made while you are there.”

“We had better make sure we do all our sneezing outside, eh?” Every one laughed with Walker.

“It will be your last sneeze, if it’s inside,” Strong laughingly warned him. “The least sound, a scraping chair, would be heard. Stay in Room 420; the fire escape makes 418 dangerous, if anyone should be curious and decide to come up and look into that room. Of course, there will be no lights turned on.

“Should any of us fail to get there, he who does must make every effort to get the import of the conversation.”

“Can I do anything, before I leave for New York tonight?” asked Bronson.

“No, I guess not. Get your room into shape for us. Put the chairs where we cannot stumble over them. How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. These Germans certainly keep us busy. Some of our optimists are turning pessimists, now that Austria is declaring war against Servia. They are beginning to think that perhaps there is something in this war-talk. I have to go to them and tell them just how much there really is in it. I had much rather stay—wish I could.”

“I know that, Bronson, and there is no one I would rather have. But perhaps you will be of better service there. I shall code Wright the information we get tonight, if we get it. They will have it at the New York office.”

Strong and Walker returned to the Adams street office; Ted went home. He was glad of the chance to see more of his mother; Helen, he knew, would not be home. Ted was very fond of his pretty, efficient sister, and proud of her rapid rise at the store.

He found his mother there when he reached home. He explained the reason for his wearing the newsboy’s clothes.

Ted spent a quiet, comfortable afternoon with her. Many things they still had to talk about and the mother realized how much it was the desire of Ted to have her and Helen come out to that great West, a land where contentment and opportunity, at least, were more likely to be found than in this place, in which she had lived so many years.

About three o’clock, only a half hour after he had been at Adams street, Strong was called to the telephone. He had been busy at a report, the call was unexpected and could only come from his secretary or from Ted, the only two besides Walker who knew of this new location.

It proved to be his secretary.

“A messenger boy came here a little while ago with a message for you,” she said.

“Read it.”

“‘A meeting is to be held at W.’s house. If you will come, can get you in. 4:30!’ It is signed ‘J.’,” she added.

There was a pause. She continued: “It looks as if it comes from Jones. It is his writing, beyond doubt, but he signed his initial instead of his number.”

“I’ll come right over,” Strong answered, and his voice sounded perplexed.

Charles Jones was an operative, employed as a butler by the Winckel household. He had so often given proof of profound stupidity in everything except his duties in the household that Herr Winckel would have laughed at any suspicion of his being anything else but a butler. Herr Winckel was so fond of saying and repeating that the man had a butler mind it could never grasp anything outside of that.

In reality, Jones was shrewd, keen, able to obtain information without creating suspicion. He had been one of Strong’s best men and the latter felt he could count on him.

Could it be a trap, he wondered?

Strong was uncertain as to what he should do. To miss this meeting, which perhaps was important; to go there, on the other hand, and endanger the chances of his getting to that night meeting?

“I wish I knew what to do, Walker.” Together they went over the phases of it as they walked down to the office.

“I’d go,” advised Walker. “You say that the boy could do his part. If they do want you out of the way, should this be a trap, they will hold us until morning; they would not dare hold us any longer. And, if they do, they will not feel the need for carefulness and the boy will thus have a better chance. It works well both ways.”

When they came to the office, Strong read the message again.

“We’ll go, Walker,” he decided. “Dress up. Be sure not to carry any papers.”

Two men came out of one of the inner offices a few minutes later. They would have been taken anywhere for two English servants; they might have been valets, footmen, even butlers. Each one looked the other over critically, but the disguise was thorough.

At fifteen minutes past the hour they reached the Winckel house, knocked at the servants’ entrance. The maid answered and they asked for Mr. Jones. They appeared to be very superior, upper-class servants. Very English, too. She escorted them in and then opened a door for them to enter. They passed through. As they did, each one of them was pounced upon. They struggled against the sickening smell of the chloroform held tightly against their noses. Then they knew nothing more for a while.

An hour later they awoke with a feeling of nausea and the smell of chloroform all about them. They found themselves tied hand and foot and unable to move. From all appearances they seemed to be in the cellar of the house.

“Are you there, chief?” asked Walker, in a sick and very low voice.

“Yes, I’m here; going to stay awhile, I guess.”

“I wonder what happened? Suppose they got on to—?”

“They are probably gloating somewhere within earshot,” Strong warned him in a whisper. “They certainly have us out of the way for the time being,” he added, ruefully.

“Well, there’s nothing to do; we’re caught,” Walker said, in his ordinary voice. Then, in a voice so low Strong could barely hear him, he inquired, “Are you pretty well tied? Can you do anything?”

“Can’t even move,” was the answer.

“Same here,” Walker said dejectedly. “They made a good job.”

At five o’clock Ted left home for downtown. He stopped off to buy some of the late editions of the newspapers and proceeded to the meeting-place. He made his rounds through several buildings and at last reached that particular one.

There was no one watching, however. With Strong out of the way the Germans felt quite secure.

At five-thirty he had already let himself into Room 420 and was preparing to make himself comfortable. He picked up the dictaphone every few minutes, but for a long time heard nothing. Things seemed quiet and he began to wonder where Strong and Walker were, what was delaying them. His heart was going at a great rate because of the forced quiet and the excited state of his mind.

Things would depend on him if the two men did not come. Would he be able to carry out the plans?

“I can only do my best,” the boy said to himself. And there was a strong determination to make that best count.

It was now half past seven. He lifted the dictaphone oftener. Very soon he heard voices, very indistinct, but as he listened they became clearer and clearer. Then he began making out the words and the sense of the conversation.

