Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

JOUBNAL AND MESSENGrEB. THE FAMILY JOURNAL—NEWS—POLITIGS-iLITERATURE—AGRICULTURE—DOMESTIC NEWS, Etc—PRICE *2.00 TER ANNUM. GEORGIA TEL APH BUILDING ESTABLISHED 1826. MACONTi FRIDAT, SEPTEMBER 9, 1881. VOLUME LY-NO. 36 SKELETON KEYS. BY D CHRISTIE MURRAY. CHAPTER I. A sombre landscape and a fading light, One straight rosd on a level plain running darkley to the east, and with a sombre gleam stretched back to the patch of sil ver in tbo west. A doloful place and time, and two doleful figures plodding away from the silver gleam to assail the wall of darkness in the east. Splash, splash, sido by side, and the bitter wind in their ears with a shriek, and not another sound for an hour. • » Tiburce Mensean, native of Paris, six fed high, powerfully built, but attenua ted and ragged; John Jones, native of London, short in suture, sturdily made, but attenuated and ragged: the were the doleful two who tramped together. They were human scarecrows both, but the Frenchman was the raggeder of tbo two and tiio more downcast. John Jones, bullet-headed, fair haired, aud of a natur al cheerful countenance, went miserably enough, to bo sure, but now and again he rammed the shocking bad hat ha wore a little closer to Ills head, and always when be did so he smiled as if something pleas ed him. Tiburco Mansean watched this gesture furtively, -and between times awaited U furtively, and never a word said. Tiburce lived by his wiu; and though upon occasion^ they profited him Uttlc, they were sharp. He had found opportunity for the study of Holy Writ in sevetal institutions sopported by the En glish government, aud one text curiosly attacked his memory now, recurring to his miud every tiino John Jones rammed the shocking bad list a little tighter—‘Whore the treasure is there will the heart be also.’ Uucompromlngofilcials in bine uniforms bad on several occasions described Ti burco iu public. The phra30 they used was curt, severe, aud widely inclusive Mo> cover, it never varied. *Do you know anything of tiio prisoner?' So ran the question wbicli drew forth the descriptive criticism. Tbo descriptive critic in blue uniform responded: ‘Habitual crimnal.' To do Tiburco justice, he looked the part. Leave a dark complcxioned man unshaved for a week, half-starred for a month, dro s him in rags, aud let the rags be dirty, put a bitter devil of resentment iu his breast, and though he were a curate to begin with, these things would tell un- favoably upon his aspect. A man who lives by hb wits should be observaut, and Tiburce watched all things that seemed worth watching ‘with lidless dragon eye.' 'Whenever John Jones's hand went up to lib hat—and it did so with unnecessary frequency—the fingers seemed to stay a little after fixing the hat more firmly, and there was a llUle movement in them as though they felt something, and then John Jones smilled as if ho had folt the something and was satbfled. Tiburce Mcnscau made continuous fur tive notes of thb preceding. What was a tramp likely to Lave concealed in bis shocking bad hat? Half-a-crown? Haif a-sovereign? A bank-note? A stolen rii of value? Tiburce bad known sui things. Suddenly Tiburce Menseau stopped short and cursed in a tautological piUols, blend ing damns and sacrea. ‘What’s tbo matter?’said Jobn Jones, stopping also and facing bim. •Is there no end to the road?’ asked the other, with a curse upon the dreary high way. ‘Five miles yet,* said John. ‘A good five miles.* Tiburce Menseau, taking refuge in his native language, cursed each individual mile in the five, and lib companion made another start. Tiburce took one step af ter him and stopped again to curse the five miles collectively. ‘Take it easy,* said Jobn Jones; and hb hand went up to hb hat again. He began to sing to no particular tune: Then merrily bent the footpath way, And merrily over the stile, ha! A merry heart goes all the day, I our sad tires in a mile, ha! He went clear through that quaint ditty, and ended with a prolonged note between a howl and groan, he sent hb band to bb hat once more and smilled cheerfully. ‘Where the treasure b,’ thought scrawl ing Tiburce, always watchful of the ges ture. It grew so dark that they could hardly keep the road. Suddenly Tiburce Menseau tripped and fell against John Jones, as accidently to knock ofl* hb liat. ‘Pardon!’ said Tiburce, aud groping in the darkuess picked up the hat, and pass ing his thin, thievish lingers swiftly round within the lining, felt and held a little package no larger than a penny-piece. It came away wiio a slight tearing feel as though it was gumed or pasted to the hat. This did not detain the skillful .Tiburce half a second, and tLe thing was done with such delicate rapidity that even in day light it might have escaped notice. I have knocked your hat ofT,’ said Tiburco. Thb filthy road is filled with ruts and holes. Oil, I have it. Here you are.’ The wiud howled so that Tiburce bad to repeat hb last words. John Jones was groping wildly with both hands in mud and water. He felt greedily for the hat, and meeting the outstretched hands of the opologetlc Tiburce, took it and felt with in the I hieing, at first assuredly, and then rapidly and undecidedly. Then, with a wild yell, he was down on bis knees m the mud and water groping wrist deep. ‘What’s the matter?’cried Tiburce, hug ging the little parcel in his hand. Sure ly or value surely. Ebe why should such care of It, and why such a cry of rage and dispair at loosing it? John Jones made no reply, but went about on band and knees In the mud, still groping. ‘Wliat’s the matter?’ cried Tiburce again, touching him oil tho shoulder. ‘Have you lost anything?* ‘Lost!’said John Jones, voicelessly, ‘who can tell what I have lost!’ and be groped on in the mud, while Tiburce waited witli signal patience. Tho search came to nothing, but It went on until the searcher’s bones were numbed, and until bis hands could no longer feel the ground ho groped °n. Then with heavy heart ha staggered to his feet. ‘See.’sa’.dTiburce, pointing through the noavy darkness, ‘there are lights. There •• the town. Have you found what you lost?’ With no answer, but with no suspicion, the stiiT-sct Briton splashed on again through the uuseon mud. Once or twice he gave a heavy and heartrendering groan, hsuof grief and half of rage. ‘StreTy,’ said Tiburce to himself, tight ening the grip of lib fingers on tho pack- •6*, •surely valuable.’ Splash, splash, for half an hour through mud and darkness, and never a word spoke. Jobn Jones was thinking all the an.', in Ijiuer ilbpair was calling ccr- *Aiu things to mind. Chapter II. Ipon’t cry, Nell!’ Thb kind of advbe b often easy to give eoali&rd to obey. For once it was as hard to give as to follow. The adviser’s “•twitched suspiciously, as though he jpse'y wanted to copy the example set him "f the advised. But stiff-bum, bullet- headed young EuglUUman would rather i than weep, aud he controlled himself. T have never cried through it all until “®W,’ said the girl between her sobs; ‘aud * your noble Kindness that makes me now, said the ballet-beaded young There were three people in the room— a pretty girl ofjtwenty, with a face disfigur ed with tears, and a slight but graceful form, attired in mourning; a young man, with no special pretensions to good look, butstrong and manly, with very honest gray eyes; a middle-aged woman, gaunt aud spare, with a spiteful face, and eyes a little redish at the Tim. The room in which they stood was almost bare of fur- nature, aud oblong spaces on the walls, where tha paper showed fresher than else where, spoke of the recent removal of pic tures and mirrors, and gave tho place dismantled look. ‘Rubbish'.’ said the bullot-lieadeil young man. . . ‘And rubbbh I say,’ said tho spitefal- looking female. ‘Noble kindness! Ob, ah! Noble fiddle-slick! Don’t talk to me.’ Neither of her companions evincing the slightest desire to speak to her, the spite- ful-loeking female looked more spiteful still, and sniffing with much emphasis, said, <Ob, ah!’ again, and added, ‘Likely story.’ Ho lias always said’—the girl was speak- iDg—‘that I was well provided for, but now thb cruel bill of sale has taken every thing.’ ‘There b still the tree hold of the lioose ; ’ said the yonng man. ‘l’retty freehold! said the middle-aged female. ‘Rotten, tumble-down old place, two miles from everywhere, and not a decent road in a mile of it. It was just like the old idiot to build here.’ ‘Ann,’ said the girl iu a voice of author ity, ‘how dare you.” ‘Ob, ab!’ said Ibe woman again. ‘How dare 1? To be sure! Where’s my year’s wages with your bllb of sales, eh? It’s fit and proper for a decent, liard-workln’ woman to be done out of her money by an old hunk like him, ain’t it?’ ‘Haven’t you had money enough to pay Ann her wages'.” asked the yo ung man. ‘Money or no,’ satd the woman, ‘she hasn’t paid ’em. That’s all I know.’ The girl only shook her head and wept anew. The young fellow drew a lean cbanioise-leather bag from bb poeket. ‘How much?’ ho asked, surveying the woman sternly. ‘Five pounds,’ she answered, ‘not to speak of I ay in’ him oat and waiting here to be paid.’ Tho young man counted out flvo sover eigns from the lean bag, which forebore to give forth one clink as he put it back into his pocket. ‘There is your money. As soon as you can arrange to go, I shall be glad for you to leave.’ Tho woman took the money disdainfully and went her way. The young man ad vanced to the girl and put hb arms about her wabt aud kbsed her. ‘It’s very hard, my darling,’ he said; ‘but it will only bring us together the sooner. I shall fiud employment somewhere soon, and then wo must get married and face the woild together.’ Tiio girl made no resistance to thb pro gramme, and he went on: ‘I’m not al together sorry that you are poor, you know, for if you had been rich I should never have had the check to tell you that I loved you. That isn’t altogether sel fish, Nell, for I shall make you happier than any amount of money would.’ It was oddly said, but Unlocked likely to be true. Those gray eyes of hb, and his square, plain, manly face were very hon est, aud provocative of faith. They heard the banging the spiteful woman made in racking her belongings, bat beyond the act that the girl said once that Ann had been cruel and ungrateful, they took no notice of it. The young man sat down, and drew the girl beside him on a sofa, and made love to her, and dried her eyes with hb handkerchief, and by the time the spiteful female got licr tranks downstairs, with much reiterated bumping from step to step, the poor grief-worn thing was smiling at him, though through eyes which still bad a suspicion of tears in them. By and by the young man made a dive to hb watch-pocket to see what time it was, but hb thumb and fingera encoutercd nothing but pawn tickets. Ho withdrew them with a smile which was somewhat grim. The spiteful female knocked at tbo door, and, without waiting a response, entered. ‘There’s nothing to eat in the house,’ she said. ‘Am I agoin’ to be drove out without a crust?’ The girl’s face flushed, and then became deadly white, and she returned no answer; but after a struggle, which her quivering features clearly indicated, she burst anew into tears. Tho young man stooped and whbpeisd into her car: ‘Is that true?’ ‘Yes,’ she sobbed in answer. ‘I have ho money—not a penny.’ ‘Right about face. March!’ said the young man rising. The spiteful female, who had como in for the express purpose of firing tliis spiteful shaft, went out ex ultant. ‘That being the case,’ said tho young man cheerfully, when the woman had gone, ‘you must let me be your bank er.’ He drew forth the lean chamoise- Icather purse again, and from it extracted one last sovereign, wbicli he laid upon the table. ‘And now,’ h • added, ‘there is no more time to lose. I must go back and look for employment at once. I will send more money in a day or two, somehow.’ ‘Ob, Walter,’said the girl, clinging to him, I can’t sleep in this house alone. I dare not. There is nothing in it that be longs to me. They will take away every thing to-morrow.’ ‘Have you nowhere to go?’ he asked gravely. ‘Nowhere,’ she answered. Tho bullet headed young Briton’s lip quivered, and a tear sprang with a sling into each honest gray eye as he looked down at her. ‘I will go into the village,’ ho said after _ momentary pause, to make sure tbjit liu own voice was steady and should sound cheerful in her ears, ‘and get rooms for you.’ He kbsed her and went away, and in the coarse of an hour and a half returned, trundling a wheel-harrow before him. ‘Pack up!’ ho said cheerfully; ‘I’ve got .. stunning placo for you.’ He lit bb pipe and sat upon the handle of the wheel barrow. Tell mo when you,re ready,’ lie called through tho open door, ‘and I’ll carry your traps down, Nell.’ Then he smoked with au aspect of deliberate jolli ty, belied by an occasional suspicious winking of the honest gray eyes and a suspicious quiver In the upper lip. When the girl came down again she saw that he was alone. ‘Walter,’she said, 'you cannot wheel my tilings into the village.’ ‘Why not?’said he, squaring his wide shoulders and lifting a stalwart arm. <1 wheeled three hundredweight a measured mile without resting, in my last term. Won a tenner that way. Went into train ing for it a fortnight. I’m a great hand at a wheelbarrow.’ •I know you’re strong enough,’ she an swered with a sad, admiriDg smile; ‘but you musn’t do it, really.’ ‘Dignity be biowed, my dear,’ said the youug man. ‘Are the traps ready? Tell me the room?’ He went up stairs in obedience to her directions—reluctantly given after further protest—and brought down two boxes, neither of which looked very heavy in his muscular arms. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you’re not a part of thb procession beyond the top of the hill, and you’ll go Into the village through the fields. Everybody knows me here, and I’m Waller Mackenzie if I wheeled a pyramid of barrows, and stood on my house. Better luck for us where we’re going. Come along, dear. A brave heart!’ He trundled the wheelbarrow along, and began to sing to no particular tunc: Then merrily Lent the footpath way, And merrily over the stile, ha! A merry heart goes all the day, Yonr sad tires in a mile, lia!’ Now and tliep, the road being lonely, he lightened labor with a hiss. The spe cified hill top being reached, he directed lib companion to tho house ho had chosen for her, and they parted for a while; amt Waller Mackenzie, B. A., of Oriel, and bairlstcr-at-law, rolled hb wheelbarrow down hill, the lighter perhaps that he had not a six-pence in his pocket or anywhere in the wide, wide world. ‘I’ve got a clear field and no favor,’ he said as lie went. ‘Except Neil’s,’ he add ed iu revision. ‘I’ll wo-k for her if I turn cabman. I’ll knock some golden chips otr some odd corners of tins thunder ing old planet before I’ve done with it. See if I don’t.’ Ho met tiio object of hb selicitude at the door of her new home and gavo her in charge of a decent, clean-looking, old village woman, and then, having wheeled the harrow into a little tool-house at the back of the garden, he returned to say ‘Good-by.’ With promises of an early re turn from London, and a whisper that he would send more money toon, he went his way to the railway station ‘Got a return ticket, anyhow,’ ho said to himself. ‘There’s grab in ray cham bers for a couple of days, and Billy will be borne then. Get some coin from Billy. Good sort, Billy is, and lias lots of the needful.’ Don’t know when I shall be able to pay him back. Must get some thing to do. Bar ain’t my line. Cum min* business—mighty lion-slayer—that’s my form, or might be, if there was no Nelly. Foor little girl! Must get some thing to do and get married. Not provi dent. Can’t afford to bo provident. Should feel like a sweep if I tried to be provident. Nelly must be taken care of, and the only way is to marry her—take care of at once— only way to marry at once. Hero’s tho train.’ Walter Mackenzie reached London in due time, and walked from Euston to his chambers in Gray's Inn. Two letters awaited bim. One of these was in a familiar {hand, and told him that hb friend was away for another six months’ yachting in the Mediterranean. No chance of help in that qnarter. The next letter looked legal, l'robably a dun; but it came from Liverpool, and he had no cred itor there. Ho read it uneageriy enough at first, but having got through it capered round the room and snapped hb lingers, and roared ‘Hurrah!’ again, and again, and again. ‘Sir,’ the letter ran, ‘acting on the In structions of the lato Jobn Launceston Barclay, of Ashford Warren, we beg to inform you that wo have iu our hands a safe which is only to be opened in your presence and in onr office. We shall bo glad to sec you hero at your earliest con venience.’ Tho letter boro signature, ‘Tbwaite and Tolby.' •All right Thwaite and Tolby,* said Walter Mackenzie, ‘I’ll be with you like a bird. Old Barclay knew that Noll and I would marry. lie had tho money after all. Everybody knew he bad money, though nobody guessed where it was or how bo kept it.’ So full of hopes aud queer snrmbes, ho began exultantly to plan for the future, when it struck him iu a rather chill way that he had to go to Liverpool, and had no money. Tho scanty furniture of his chambers did not beiou" to him. He had sold his law books, and pawned almost everything pawnable, to bury hb sweet- lieart’s great uncle, and to relievo ber later necessities. He began to ransack his wardrobe. Half a dozen shirts, ono very elderly shabby suit of clothes; one pair of ivory-backed brushes; and away through the dusk went the barrbter to tho sign of the triune globes of gold. My uncle’s Myrmidon surveyed tbo lot with depreca tory air, and offered less by half a crown than the third class fare to Liverpool. ‘Take ’em over the counter,’ said the bullet-headed Briton. I’il bo back in Jive minutes.’ He dived out of tho shop into Qolborn. and went hurriedly back to hb chambers. Finding a fi.it hat there he rammed it into an old leather hat-box and returned. Again reaching my uncle’s he opened tho bat-box, took offhls guinea castor, much worn, but decent still, and assumed the felt. ‘Half-a-crown on that lot,’ besaldcheer- fally. ‘Two shillin’,’said my uncle’s myrmid on. ‘Givo mo tiio old coat out of the port manteau,’said the harristei>at-law. lie emptied tiio pockets of tho new coat ho had on, took off that garment, and assum ed the old ono. ‘Now how much?’ ‘Go yer an extra five bob on this,’ said the myrmidon, having carefully examin ed the coat with an especial cyo to scams button-holes, cuffs, and lining. ‘That will do.’ ‘Name?’ said the myrmidon. •John Jones.’ ‘Address?’ ‘Seven Dials.’ The Myrmidon grinned aud enbstituted ‘Holbora.’ He slammed tho silver and copper on the counter and pushed the ticket across it. A second later, looking a trifle shabby, tho hurrying John Jones was in the street again, and five minutes later wa? seated in hb chambers consult ing a time table. ‘I fancy I shall do best to go at once,’ he said aloud. ‘Rug and overcoat both cone. Night journey. Don’t like it.’ There he took a mental stand, and witli an air of much scorn and severity address ed himself: ‘Look here, young man. What you liko and what you have to do are very ofion very different things. You do your duty, and shut yonr trap, and cease to grumble. That’s j our lay, young man. D’yohear mo now? Ha! would you? Very well, then!’ Reaching Liverpool while tho day was yet scarcely alive, lie walked into a second- rate coffee-house and breakfased, dawd ling over the local morning papers aud an odd number of Punch, old enough for its jokes to have acquired a sort of freshness. Ten o’clock came at last and ho started for the office of Messers. Thwalte and Tolby. On tho road the announcement, ‘Wash and hrash-np, two-pence,’ appear ed before him, and a glance at the mir rored window assured bim that two pence so expended would be wisely be stowed. ilo had not many two-pences, but ho had tho wash and brash-up not- withstanding, and in spite of tho crum pled felt and seedy coat be looked a gen tleman. Neither the great Tolby nor the greater Thwaite had yet arrived when he reached their office, and he sat down to wait, be ginning a new study of tho local papers and yesterday’s Times. After a weary waiting Thwalte and Tolby came, elderly, fresh-colored gentlemen, so much alike that they might have seemed Jobn Doe and Richard Roe in person. •Our business is very simple, Mr. Mack enzie,’ said Mr. Thwalte; ‘very simple. Onr late client, Hr. Barclay, himself ac companied this safe to the office.’ Mr. Thwalte waved hb hand behind him, and it was not yet certain which safe was al luded to. The visitor was curious on that point. ‘In our presence he put a seal upon the lock.’ Ah, then, that was the safe with the sprawling red seal upon the fortnight after hb death, and then only In your presence and ours. The specified time having expired, and we three being present, we may, I presume, at once open the safe and hand its contents over to your care. That is the limit of our in structions.’ With grave interest tho young barrister and the junior partner stood by while Mr. Thwaite demolished the seal by two or three smart taps with a big key, and then witli a smaller key turned the lock. The doer came heavily back, for it was a big safe, and the hinges seemed somewhat dull. None knew wl-at he expected to oee; but there was at least an idea In each mind that thoro would be something more in so large a safe than a single blue envel ope. Yet that was all. Mr. Thwaite gravely handed it to tiio chilled and won dering Mackenzie. There was his own name written, and after it the words: ‘To be opened at once.’ ‘The mountain in labor,’ said Walter, nodding at the safe, ‘has brought forth a mouse.’ ...... ‘Perhaps not, Mr. Mackenzie, perhaps not,’ said the junior partner. Tho envelope being removed, revealed a single page of note-paper and a packet no bigger than a penny-piece. The packet was tightly folded, and carefully gummed. The single page of note-paper contained these*words only: ‘It b my wbh that Walter Mackenzie should carry this pack age to Ellen Barclay, my groat-nieco, and should open it In her presence.’ Well! That was all. There was obvi ously notbiug to do bat say ‘Good morn ing* and go about their respective busi nesses. The partners smiled, and looked serious, and said that Mr. Barclay was always a singular man from his youth up. They trusted that Mr. Mackenzie would find matters satisfactory yet. They bowed Mr. Mackenzie out civilly; and Mr. Mackenzie with a packet of unknown con tents no bigger than a penny-piece, Was standing with wondering indecision in the street, and asking bimsolf vaguely what was to be done. How far to Ashford Warren? to begin with. Two-pence for a glass of beer and a look at a ABU time table. One hundred aud liinety.eight miles. Mr. Mackenzie, with lib glass of beer untasted before him, looked dismally at that record. Call it two hundred miles. Call bb possible rato of travel on foot three and thirty miles a day. Cali it a six day’s journey. How to live in the meantime. Total funds, two and three- pence-lialf-penny. ‘Tour-pcncc-halfpenny per diem and a halfpenny to spars. Ho drank hb glass of beer aud walked into tbe street again. Bullet headed, square set, with honest gray eyes and plain manly countenance; puzzled, but not downcast, he stood and planned. Not a brilliant man, not a clever fellow by any meaus. Tho prob lem was very simple—borrow the fare from the lawyers. There was a solution. Not for him, though. He began to walk to walk, set hb first stage iu hb mind, In quired his way, keptstolidly on. Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp, a set, regular, raeas- , ured swine. He was in splendid training, I and the miles went by—miles of streets miles of suburbs, miles of country roads, country towns and scattered villages The little package rested r. a limp chamobe-loather purso otherwise empty. He drew it ont as he went, and looked at it, and there clearly impressed upon the paper in a blurred outline, like the begin ning of a heel-ball copy of an old brass, was the outline of a small key. He could follow the same outline with his fingers. It seemed probable that the key was in tended for a lock, somewbare or other, and that the lock protected something. He put the littlo packet carefully bacx again, and munching fragments of bb loaf marched on, castle building. Five and thirty miles since morning. Exhausted nature said, ‘Do no more;’ sturdy will ofthe bullet-headed Briton said, ‘Another mile.’ Six and thirty miles sinco morning. Exhausted nature cried out. ‘Beware a breakdown!’ Said tho bullet headed Briton stumbling sorely, ‘One mile more.’ And so the fight went on until forty miles were finished. Feet raw with much gall ing. Honest gray eyes dim with great fatigue and pain. Boots wrecked, shoulders bent, plain, resolute countenance pale and worn, with streaks of rain-drawn dye from forehead to chin, dbtillod from the crumpled felt. He sold his waist-coat for sixpence to an old-clothes mau in tho next town he came to, and bought food, aud pegged along munching. As he munched he sighted a miserable figure ahead, and by and by overtook it. Tbo miserable figure threw him a salutation in a foreign accent. He returuedit aud went on, not being in the mood for converse with any body. But looking hack ho saw that tho man looked pale and weak, and so waited for him to como up. •Huugry, mate?’sa'.d tho barristor-at- ‘Haif dead,’ said tho man witli forcigu accent. Walter shared hb loaf, and the other fell ravenously at it without a tluiuk- you. head to do it. There, lock the outside I keyhole. ‘He left written instructions j door, and give me the key. Good-by, old I that the safe most not be ope not until a ‘How far are you going?’ asked tho En glishman. ‘Ten miles a day,’ said the foreigner, with a groan and a French anathema. ‘Good-day and good luck to you.’ Tho barrister-at-law was ahead again, moan ing to do much more than teu miles that day; but before tcu miles wore done, or for that matter five, tbo rain catno down in such drenching torrents that he took refage in an open barn, and tbither camo tho Frenchman also, dripping wet and looking scarce alive. They sat upon straw and watched tho rain as it pelted down. Walter shared hb last pipe <ff tobacco with the miserable stranger, and the two fell to talking together, and shared con fidences so far as to tell each other noth ing that was true. The barrbter trotted out hb simple alias of John Jones, and announced his destination 03 Seven Dials. The Frenchman gave hb name as Tiburce Menseau, and frankly avowed himself without a destination. The rain subsided a littlo and they made another start, but before they had gone a mile it came down worse than ever, and they took shelter in another outhouse. ‘Where shall you sleep to-night?’ asked John Jones. •At the next workhouse,’ said Tiburce Mansoau. They will give me bed and supper, aud although they will mako mo work before I go, they will give me bread for breakfast. That is something, let me tell you, when a man is starving.’ ‘Something—yes,’ said John Jones, and fell a thinking. John Jones was faint; John Jones was weary and foredone. For a- dweller in Seven Dlab he entertained a singular ob jection to sleeping in a workhouse. Yet where clso could he rest? Who wouid give him shelter? ‘Nell shan’t suffer from any fine-mouth ed freak of mine,’ said the ballet-headed. ‘I’m not going to break down to oblige anybody’s notions of pride. You’ll lio in tbe workhouse to-night, Jobn Jones, as befits your Seven Dlab breeding.’ When the rain ceased again they plod ded on once more, and, turning matters over in bU bullet head, John Jones deter mined to cacher his little packet. So, finding a crumb of two of bread, be mois tened them into paste between hb lips, and retiring behind a bay-stack, be smear ed the glutinous softened bread upon oue side of tbe paper packet, and fastened it within the leather lining of hb felt hat. Who knew what treasure he carried there? Not he; though he had all sort of visions. The visions were all for Nell, but Nell belonged to a hungry tramp whose boots were broken, aud who carried El Dorado in bis hat. The two travelers slept in a country workhouse, and Tiburce Menseau, before eutering, had his own little treasure to cacher. He hid it high above a door-jamb in the broken wall of the very workhouse ha slept in. The wall looked on bare fields at the very edge oftbecouutry town, aud the little treasure was nothing but a small bunch of skeleton'keys, necessary, perhaps, for some future operation Tiburce may have had iu mind. Chatter III. When Tiburce Menseau , opened the stolen packet he found nothing but a tiny key and a little scrap of paper folded round it. But the paper bore an inscrip tion: ‘My dear Nell,—If Walter has been true tn you, you will know what to do when yon receive thb package. The key fits a box. The box will be found in tbe stable wall, live bricks from tbe fire-place in the leftside, aud six bricks from the tloor. I mean, of course, the stable at Ashford Warren. If Walter has been true, you can have my blessing from the grave and marry him. I am dead more than a fortnight when you get thb. Pover ty is a great aud true touchstone. You will know your fneud by this time. I gave a bill of saleto test Walter. Your dead Uncle, . , Johjt Launceston Barclay.’ What romance beyond hbken lay here troubled Tiburce Menseau little. He would weave his own romance out of the letter, and it even more than the key it self, was the key to wealth. The posses sion of this scrap of paper and key prt heart into his scoundrel body, aud he walked like a new man. He began to make inquiries as to the whereabouts of Ashford Warren, but for a week or two lia wandered off on false scents, and be ing at last set on the right track by a pass ing drover, he struggleaon with his thiev ish fingers itebiug all the way to be at the box of which he held the key. John Jones’ cry of rage at losing tbe key had such a tone of misery' and trouble in it that soma men, remembering it, might have found Its echo vexing. Tiburce went untroubled on that score. Inquiries, carefully directed, led him to Ashford Warren. Renewed inquiries, carefully directed, led him to tbe fact that a Mr. Barclay had died there about a month ago—five weeks maybe—at a lone ly house a long way from tbe village. Other inquiries led him to the house it self. He went by night, with a tallow can dle and a box of matches in hb pocket. He had walked about the lonely place by day and had ascertained that it was un tenable, but to his dbmay had seen no sign of anything that looked line a stable. Now he prowled rouqd the place in the dark, and having tried two doors and found them locked, he pulled out from his pocket hb little rusted handle of skel eton keys, aud stealthily weut through tho have aud empty rooms. Coming on a third door, hitherto untried, he set his skeleton key to the lock and entered. The air of the room was damp and musty, and there was a scent of old straw in it. He closed the door lit a match, and looked round. He saw a brick floor and bare wall*, and a ceiling with rough white washed cross-beams. On one wall the remnants of a rack aud manger, a rusted chain still trailing in broken bits of rot ting straw, and facing these fragments a wide fireplace without a grate. High above the door a as an unglazed barred window, covered by a shatter which clos ed from tlie oujside. Tbe thief lit hb candle, locked the door, and made a sur vey. It was easy to see that the wide fireplace had never held a fire, for tbe whitewash on the bricks within its shaft boro no stain of smoke, bat was green and yellow with old rains. Looking up it he could ace the sky, almost light in contrast with the darkness of tho chimney. The shaft had been left uncompleted, aud rose to the height of not more than ten feet from tho ground. A bar crossed it near the top. looking thin aud spidery against the dull night skr. One glance showed tbbwayol'escapeincaseof any chance discovery. Tiburce was a coward, but he kept hb wils about him m spite of the aw ful beating of lib heart. ‘Five bricks from tho fireplace on the left side, and six bricks from tho floor.’ There was no mark ef removal there. The whitewash was old and soiled, and seemed to have been undisturbed for at least a year or two. To the trough, which had once served as a manger, hung scraps of broken hoop-iron which bad bound the rough boards to gether. With one ot the scraps Tiburce went to work, and bit by bit he scratched away the sandy, yielding mortar until the brick was loosened and could be drawn away. To sharp wits like those of Ti burco Menseau there were signs enough ot a former removal when once the scratch ing had carried him an inch deep. It was evident that tho brick had not been built into the’wail as it thenstood^ndjhla heart beat with a pulsation more and more ter rible as tho obstacle yielded, and he peer ed Into the hollow. Ho pushed in hb hand almost as fearsomely as if he bad known of tho presence of a rattlesnake there, and his fingers encouutcrcd a co:d, smooth surface. Tho box! Hb heart gave ono awful leap, and al most slopped. The sweat stood on hb forehead in great beads. He was taint ami giddy with excitement, but recover* inghimscir lie began to tear away the bricks surrounding the hollow already made. They came down easily, the san dy inortar having no cohesion in it, aud now ho gripped the box and held it with trembling hands upon the floor, aud with greedy eyes knelt over it, panting, and sweating and quaking, like tho triumph ing, cowardly, hungry, wayworn thief he was. Hb hand shook so he could hardly hold the key, and ho was a full minute, which seemed eternal, la fitting it to the key-hole. It turned, the lid opened be neath hb shaky fingers, and he saw a Bank of England note for five pounds spread out straight, and clean, and new. The Bank of England note just fitted tho box, and below It lay another, and another, and another, for at least a hundred crisp and wealthy pages. Then came clean, crisp, and new, Bank of England notes for ten, for ten, for ten, until hb greedy fingers turned up thirty or forty in a fold, and lie was among notes for twenty, for twenty, for twenty, until the greedy fin gers clutched auotlier fold, and he was among notes fbr fifty, fifty, fifty, clean to the bottom ofthe cash box. He laid bb throbbing forehead a, aiust the cold wall, and drew the box to him, and feebly re stored tbe notes and smoothed them down. Mechanically he took up from tho floor tbe scrap of written paper which had en folded tbe key, and laying that on the top of the notes he closed aud locked the cash- box. Now Ashford Warren enjoyed the ad vantage of a Parish Union, the ceutre of which was four miles away. The official centre of the Parish Union was the Un ion workhouse. Two Irish tramps, woe fully broken aud amazingly hungry, had missed their