“Yes,” said one voice. “We found out that this man Jones, who was Winckel’s butler, was one of their men. He dropped a card which young Winckel found. That was enough to warrant his being watched, although we did nothing for several days except to see that he got no further information.

“Today, at the point of a gun, we forced him to write a note to Strong telling him that there was to be a meeting at Winckel’s house at four-thirty and that he could get him in. Strong with another man came. We trapped them, bound them and they are now in the cellar out of harm’s way.”

Ted welcomed the information. At least he knew just what to expect.

“It’s almost time for our friends to be here, isn’t it? What time is Captain Knabe coming?” said a voice.

“At about fifteen minutes after eight. He is coming with Winckel.”

“Say, Schmidt, it was a good piece of business to get Strong out of the way. He is too dangerous and resourceful to suit us.” This from O’Reilly.

“He has been a nuisance, hasn’t he?” answered Schmidt. “Hello, friends,” he said to some newcomers. “I have just been telling O’Reilly about our little affair this afternoon.”

There was the sound of a number of voices and of some laughing. Then more men came into the room, there was the scraping of chairs as men seated themselves.

Then there was quiet as two men entered. Greetings were exchanged and Ted realized that the two were Winckel and Captain Knabe.

As Captain Knabe was introduced to some of the men, Ted wrote the names down.

“Let us get down to business, friends,” said one, who seemed to be the chairman. “Captain Knabe has come here from Washington, his time just now is important. Even more important is the need for immediate action. Captain Knabe, gentlemen.”

CHAPTER XX
THE DICTAPHONE AT WORK

“I  UNDERSTAND,” said Captain Knabe, “that some of the Irish gentlemen present do not understand German, and so, while I can do so much better in my native tongue, I shall talk in English.”

“How lucky,” thought Ted.

“Well, gentlemen, I have good news for you—war is to be declared the day after tomorrow.”

There was the sound of moving, falling chairs, of men getting to their feet. Then a whispered toast—a whisper that was almost loud because of the number of voices—“Der Tag.”

“You, in America, who have never given up your allegiance to the supreme nation, nor to the emperor, must do your share. Although war is to be declared the day after tomorrow, it will be a matter of a few more days before we are at war with England; possibly it will be more than a week. I understand you are ready.”

Another voice spoke. “We are prepared. We will announce picnics at certain places; it is for you to tell us the locations.”

“I am ready to tell you that now,” replied the captain. “Concentrate on your picnic grounds near Detroit for the taking of Windsor. Herr Winckel has the plans. I have given him three sets—Windsor, Toronto, Winnipeg. He also has the charts which show how to move and what railroads to occupy. Our friends in Canada are to see that there are available cars, engines and even motors. Of course, all of you will know just what picnic grounds are to be selected, so we need waste no time on that.”

“How many men have you, Herr Winckel?” Captain Knabe wanted to know.

“Will you tell us, Schoen?” Herr Winckel asked.

“Approximately, armed and ready for the call, one hundred and twenty-five thousand men. There are also forty thousand Irishmen. O’Reilly has them equally prepared and ready. Pfeffer reports thirty thousand men in Canada, eager for the call. They are so stationed that we can throw one hundred and fifty thousand men on Windsor and Toronto or such other points as are within one half day’s ordinary travel. For Montreal we would need eighteen hours’ additional notice. For Quebec we would need thirty. We figure that thirty thousand men will be enough for Winnipeg, although we shall have more.”

“The fool Englishmen,” sneered a voice.

“Not such fools, Schmidt. Do not underestimate them.” The voice was Winckel’s.

“Everything looks so easy,” said another voice.

“Aye,” said Captain Knabe, “we cannot help but win. But the Englishman fights best with his back to the wall.”

“You have your commands assigned, have you not?” the captain inquired.

“We have,” replied Schoen.

“Now, gentlemen, here is the thing of the utmost importance,” Herr Winckel spoke warningly. “The facts must not leak; they must not get to the United States officials. That is so important that the whole plan will have to be dropped if there is any suspicion as to a leak.”

“I think a number of us will bear out what Winckel says,” O’Reilly spoke up. “For myself, and I think I speak for the other Irishmen here present and also for the forty thousand against England, but against the United States—never. Not one Irishman can be counted on if it comes to a showdown against the U. S. A.”

“Nor very many Germans,” added Winckel.

“So be it,” said Captain Knabe. “Shall we go over the ammunition storehouses, those that are in Canada and those that are in this country?”

Many of the places Ted could not make out, others he did. He realized that this was valuable information. Names though they were, they were clues and so might be important.

Much more was said by the many men and Ted stored up in his mind such information as he thought would be useful. At half past ten all the men had left and from what Ted heard he understood that Knabe, Winckel, O’Reilly and Schoen were adjourning to some other place to perfect plans.

Ted cautiously stretched himself. He was wary and still watchful. Although his muscles were stiff and his bones ached, he had not dared to move. When he was fairly certain that he could move, he indulged in that luxury for at least five minutes. He had no trouble in leaving the building. Once outside, he hastened to a telephone booth. He had no intention of telephoning, but he did want to find out the address of Winckel. A plan was in his mind.

He found two Winckels in the telephone. He decided that in all likelihood it was the one on Michigan avenue, the other was somewhere on the North Side.

When he came to the first cross street he saw a passing taxi and hailed it. The driver had some suspicion as to the ability of his customer to pay, for Ted was still in his newsboy’s clothes. However, Ted proved he had the necessary funds and satisfied the chauffeur.

Ted left the taxi two blocks before he reached the Winckel residence. The inside of the house was almost, not quite dark. Stealthily the boy investigated. He decided that any entrance would have to be made from the rear or the side of the building. The rear windows to the basement and the door he found were locked.

The boy studied the situation. He saw where he could enter through one place, but it would mean that he would have to remove a window glass. He decided against that. There was danger of being heard.

Though Ted was seeking an entrance he had not as yet made up his mind to try to go to the rescue of his friends. To go into the building and take chances? But then, after all, his information could be of use to Strong only, for he held the many threads.

It would be folly to call the police, Strong would not care to have the publicity, and then, too, the two men might not be there after all.

He decided, come what may, he would go in. He felt fairly certain that Winckel would not be in the house nor would he return for an hour or more. Before making any further attempt to get inside, Ted went to a nearby drug store. He obtained paper and stamped envelope and wrote the following message to Strong’s office, addressing it to Strong’s secretary, Miss Ford.

“Unless you hear from us in the early morning, you will find us imprisoned in the cellar of Mr. Winckel’s house. I am now trying to get Mr. Strong and Mr. Walker out, but may not succeed.

“11:15 p. m.

Ted.”

Having mailed the letter he hurried back to the house. Cautiously he prowled about, trying to find a way into the basement. There was no way.

At any ordinary time Ted would have said it was impossible to get up on that ledge, but he managed it now. The house entrance was through a wide door, but one had to go down three steps and it made the floor an English basement. The floor above that was much higher than most ground floors and yet lower than most second floors. Ted crept along the narrow ledge holding on to such supports as were there. He reached a big window and by careful manipulation and urging the boy managed to force it open.

He crawled in. Spot’s suit was very useful now, for it held matches. Ted did not intend to use any unless he had to, but the building was strange to him and the occasion for the use of them might arise. He knew that he would have two floors to travel, the one to the basement and the one to the cellar. He got down the one floor without mishap. He was about to begin the exploration of that floor for the entrance to the cellar, when he heard the key being inserted into the street door.

His heart leaped within him. Two people entered, a man and woman. They switched on a light. If these people had come thirty seconds earlier he would have been caught coming down the stairs, Ted thought, as he crouched behind the turn of the staircase.

“It was nice of you to see me home, Mr. Erkin,” said the young lady. “Will you be good enough to let the light burn, as some of the folks are not in yet? Come and see me sometime.”

“Good-night, thank you, I will,” the man answered and left.

The boy thought, “Well, I certainly should be called Lucky. Here I wonder how to find an entrance to the cellar and they are kind enough to turn on a light for me.”

It was fairly easy for Ted to find his way now, but because of the light he had to use even greater care.

The cellar seemed deserted, when he got there. It was pitch dark and it took several minutes for him to grow accustomed to the extreme darkness. Then he heard the faint murmur of voices.

Strong and Walker had slept fitfully and had been wide awake at various times. Strong had again been awakened and was insisting that Walker listen to him.

As Ted drew nearer, he heard Strong say, “I don’t think, the way I feel, I shall ever be able to move again. But if I knew that Ted was just the least bit successful I could be forever content.”

“The poor child—if he did anything at all,” Walker answered, “it would be wonderful. It’s a man’s job, what, then, could a boy do?”

As if in answer to the question, they heard a low voice call, “Mr. Strong, Mr. Strong!”

“Who is that?” the startled voice of Strong demanded.

“It’s me, Ted!” said that ungrammatical young man, a bit excitedly.

TED FREES THE PRISONERS

“God bless you, boy. Is it really you? Have you a match?”

Ted struck one. Hurriedly he untied the two men, who were already questioning him excitedly and to whom he whispered assurances.

As they turned the corner (having left the building without trouble) Strong looked back. An auto passed north on Michigan avenue.

“That’s Winckel’s car,” he said. “We weren’t any too soon.”

Ted told the two men of the night’s adventures and they both listened eagerly. Strong was laboring under great excitement as the boy went on with his story. When Ted was through he placed his hand on Ted’s shoulder and said, quietly and very impressively, to him:

“I simply can’t tell you the things I long to say. You’re going to be a man, my boy! This is a day’s work of which you will always be proud.

“Knowing what we know, we can go to sleep tonight, awake in the morning with a plan as to just what we will do. I could almost cry with contentment. This news you bring is what we have long striven to learn, and along comes Ted Marsh—Lucky, the Boy Scout—and makes Canada and England his very grateful and humble servants.

“There are several things we know we can do now,” he added. “We had best take a night to sleep it over.”

“You are a wonder, Ted, my friend,” added Walker.

“Come, let us go,” said Strong.

“We are all weary. I hate to leave you. I’d like to celebrate, but I guess we had better postpone it until tomorrow. See you at eight.”

CHAPTER XXI
WINCKEL CALLS A HALT

THERE were glaring headlines in the newspapers the next morning. War was on. People who had doubted all along, who could not believe it possible, now had to believe. And, although England was as yet not involved, no one was optimistic enough to imagine that she would stay out of it.

Around newspaper offices, everywhere, excited, eager groups discussed it all. Many a man heard the thrilling call of his native land and many listened and made plans to return to either Germany, Russia, England or France.

Yet neither in headlines nor in the ordinary run of news, was there mention made of the events of our story. Silent, powerful forces were at work to keep it quiet.