way, and had got in the dark ness of the early winter night into tbe road which led to the deserted house, un der tbe impression that it was the road which led to Ashford Warren. Tiburce Menseau heard footsteps, and listened with hb hands on tbe cash-box, and hb hearUn his mouth. The seeps came nearer, and he blew out hb candle and lbtened again, quaking. Think bow thief and coward shook as tbe steps drew near! Then came a knock at the door of be John Jones returned ? Think how he shook at that fancy. Messieurs the Irish reapers rapped again and finding no response, grew bolder anc began to try the doors. Their footsteps came round the house nearer and nearer to tbe place where Tiburce crouched. Then desperation lent him sudden eneigy. He bnttoned hb ragged coat over the cash- box, and pushed oue end of it between hb hungry ribs aud tbe waistband of bb tatter ed trousers,and with stealthy step m sde for the chimney. Up went his head as a hand was laid upon tbe door and shook its fas tening. He felt about wildly with his bands and feet. The chimney was built with projecting bricks and be began to as cend. He had ouly two or three feet to climb before hb band could grasp the bar at the top. Messieurs the tramps were set ting their shoulders at tbe door, and be was half delirous with terror. The space was growing narrower. Could he force him self beyond tbe bar ? At any cooler time he might have hesitated, but now lie struggled like a madman to get past it. Tbe door gave way with a crash; be miss ed hb footing, bb bands failed, he drop ped hb chin upon the bar, aud the hack of hb head upon a projecting brick: three inches to this side or to that bo would have fallen clear. In the dead silence that followed the crashing fall of the door the tramps heard a horrible gurgling voice and a hol low sound of struggling, and with a su perstitious terror pinching at their souls, they turned with one accord, and lied with the widespread fear of the dumb, dark night about them. Chapter IV. John Jones, after hb second night in a workhouse, walked back along the gloomy road on which lie lost hb packet. Day after day, with tho stout heart aching, he tramped along wearily, wearily, and at last reached the llUle village where he had left hb love. She was penniless by this time, beyond a doubt. He had been eight days away. Eight days ? It looked like eighty years. He had a week’s beard upon his lace, aud he was caked with mud. He was as forlorn-looking a tramp as one might find in England. It was growing dark as he sat upon a stone fence aud looked down at the little village. In the growing darkness a rustic boy of about ten years of age came up-hill, making hb way to tbe village. ‘Are you going to Ashford ?* asked tbe tramp. ‘Ees,’said the boy; ‘Ibe.’ And he edged away with ope defensive elbow raised. ‘Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you. Do you know Mrs. Norton’s cot tage?’ •Ees, I do,’said the boy across hb el bow, resentfully. •Miss Barclay lives there,’ said the tramp. ‘Will you go to the bouse and say that Mr. Mackenzie wauts to see Mbs Bar clay at the railway station ? Can you re member that? ‘Ees,’ aald the boy again. •Mr. Mackenzie. Don’t forget. At the railway station.’ ‘Alii roight,’ said the youthful rustic, aud clattered away in hob-nailed sboou. Somewhat doubtful of the delivery of his message, tbe forlorn young man made his way towards the railway station, and waited in the unligbted lane which led to iL He bad not to wait very long. A light and eager footstep came down the lane, and dark as it was he fancied the knew the figure: ‘Is that yon, Nell ?’ be asked. ‘Walter!’ she answered in a startled voice. ‘Where are you?’ ‘Here,’ be said, ‘don’t be frightened. I’m such a spectacle, I didn’t want you to see me Iu the daylight. I’ve walked from Liverpool.* ‘Walked from Liverpool ?’ she cried. Ho told hb story, and told it to hb own disadvantage with many terms of self- dispaiagement. She heard it all, and then to his amazement she laughed—a littlo laugh of honest humor. If she could have seen him she would not have laugh ed, but she knew nothing of hb hunger or his privatious. These he had excluded from hb narrative. ‘Poor Walter,’ said she. ‘I wondered why you did not write or come to me. I suppose the packet was about the money. It doesn’t matter for the money has been found.’ ‘Found?’ ‘Yes. Found. Mr. Netheriy, the lawyer at Wharton,had a cash-box to be delivered tome three weeks after unce’s death. It was soiled three years ago, and there was a thousand pounds in it, all in new Bank of England notes. Every body said it was like poor uucle to leave his money iu that way. He made no will, it seems, but he had nobody belonging to him in the world but me. Wo have a thousand pounds, Walter.’ ‘Was there a key to the, cash-box?’ be asked. ‘No,’she said. ‘We broke the wax away, and the blacksmith came aud pick ed the lock.’ ‘What an extraordinary jackdaw the old bird was,’ said he to himself. ‘Everybody knows about it,’ said the girl, ‘and everybody says there must be more money hidden away somewhere in the same strange way. For at one time he was kuowu to be quite rich.’ •Ah!’ said he, ‘very likely.’ ‘How strangely you speak,’ she said. ‘You have caught a dreadful cold. Come to the cottage.’ ‘No,* said he, ‘I can’t come In to-night.’ Deadlock again in John Jones’ affairs. Was there no way of banishing John Jones altogether? 'Why not?’ she asxedhlm. •I’ve walked from Liverpool,’ he said. ‘I’m a shocking spectacle.’ ‘Nonsense,’ urged Nell. ‘Mrs. Nortoo will let you wash and brush your hair, and you will be presentable enough. She will be glad to see you. Oh.! she b such a dear old woman.’ •Yes, I dare say.’ ‘How oddly you talk to-night.’ Sbe seized hb arm in a girlish, imperious, lov ing way. Come with me. Why, Walter, what b thb?’ He felt like a roughcast wall. Sbe ran ber bands about ber sleeves aud should ers and felt hb fluttering rags. •Walter, what b it?” ‘Mud,’ he said stolidly. ‘Mud aud rags.’ Then he added, as though that explained it all, ’I've walked from Liverpool.’ She began to realize the situation. “You had no money ?’ ‘Haven’t seen a cent this five days,’ said be doggedlyi ‘Then you have been hungry? you have walked to find me, starving ail the way, to bring that wretched unlucky parcel. Oh! you poor, breve, suffering dear.’ ‘Don’t cry, my darling,’ he said tender ly. ‘It’s ell over, and it was much for a man. It sounds bad for a girl to think or, but bieet you, lots of men do it every year.’ ‘You are hungry now?’ sbe said re proachfully. ‘I know you are. And, you cruel boy, you never said a word to me about it.’ 'Had other things to talk about,’ said John Jones defensively. Take my purse,’ said she imperiously, thrusting it into his hand, and go away and make yourself decent, and eat some thing.’ ‘very well,’ said John Jones, accepting the situation. He had given ber all be had, and he loved her too well to have any qualms about taking help from her. ‘My uncle has all my things.’ the house, and fell like the knock of doom | ‘Where b he ?’ asked Nell innocently, on the shaking coward’s heart. Could thb ' ‘Jit resides in London, my dear,’ said Jobn Jones gravely. ‘In Holbom.’ ‘Then you had better so to London,’ she answered simply, ‘and get yonr things from him. Yon can go to-night. Get something to eat before you start.’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘I cannot show up any where. I should disgrace you. It’s only an boar by train. It’s about the time tbe train went, I think, ian*t It?* ‘That’s the signal,’ she cried. ‘Goat once. Good-bye.’ The ted lamp gleamed high In air two hundred yards away.’ John Jones kiss ed Welter Mackensie’ssweeihear^end ran to tbe station. He slouched tbe shocking bad hat, and demanded a third-class tick et for London. Then he sew that tbe parse held several sovereigns and a banc note or two neatly folded. He reached Euston. and made for the Tottenham Court Road, where many of tbe shops were atill ablaxe with gas. Straight luto the shop of a tailor who sold ready made dothlog plung»d Jobn Jonee, demanding to be elotbed. The shopmen were at first for ejecting him, but became civil at the sight ot hb purse. A neighboring boot maker being summoned, brought many pair of boota in a blue bag. New under clothing, a new shirt, a new suit of clothes, new boots, and a new hat being set with John Jones In a private room, there en sued a rapid transformation scene. Wal ter Mackenzie, barrister-at-law, emerged from tbe apartment John Jones bad en tered, and John Jones, of the Seven Dials, went out of being fbrever. From lhattimetortb Walter Mackenzie’s luck underwent a favorable change. An uncle of his—not the ODe In Holbora— died and left him money. He prospered at tbe bar, and be married aud had chil dren, and lived reputably aud honorably. The dead baud enriched his wife with two more oddly-rendered bequests. Nell used sometimes to excuse a little extra ex penditure on the pretended supposition that John Launceston Barclay’s funds were not yet all paid in, but years went by, aDd the last of the old man seemed long since to have been heard. The old house ol Ashford Warren had been put into tbe market, but nobody would buy it, so it was dropped out of tha market again and was forgotten. Bat as time went on a new railway happened to be started in that districted the boose bad to come down. Walter McKenzie on a spare day went to meet the company’s lawyer—an old acquaintance—and dis cuss compensation. He would have left the mere business to an agent, but he had whim about the maltsr. •You won’t want much for this tumble- down old shed,’ said tbe lawyer. •I don’t know,WrestalI,’ said the barris ter. <1 don’t know. I valued the old piece highly once. ‘Oh! Ah, yes?said Wrestall. ‘Love’s oung dream. Mrs. Ma.kenzle lived here, remember.’ ‘They used that place for a stable,’ said Walter laughing. ‘It was intended for a washhouse, I believe, bat the old man bought a donkey for Nell when she was quite a baby. X broke tbe brute Xn« I re member.’ He laughed and sighed at that romantic reminiscence, and putting a foot on the prostrate door, be entered tbe stable. The wood lied into Under at his step and let hi in through to the brick floor—It was so old and rotten • ■ ‘Hilioi’ cried Wrestall, ‘what’s that?’ ‘What’s what'.” asked the barrister. His companion stooped to pick some thing from the ground. The something brought a little old-fashioned square lock withlt. ‘Skeleton keys,’he said. ‘Inside the door, too, and tbe bolt shot. I’m a naUre detective,’ the lawyer added laughing ly. ‘Now, you know,’ he went on, with a half-smiling, mock gravity, ‘that a man can’t lock the door on the inside after leaving a room. The only place of exit is the chimney.’ •You establish your mystery,’ said Mac kenzie lightly. ‘Where’s the motive tor locking one’s self iu and going up tbe chimney?’ •Never mind the motive,’ said the law yer, laughing openly. ‘Let’s investigate tbe mystery.” So saying he stooped and peered up the chimney, and withdrew his head so hasti ly that he knocked his hat off. Then it was Mackenzie’s turn to laugh, bu there was such a look ou the lawyers face that the laugh louud an abrupt termination, •What’s tbe matter?* he asked. ‘Look and see,’ said tbe lawyer, gasp ing—scared and pale. He looked, and rose after the look al most as pale as his companion. ‘There’s a skeleton hanging there,’ be said. ‘Ay,’ satd the lawyer, ‘and a skeleton key to the skeleton keys, I fancy. That seems likely to be a true word, spoken iu random Jest, when I picked up these keys.’ They stood looking at each other a long time, pale and silent. ‘The few rags there are look ready to fall to dust,' said Walter, breaking tbe si lence. He put bis stick in the chimney and moved it slightly, when, as it there needed only a sign to bring It down, tbe whole ghastly thing came tumbling loose into tbe grateless hearth, aud with the falling ell something with a metalic crash. The two recoiled, and wheu the smother of woolen dust had cleared itself away, the lawyer, advancing cried, ‘the motive,’ and with tbe crook of bis walking stick dragged up a small cash-box by the handle. The key was In tbe keyhole, and with wrinkled features of disgust, and a finger and thumb which only just toui-lied it, lie unlocked the box, and there before them lay eight thousand pounds, in Bank of England notes, aud on top of them the paper which Tiburce Menseau, habitual criminal, had stolen froth one John Jones, a tramp from Liverpool. There was noth ing by which to identify Tiburce, but Walter McKenzie had no doubt of him, nor bad the lawyer, when be heard the story. . MBA. BUMXKTl’a COIBAUEOI’A ACT. Tfes Creator of HsrMaM laFlrtima Ta-Ta. ' Philadelphia Timet. That Washington organization known as the Mrs. R. B. Hayes Tempernuoe Society has disbanded. tv hether it will be missed or not time must determine; whether it ever did any good while it was in existence may never be known. Tbe soaiety has probably been oompelled to disband by the seand&lous conduct of the doctors now employed at the White House. They have been giving the President all sorts of in toxicating liquors, and this has shocked the society oat ot existence. taster tterlsad's Oplaiea ef Dixt- MUtJT. Interview i» the Washington Star. Suppose, instead of being shot, that the President had met with a railroad aocident whereby he lost both his hands. This would debar him from signing his name, bat it would not create roch on inability that be oould not act as President so long his mind wat clear. Henoe, the iogioai conclusion is, that an inability to act means the loss of mental capacity, and not physi cal incapacity. What Jeha egalsar *<«■■ ltaevr ef Washington Republic. I see it stated by Mr. Tburlow Weed, in a recent chapter of his reminiacenoee, that some fifty years ago, at a dinner given by a private gentleman of New York, at which John Quincy Adams was one of the guests, there were .fifteen varieties of Madei ra wine on the table, and that such an expert and connoisseur was Mr. Adams that he was able to name nine of the varie- tias by the teste and bouquet without see ing the labels on tbe bottles. And yet this winebibber was a very respectable mem ber of society and a very good President. From the Hew l'trk Timet. Mrs. France* Hodgson Burnett, tha well known novelist, appeared in a new character at Long Beach, on Friday, when she saved the life of Mr. Lore Anderson, the executor of the Longworth estate in Cincinnati. The story of this brave act cannot be better given than In the words of the heroine herself, who thus told it to a reporter yesterday: “Mr. Anderson and his wife came to the hotel on Thursday. I did not know them very weli before, but when ‘That Lass o' Lowrie's was published Mr. Anderson wrote me a most kind letter, one that waa very pleasant to get. During the day Mr. Anderson, his wife and myself were together almost all tbe time and we be came great friends. . 1 had not been wall fbr some days and Mr. Anderson proposed that we should take a bath be fore breakfast, as he thought one would give us an appetite. Accordingly on Fri day morning Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and I went down to the bathing bouses. It was so early that the bath men were not there, aud we could see no one except ourselves upon the beach. Mrs. Ander son did not intend tb bathe, and when £ came oat ready for the water I saw Mr. Anderson coming at the same time down towards the bridge over the creek. The water at this creek is sometimes quite deep and sometimes quite shallow. It varies with tbe tide, you know. Mr. An derson went out on the bridge and dived off. I have always been nervous wheu I s e people diving, because some years ago some ot my friends lost a brother who broke bis neck plunging into shallow water, aud 1 have never got over the effect which their grief had on me. To this day, when I see a gentleman dive, I al most hold my breath until 1 see him come up. Well, when Mr. Anderson dove ott the little bridge, bis wife and I were standing on the shore. He did not come up for a moment, and when lie did h» face only came out of the wa ter os far as his chin. He cried out iu a horrible tone: ‘Oh, God ! ’ and his wife called out: ‘What is the matter, Lvrz; are you hurt?’ He made no answer, but began to sink again. Mrs. Anderson suited off at once, .screaming for help, but there was no odo there. Then I ran into the water aud pullc.d him on shore. The water was not deep, not more than three feet,I should think, aud 1 did not know what to do except to get him out of tbe water as soon as possible. He looked horrible; his head huug over, and I was afraid he was dead. I carried him on shore and laid him down, and then Mrs. Anderson came with some mou she had found and they carried him up to the ho tel. “Mr. Anderson tells me that he was perfectly conscious all of the time aud knew what he should do, although he was utterly unable to do anything. It must have been horrible for him to realize that be was sinking aud not able to step tbe few feet necessary to make him safe. The only thing I am surprised at ia my being able to carry him, for he is a heavy mao' and and I am not vety strong. Dr. Mor ton attended him, aud to-day, 1 am glad to eav, he is much better. His arms and shoulders hurt him, but ho can move thsip, although with some pain. It is a wonder ful thing thing that he is not more hurt than be is, and we are ail vety thankful that it has not turned out to be a very bad accident.” Mr*. Burnett, who is of rather slight figure and does not enjoy robust health hardly seemed to realize in telling this story that sha had done anything at all out of the ordinary run. Dr. Morton, tbe physician in charge of Mr. Anderson, said, when asked about the case: “Mr. Anderson is suffering from a slight wrench of the spine and a severe strain of the cords and muscles of the neck aud shoulders. When be struck, the head was thrown violently forward, the neck being bent very suddenly. This la the origin of the strain. There are no symptoms of paralysis, nor do I anticipate any trouble of that ktud. He is much better to-day, and i hope to see him out in a few days. The water in which he dove could not hare been more than three feet deep, and it is a wouderful thing that he did not break his neck.” A PEBS1AX LEGEXIt. Revised Version of ms Old Story and tb* Moral. From the Burlington Uawhegt. When Malekel Adib left the home of his childhood that he might go west and salt a mine and grow up with tbo country after unloading upon some smart fellows dowu in tbe provinces, his mother gave him forty pieces of silver and made him promise never to tell a lie. “Go, my son,” she said, in a voice hiuky with hair pins, ‘ go; we may never meet again, and if we do I will probably be married be fore you come back, and it wouldn’t be pleavant for you to live at borne and have to call some square headed old mufti ‘pa.’ ” The youth went, and the party he trav eled with was assau ed b road agents who shot the driver, cut open the mail bags, blew open the express box, and went through the passengers. When oue of the robbers asked tbe boy how much he had, he replied with surprising candor: “1 have ten dinars sewed up In my gar ments.” Tbe robber laughed a hoarse, guttural laugh in the United States language, and passed on to an elderly man, thinking tbe boy lied. Another robber asked the boy the same question, and receiving the same answer, laughed as' did bis comrade. Finally the chief called Malek to him and asked what he had. The boy replied: “I have already toll two of your people that I have ten dinars sewed up in my gray clothes.” The chief ordered his clothes to be rip ped open, and found tbe money. “And how,” he asked, “came you to tell this?” “Because,” replied the boy, «i would not be false to my mother, whom I sol emnly promised never to tell a lie.” “Aw, cheese that 1” the robber chief re plied; “that’s too diaphanous, stripling; it won’t laundry. Stand him on his head, feiiows, aud tap him for all he’s worth.” So the robbers stood Malek on his head and pouuded tbe sole* of his feet with the bastinadoes until he disgorged from va rious secret pockets, belts, double shoe soles, and from the straw and cushions of the coach 125 dinars, a gold watch, a lot of Erie stock, seven railroad passes, some promissory notes, a new derringer, photo graphs of Maude Granger ana Sarah Bernhardt, a marked poker deck, a flask of old cabinet whisky, some chewing tobacco, a diamond pin and a blood stone ring, a package of counterfeit tens and a s) nog-shot. They then cut off hia neck and tossed him over into the can yon. “That,” said the robber chief, as he locketed tbe balk of tbe swag, “will teach dm to keep his promise to his mother the next time. Always play awful close on a man who tries the honesty lay on a road agent.” SntLlks OthsrlWks. Washington Republican. Jay Gould controls $650,000,000, but he always thumps a watermelon before bay ing it, and insists on down weight when, purchasing a pound of sugar.