The automobile of Herr Winckel stopped before his house and from it Schmidt, O’Reilly and the owner alighted. They made their way to the cellar, a precaution as to the safekeeping of the prisoners. O’Reilly and Schmidt were to be guests of Winckel for the night. Much work had been planned for the morning.

“Quiet, aren’t they?” said Schmidt, as Winckel started to turn on the light.

“I guess they are asleep,” remarked O’Reilly. The light glared. A moment’s hush. There were astonished and wondering exclamations. The ropes which had held the prisoners tied, were strewn about, but the prisoners were nowhere.

“What can it mean?” exclaimed Winckel, searching vainly for an explanation.

Wild guesses were made by the three as to how the escape was made.

“Well,” said Winckel after awhile, “never mind how they escaped, the important thing is—how much have they found out of our plans.” He showed plainly how disturbed he was.

“How can they have found out about our plans? Pretty far fetched to imagine that they could have obtained any information—the chances are that they did not escape until late this evening.”

O’Reilly interrupted Schmidt. “Is there any way in which we can find out the last time someone in the house saw the prisoners?”

“Good idea,” said Winckel. “We shall soon find out.”

The household was awakened. Inquiries and investigation showed that Lauer, a trusted employee of Winckel, had taken a last look at the prisoners at about ten o’clock. He was certain of that; he had heard their voices, although he could not make out what they spoke about.

There were sighs of relief from Schmidt and O’Reilly, who felt that the situation was covered, but Winckel was more skeptical and less canny.

“I will admit that they were here until ten o’clock and later. I will even admit that they were not listening at the conference. But how was their escape managed and why after ten? Did they have outside help and how did the outside help know of their imprisonment here?

“Both of you gentlemen may be tired and may wish to retire. Please do so, if you want to. I am going down to our meeting-place to see what I can see. A little late, I will admit, and it may not do us much good, but there is always a chance. It is important for us to find out if we have blundered, if our plans have been disclosed.”

Both Schmidt and O’Reilly insisted on accompanying Winckel and the three left the house in the next five minutes.

They reached the building in about twenty minutes. No policeman was about to see them violate the speed laws on the way. An immediate and careful search of the room was made, to see if anyone had been there since they left and also for any clue as to the probable leak.

“Nothing seems wrong as far as I can see,” O’Reilly started to say. “Hello, what is this?” He had discovered the cleverly concealed wires of the dictaphone. Winckel and Schmidt joined him on the instant. They traced the wires and soon found out the whole layout.

“Mischief is certainly afoot,” exclaimed Schmidt. The other men said nothing, but studied the proposition.

“There still is a chance,” said O’Reilly in an unconvincing manner—as if he wanted to believe something his better sense did not permit him to do, “that this outfit was not used since Strong and the other man had been kept from it.”

A sickening thought at the same instant came to Schmidt. “O’Reilly, we talked about the prisoners, how we had trapped them, where they were—and all the time someone was listening. That someone heard all we had to say and then, after we were all through, he went up to Winckel’s house and rescued them.”

Winckel said nothing for many minutes; he seemed lost in thought. The other men waited for him to speak. Finally he did.

“We are a lot of dunces. We were so sure of ourselves, we felt we were so wise. Pride goeth before a fall and we fell. We must give up our plans. It is up to both of you to get busy, we still have time to keep out of trouble. There is a ray of comfort in that, at least.”

“I hate to think what Knabe and the others at the embassy will think,” was the rueful comment of Schmidt.

“Don’t let that bother you. This plan has failed, we must plan again—when again we match wits, let us hope we shall be more careful and consequently more successful. Come, enough of post mortems, let’s get busy.”

It was a busy night for all of them. There were many men who had to be seen and who in turn had to see others. It was, so they explained to the others, a matter of life and death that all preparations cease at once, as there would be close and careful watch kept. There was much telephoning and telegraphing to the friends who were in other cities.

There can be nothing but thorough admiration for the effective, capable way these men went about calling a halt to all activities. Like a perfect, well oiled machine which slows down and then ceases its movements, until there is something tremendously impressive in its inaction and silence; like a well-drilled army which retreats magnificently and in its very retreat almost gains a victory, so much like all this, was the action and the work of these men at this time. They were obeyed as only the Germans know how to obey. By morning, there was no sign, no clue to their plans and activities. One thing only remained to prove the danger to Canada that had been. Arsenals and warehouses holding weapons and vehicles of war were found at the places shown on the list that Ted had copied.

At Ottawa and a little later in London and in Washington, the powers—the men at the helm—found out that what would in all probability have been a successful invasion of Canada had been checked. And they found out, too, just how and in what way it had been done.

CHAPTER XXII
AT OTTAWA

“COME in, both of you,” Strong called from the inside office. Ted had shown up at Strong’s office early the next day. He found Strong at his desk and he found afterwards that he had been there for more than two hours. His secretary told Ted that he was telephoning long distance and that Ted should wait. When the operative was through talking, he came out and saw Ted.

“Sit down a few minutes, Ted, I shall be busy,” he had said. He had returned to his office and proceeded to do some further telephoning. Walker had come in a little later and the two were busy going over the evening’s events when Strong called out as above.

“Well, Ted, I guess we are going to have war. At least we won the first victory, or rather you did.”

Ted fidgeted at the praise and grinned sheepishly.

“I wonder,” said Walker, “if they have found the dictaphone as yet.”

“You can safely figure on the fact that they did. They started a little investigation when they found that the birds had flown. But it does not matter how much they know we know, now. It’s a fight in the open from now on. I’m thankful for that.

“I have already notified Ottawa, New York, and the different capitals of the provinces. Washington also knows, our embassy has already notified them as to the location of the arsenals. They are going to issue orders from Ottawa to confiscate those in our own country at once.

“Ottawa wanted all the facts and it got them. I expect to hear further from them in the course of the day.”

“I wonder,” said Walker, “if our friends will be polite enough to return my dictaphone. They should, it does not belong to them and they probably know to whom it does belong.”

“You might go over and claim it,” answered Strong.

“I think I will, just to see old Winckel’s face.”

Strong turned to Ted.

“Dear lad,” he said, “what you did isn’t the kind of thing that can appear in the newspapers, but it is the kind about which history is made. It is a big job you have accomplished. The men who sent you down to us made no mistake in their judgment as to what you could do. Sir Robert Wingate wanted to know all about you, I must have talked to him for more than twenty minutes on the telephone.

“Walker and I go to Ottawa on a late train today. They want to see me, to go over details.

“Well, let’s get busy with the last threads of what happened last night—we have to put it down on black and white for future reference. When do you want to return to Wayland, Ted?”

“I should like to go by Saturday, if it can be arranged,” answered Ted.

“Well, I think it can be done. I shall return tomorrow night or early the following morning. You will be free for these two days. Have a good time; remember, we pay all your expenses—nothing is too good for you. If you can, come down the day after tomorrow. I may have some news for you.”

“I shall be glad to come down,” answered Ted, as he wondered at the news to which Strong had reference.

They spent a half hour or more going over the events of the evening, Strong’s secretary taking notes. Then Ted left and returned home.

That afternoon he took his mother to the ball game and saw the Cubs defeat the Giants. He tried to explain the game to his mother, who pretended an interest and tried hard to understand. But she found her truant fancy going elsewhere—it centered about this boy of hers, her daughter and also about the husband who could not endure the troubleous times, not because of the hardship to himself so much as the hardship to her and the child.

Ted’s interest was not divided, however, except in rare moments when he would turn to his mother and accuse her of lack of interest. She would flush guiltily and pretend that she was interested. She would ask a question or two, but her very questions convicted her, showed her inability to understand, and Ted gave it up as a hopeless job and comforted himself in the belief that only men understood the game, it was too deep for women, excepting one or two, who knew something.

As they rode home the boy and the mother discussed the improvement in their condition.

“We will never have to worry any more, mother, not as long as I am able,” the boy said, with all of youth’s surety and confidence.

Mrs. Marsh wiped an unbidden tear from her eye.

“I am very happy, dear. And yet, I would give so much if your father was one of us. He was a fine man, but things were against him, too much so.”

Ted did not answer, he felt that nothing he could say would help.

After a long period of quiet, the boy spoke a little more quietly: “Never mind, mother, you have Helen and me.”

“I am happy in my riches,” answered the mother proudly.

When they reached home, both of them began to get the supper ready so that Helen would not have to wait. A brilliant idea came to Ted as they prepared. “Mother,” he said excitedly, “let’s not eat at home tonight. We are going to the theater, so let us have supper out.”

At first the mother demurred, but she gave way—there was great temptation in the unusual treat. When Helen came home and was told the plan she was even more excited than they; it was so unusual an adventure. You can readily believe that it was a happy party of three that repaired to one of the many nice restaurants in the loop and afterward to the theater. They did not reach home until late in the night. On the way home they discussed what the news could be that Strong would have for Ted.

The next day Ted spent at the Settlement, renewing old acquaintances. Miss White, who had taken Mrs. Dean’s place, was glad to see him and gave him a hearty welcome. She was greatly interested in his story of his year in the West and wanted to know all about Mrs. Dean. It was a great day for Ted and the pleasantest of his stay in Chicago.

On his way home that night Ted began to wish for Wayland. He had not realized how much the place meant to him until now. Syd Graham and the rest of the boys seemed very dear, very desirable.

“I hope,” he said to himself, “that nothing will keep me from going on Saturday.”

CHAPTER XXIII
TED RECEIVES A REWARD

SIR ROBERT WINGATE listened while John Strong told the story of the plotting and counterplotting in Chicago. Many times he made memorandums. He asked questions once or twice, but in the main he just listened. When Strong finally completed his account, Sir Robert said:

“We took immediate action at our end and the results are more than satisfying. Strong, I do not want you to think for a minute that the importance of what you men have done is underestimated. The excitement of the Great War, the necessity of secrecy as to what you have accomplished—all these facts may give you an idea that we do not consider your work as important as it is. We do, however. Now, as to this boy, Theodore Marsh. He must be an unusual youngster with a good head. He will bear watching.”

“Unfortunately for us, he is American. Those are the kind of boys Canada could use to advantage. Not only is he American, but loyally so.”

“Well, he shall have acknowledgment of his deed of service. Tell me, is he from a family of wealth?”

Strong briefly gave Sir Robert an account of Ted’s past. The latter nodded his head understandingly.

“I think we will also give a more practical acknowledgment of the value of his service. The Government, I am sure, will be glad to give a reward of $1,000.00 to him. When you go back to Chicago, you will give him a letter from me which will also hold a check for that amount.”

You would think that both Strong and Walker were the ones who were receiving the money, they showed how glad they were.

Strong could not complete his work until late in the afternoon. Walker and he boarded a train which brought them into Chicago about three o’clock the next afternoon.

“This letter and the enclosure will be a great surprise to Ted, won’t it?” said Walker. “I certainly am glad of it; he surely deserves it.”

“That he does, and I am just as glad. Let me manage the business of letting him know about it.”

When they reached the office, Ted had already been there. He had left, saying that he would be back at two o’clock, when told that Strong would not arrive until the afternoon.

Promptly at two Ted showed up. Strong saw him as he opened the door and greeted him warmly.

“Hello, Ted; it’s good to see you. We certainly shall miss you when you go back to Wayland. But I guess you will be glad to be back, won’t you?”

“I certainly will. I am going by way of Big Gulch and shall stop off at the ranch for a day or so.”

“That’s a splendid idea, isn’t it?” commented Walker.

“Well, Ted, hear anything more from our friends, the enemy?” asked Strong, laughingly.

“No, sir, but then I would not be the one to hear. I thought Mr. Walker would, he was going to claim his property.”

They all laughed.

“By Jove, I must do that; I have completely forgotten it,” remarked Walker.

“Well, Ted, they were very nice at Ottawa. I understand the Government is going to honor you in some way for your service; they even spoke of doing the same thing for both Walker and myself.”

Strong gave Ted an outline of what had happened, but made no mention of the letter from Sir Robert. Walker was tempted to remind him, thinking that he had forgotten, but he remembered that Strong had said he wished to handle that end himself.

“I suppose you will be busy packing and getting ready tomorrow. You leave at four on Saturday afternoon? Come down and see us before you go. When we need your services again, we’ll have you come on.”

Ted got up to go. As he opened the door, Strong called to him.

“I say, Ted, I almost forgot another thing which probably is not very important. I have a letter for you; silly, not to have remembered.” And Strong smiled, while Walker laughed.

“For me?” said Ted wonderingly, as he took the letter. Then, as he opened it, he saw the check. He looked at it a little dazed. He saw his name as if in a haze—then he saw the amount.

“One thousand dollars—and for me?” He stammered the words, he was almost stricken dumb.

“Yes, for you—to do with as you will. You certainly deserve it,” said Strong.

“Every bit of it,” added Walker.

Ted had a feeling as if he wanted to cry. He did. Walker patted him on the shoulder understandingly, while Strong looked out of the window and pretended he did not see.

“There is a letter which you might be glad to read and which I think will be almost as welcome as the money.” Strong turned round and faced him as he said this.

The boy opened the letter.

“August 2, 1914.

“Master Theodore Marsh,
“Chicago, Illinois.

“Dear Theodore:

“Mr. Strong has advised me as to the service you have done Canada. It has been a big service, one that Canada must remember. I want you to know that it does and will. You have shown a capacity for thinking, for doing the right thing at the right time. I think even better than both these things, though, has been the simple way in which you have carried out instructions when conditions were such as to put up to you the burden of necessary action. What would have been a remarkable accomplishment for a man is a tremendous accomplishment for a boy.

“I regret the fact that you are not Canadian but am glad you are a loyal American. Your country is fortunate in having a boy of your kind. I hope you will have the future that your present action promises.

“The enclosed, in a small way, signalizes a reward for your invaluable services.

“I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you at some time, and I am,

“Very sincerely yours,
“Robert Wingate.”

“That’s a fine letter, isn’t it?” said Ted, when he finished. He spoke in a low voice—he did not trust his feelings.

“Yes, it’s fine. Sir Robert is a great man. He does things in a big way. But I think you want to go home now, so go.”

And Ted did.

CHAPTER XXIV
TED GOES BACK

“BUT, Ted, it would be impossible for us to go on Saturday. I am not so sure that we can go at all, it will require a lot of thinking.”

Mrs. Marsh had heard the wonderful news and Ted’s sudden plan for them to go out to Big Gulch or Wayland. She was trying to show Ted how impossible it was for them to do it and he was only just beginning to acknowledge that perhaps Saturday would be too soon.

“Well, I tell you, mother. Maybe Saturday is too soon, but you will be ready in two weeks—that is plenty of time. I know that Helen will be able to do whatever she wants to do out there—and this money, after we have repaid the Deans, will help to tide over the time until we are settled. We shall hear what Helen says—and I shall speak to Mr. and Mrs. Dean when I get out there.”

Helen was told the news almost before she passed the doorstep. She was astonished and glad and cried all in the same minute.

“How wonderful!” she finally managed to say.

Then she was told of Ted’s plan. The boy had thought that she might need convincing, but she agreed almost at once.

“I know I can obtain a position in my line of work out there. It is a land of opportunity and we should grasp the chance to get out there.”

All that remained was for Ted to get the opinion of the Deans.

Ted went down to say good-bye to Strong and Walker the next day. Both men were very busy, but the three had lunch together and Ted promised to write to both of them.

“You may have to write both of us at the front—we shall go off to the war—that is, Walker will. It may be my bad luck to have to stay on duty here, although I have asked to be relieved.”

“Well, Ted,” said Walker, “I shall see you at the train.”

“And I will try to do so,” added Strong.

The boy told both his friends of the plan to bring his mother and sister out West. They agreed that it was a good plan.

His mother and sister, and Walker and Strong saw him depart. It was just a year before that Ted had left, what a big year it had been.

Ted’s thoughts turned to the ranch. He was eager to see Red Mack, Smiles, Graham, Pop, and the Deans. He hoped it would be Red who would meet him—and that he would bring his horse down so that they could go back to the ranch on horseback. Of course, in all likelihood, it would be the Packard that would come down for him, for the distance was long and it would mean a lot of extra trouble for Red or anyone to lead his horse down all the way. The trip to Big Gulch seemed long because of the boy’s eagerness to see his friends. He awakened very early on the second morning when the train was due. When the train finally reached the station, he eagerly looked out to see who was there. But he could see no one until he stepped from the train.

There stood Red and next to him Pop. There were three horses and one of them was his.

Glad greetings were exchanged.

“My, I’m glad you came for me on horseback. I hoped you would, but it seemed too much to expect.”

“Well, we figured you would like it. Glad you do.”

They started off. As best he could, Ted told his story and both of the men listened with different interest. When Ted came to that part where it had practically been settled that his mother and Helen were to come out, a queer look came into Pop’s eyes which neither of them saw. The older man rode behind most of the way after that.

“You should see Wolf, you would not know him,” said Red.

“I guess he would not know me, either,” answered Ted.

“He may be your dog, but I’m kind of attached to him myself,” remarked Red.

Some time in the afternoon they reached the ranch. Smiles was there and so were the other men and they gave Ted a great welcome.

So did Wolf, who had grown wonderfully, and who, while he did not look like any particular kind of dog, showed himself to have an individuality, all his own. He sprang at Ted and barked his delight. It made Ted feel good to have the dog remember him. It was queer to see how the dog tried to pay attention to both Red and Ted, and it made the men laugh at his double devotion.

Ted hurried to the house where Mrs. Dean was waiting for him. She showed how glad she was to see him.

“Mr. Dean will be back a little later. He has been very busy.”

Ted thought he would wait with his news until later and merely mentioned some of the things that had happened.

“Ted, dear,” said Mrs. Dean, “I want to tell you that we are going to have a little stranger in this house, soon.” Then Ted knew why he had hesitated about blurting out his news—there was an even bigger event to happen.

“I’m so glad,” said he.

He stayed a little while only, as Mrs. Dean did not seem strong.

He saw Dean when he came home. To both of his friends he told his news, what had been done, he showed Sir Robert’s letter and then spoke of his plan for his mother and sister.

“How wonderful,” said Mrs. Dean, while John Dean looked tenderly at her.

“I’m proud of you, Ted. I counted on you, but you did much more. I heard from Strong, but I did not know what had been accomplished. As to your mother and sister—they must come out here—the wonderful thing is that Mrs. Dean will need your mother’s help very soon and it all seems to fit one thing into another. Helen will get a rest here; she need not worry as to finding the right kind of opportunity. When do you expect to write home?”

“At once,” answered Ted.

“The sooner they come the better, although I suppose it will be every bit of two weeks.”

Ted started to leave his friends to rejoin Red and the rest. Dean caught up with him about one hundred yards from the house.

“You know, Ted,” he started without any preamble, “I feel as if my country is calling me. I cannot think of going until the child is born and Mrs. Dean is well. But I shall have to, hard as it may be. That is one reason why I shall be glad to have your sister and your mother here. They will be company for Mrs. Dean. She agrees with me that I should go. She is the bravest, best woman in the world.” He stopped for a minute. “I shall see you later, as soon as Mrs. Dean takes her rest. I want to know all about Chicago and what happened.”

He returned to the house while Ted joined the men.

They were in the midst of a discussion of the war. Ted listened. Smiles and several of the other men were leaving in three days—off for the war. Red was not going—he was American. “I may go later, if they need me,” he said. There was to be a great shortage of men at the ranch.

Dean had made Pop the new foreman to take Smiles’ place. Pop was not in the conversation, he was sitting by himself and he showed every desire to be left alone. After a little while, he left the room.

It made the war very near and Ted felt very lonely to hear that these friends of his were going off, some of them never to return.

CHAPTER XXV
THE MARSHES REUNITED

POP entered the house. He wanted advice and he wanted it bad. He knew that ordinarily he would have gone to Mrs. Dean—a woman would help so much at a time like this. But Dean met him in the hall.

“Hello, Pop—what’s the trouble?” asked Dean.

“Hello, Jack. I can’t say whether it’s trouble or not. What I want is advice. Maybe you can give it to me, although I figured Mrs. Dean would be better.”

“Tell me, I may be able to help.” Dean was surprised at the agitation of the older man.

Pop told his story. He did not keep any of the details from Dean. The latter listened, his astonishment growing all the time.

“You see, Jack, it’s this way. If they come here, my wife will see me. She probably hates me. I cannot hope that she will understand. On the other hand, I want so much to be with her, I am going to be foreman and that means I can support her comfortably. But I probably would make her miserable if I entered into her life again. What do you say?”

“Let us ask Mrs. Dean. She will give you the right answer.”

Mrs. Dean listened. There was no hesitation in her answer.

“Go to Chicago at once. You need not worry about how your wife will take it, nor as to how she feels. I know. She understands better than you can ever suppose. Jack, dear, whoever said that God did not weave our lives? How closely our friends here have been interwoven with our lives, how much we have been of service to each other.

“Go to Chicago on the first train,” she finished.

“Yes, and we shall tell Ted. Bring them back with you,” added Dean.

Pop left the house, much relieved. He was happy that his duty was what his inclination was—what he craved to do. He joined the other men.

Without giving any explanation he told Smiles he would have to be away for about ten days and that he had already arranged for the same with John Dean.

Early the next morning he was off. He asked Red to take him down. To Red he explained the whole thing, that he was coming back with his folks.

“I understand a whole lot of things now. How queerly you acted at times. I guess I’ll call you Marsh, now.”

“Yes, and it’s up to you to explain. I shall wire you before you do so. If my wife should decide that she does not want me, I am not coming back. If she decides she will forgive me, I will telegraph you and you can let it out casually.”

“I will be glad to do so,” answered Red. “Is Jack going to tell Ted?”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“The boy will be glad. He likes you a lot. But, mostly glad, because it will make his mother happy.”

“I hope so much that it will,” the older man answered.

We are not going into details as to the meeting between the Marshes. We, who are acquainted with so much of their story, can imagine what happened. Bill Marsh left home because he felt he could not hold his head up nor his wife’s respect. He had been very foolish, and it was this foolishness, this false pride, even a lack of faith in the understanding of his wife that had made him stay away. Who should have known him better than his own wife? It was harder to make Helen understand. She asked some searching questions, but in the end she realized the fine manliness of her father.

The two, mother and daughter, marveled at the coincidence of the father being at the same place as Ted.

“The world is a small place, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Marsh.

It did not take very long for them to be ready to leave. Marsh helped where he could and a week after he arrived they left for Big Gulch. Red had paved the way, in accordance with their plan.

Ted was too surprised to make any comment when he heard the news. At first he was furiously angry at his father. Boylike, he could not forgive certain things which an older person could. It was Mrs. Dean, even more than Red and John Dean, who made him see and understand.

Then the Marshes came to Big Gulch. Matters adjusted themselves. It was a busy time for all. Smiles was off, smiling and glad. So were the other men who were to go. Brave men, all of them, doing their duty as they saw it. Pop took up his duties as foreman.

Then the child was born to the Deans. A girl, which seemed like a squalling, ugly baby, much like any other baby, to Ted. But to say so to the mother or to the father or to Mrs. Marsh or to Helen, would have been a great, an awful insult.

The men came in to see the heir apparent. They seemed clumsy, uncouth, sheepish creatures and all of them were glad to get away, including Pop and Ted.

With the excitement subsiding, things began again to take a normal aspect. Mrs. Dean began to sit up, the child began to look more like a human being, it had been decided that Helen was to rest for a few months and then continue her studies at the nearest preparatory school, with the purpose of entering college. John Dean was to leave for the front in two weeks.

Our story is almost complete. Ted received a great welcome at the Academy. The boys had heard of what he had done, of his reward and the letter he had received from Sir Robert Wingate. For one whole day his coming made the Great War an even smaller event. Captain Wilson had gone to Ottawa, he had been promoted to be a major. Some of the instructors were gone and even one or two of the older students. Those who were left spoke only of the time when they, too, could go and they were bemoaning their misfortune in being young.

Ted heard from the folks at home. He heard from Helen and somehow he got the impression that all she spoke about was Red and what a fine man he was. A letter from Red made no mention of Helen, but he did say that he was getting down to the serious business of thinking of the future. Even as young as Ted was, he could guess that they had become great friends and he was glad. His father wrote him that he had placed his $1,000.00 in the bank for him, he having settled all the debts and accounts himself. It was a fine letter and it removed what resentment still remained with Ted against his father. His mother also wrote, saying she was wonderfully happy and he got a short note from John Dean before he left. He also heard from Walker, who told him he was off for the war, but that Strong had to stay.

Syd Graham and Ted were inseparable. They did many things together and the plans for the future each of the boys made included the other. There was, of course, a great deal more of military training and many times the boys at the Academy were called upon for some duty or other.

So the days went. Ted received a fall vacation and he went home. There was news from the front. Dean had been wounded, so the report came, not seriously, but enough to disable him, and he was returning home. He would always limp. In that awful charge when so many Canadians had been wounded and killed, Smiles had lost his life. It made Ted very sad to think that he would never see the happy, smiling ex-foreman again. Helen was at school. Ted pumped Red Mack as to Helen and found his suspicions confirmed. He teased Red unmercifully and it was one time when Red was flustered. The Dean baby was a healthy, lusty youngster of a few months.

Lucky, the Boy Scout, as Captain Wilson called him, has his life before him. This story is but an incident of his early life. But for later events, we must look elsewhere.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

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Table of Contents

- LUCKY, THE BOY SCOUT
- CONTENTS
- ILLUSTRATIONS
- CHAPTER I LUCKY MEETS JOHN DEAN
- CHAPTER II MISS WHITE’S STORY
- CHAPTER III THE FIRE
- CHAPTER IV JOHN DEAN FINDS A “FRIEND”
- CHAPTER V NEWS FOR THE DOUBLE X
- CHAPTER VI DEAN MEETS COLONEL SANDS
- CHAPTER VII TED AT HOME AT THE DOUBLE X
- CHAPTER VIII RED MACK AND TED INVESTIGATE
- CHAPTER IX THE MARSHES PAY A DEBT
- CHAPTER X A LOSING GAME
- CHAPTER XI TED AT WAYLAND
- CHAPTER XII THE TRAIN-WRECKERS
- CHAPTER XIII TED IS CHOSEN FOR A MISSION
- CHAPTER XIV BOUND FOR CHICAGO
- CHAPTER XV PLANS ARE MADE TO MEET TED
- CHAPTER XVI TED ARRIVES IN CHICAGO
- CHAPTER XVII TED MEETS STRONG
- CHAPTER XVIII SETTING A TRAP
- CHAPTER XIX STRONG SEEMS CHECKMATED
- CHAPTER XX THE DICTAPHONE AT WORK
- CHAPTER XXI WINCKEL CALLS A HALT
- CHAPTER XXII AT OTTAWA
- CHAPTER XXIII TED RECEIVES A REWARD
- CHAPTER XXIV TED GOES BACK
- CHAPTER XXV THE MARSHES REUNITED
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE