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\ \ V ' V I / Copyrighted by the Star Company. (Synopsis of Preceding Chapters.) T HE second week In Beptembei finds the Panthers and the Boars nearing the end of a bitter struggle for tne baseball championship. Both teams are about to start a four-game series which will probably decide the question of supremacy. On the eve of this series the heaviest hitter and speediest base- runner of the lleais is crippled and out of the game for the season. This a< idcnt Is kept a secret, known oniy to the Bear players, as the announcement of this calamity would give tne Panthers' manager additional advantage in knowing how Inst to use hie pitchers. Pro fessional gamblers get hold of the news of the misfortune In advance and wager heavily against the Bears who have up to this lime been favorites. In the first game of the series the Bears are badly beaten and their weakness at third base and pinch hitting la revealed to all. Manager Clancy of the B. ars sitting in the writing room of ihe hotel where his players are slopping is facing a discouraging situation. Betty, the club secretary's daughter, is with him writing to a friend the exciting events of the days game. Just at this moment a well-built, sandy-haired young man enters the hotel lobby and address ing a group of Bear players asks lor .Mana ger Clancy. Adonis Williams, the star pitcher of the Bears, insults the young stranger who In turn threatens to "kick him on the shins’’ and dares him to fight when he gets him in the clubhouse. Betty overhears the argument and directs the stranger to Manager Clancy. The stranger talks to Clancy about Ills club's weakness and offers himself as the player who ran fill tne gap on Ins team, but refuses, further Information about himself. Clancy turns the mysterious stranger ov.r to the secretary and figuring the stranger relucant about giving his right name, calls him "Jimmy McCarthy." McCarthy shows up well In practise before the game and prov*s he can hit the ball. With the score 3 to 1 against the Bears in the seventh Inning, and two Bear runners on the bases. McCarthy is put in as a pinch hitter and brings In both runners tlelng tbe score. McCarthy scores the winning run In the eleventh Inning. The Bears gain confidence and finish the series with the Panthers winning three out of the four games. Clancy dubs the new player "Kohlnoor" when the reporters ask him what to call the new "find" "Kohlnoor"' McCarthy makes a fast friend In the great fighting short stop of the team. Swanson, when he fulfills his threat to ' hick on tho shins and fight" Adonis Williams, the pitcher of the team, who Insulted him on his first appearance at the hotel. Swanson pro- ventB a possible fight calling Williams bluff and tells him he thinks McCarthy could whip him. (Continued from Last Sunday) CHAPTER HI. Hope for the Bears. T HE suggestion raised a laugh, anti eased the situation. The battle light In McCarthy's face changed to a smile. ''I'll forego the kick." he said. “1 had to make good after what I told you in the hotel. I'm perfectly willing to let it drop and be friends." He extended his hand frankly, but Williams still scowling, did not take it. -Never mind the being friends part of it." he said. “But if you don't want trouble, just lay away from me after this.' “Here, young fellow.” said Clancy, who had arrived at the club house in time to see the finish of the altercation; ‘Til do all the fight ing for this club Understand?” “Yes," replied McCarthy, slowly, without attempting to explain. “What do yo u think of my gamecock. Bill?” asked Swanson, enthusiastically. "Adonis in sulted him in tlie hotel last night and the kid promised to kick him on the shins. He was just making good. He offered to shake hands and call it all off, but Adonis wouldn’t do It. He’s my roommate from now on. I'll have to taka him to keep him from fighting every one." The giant's remark caused another laugh as his record for lights during his earlier career as a ball player had given him a reputation which obviated ail necessity ot fighting. The majority of the Bears had accepted Mc Carthy as one of their own kind afler that, aud Swanson adopted 1;ini. Witti Swanson he seemed at home, but the others found him a trifle shy and retiring. He was friendly with all excepting Williams and Pardridge. who resented his occupation of third base while pretending to be pleased. Yet with the exception of Swanson and Kennedy he made no close friends. The admiration of the rough, big-hearted Swede shortstop for the recruit approached adoration and he was loud und insistent in voicing his praises of McCarthy. “Class to that boy, on and off," he said. “Best little roommate 1 ever had and the quickest head on him." “S’elp me.” said Manager Clancy to Secre tary Taber, as he saw the oddly assorted pair stroll out together on the second evening they had known each other. "If I don’t think McCarthy will tame down that crazy Swede instead of being ruined by him. He had Silent out looking at paintings at an art gal- ^ry this morning aud Silent has become a student of art." The train which was bearing the Bears sway from the city of the Panthers drew slow ly out of the great station, plunged through & series of tunnel-like arches under the streets, and rattled out into the suburbs, gath ering speed for the long night run. Inside the car the players were settling themselves for en evening of recreation. Card games were starting, the chess players were resuming their six-month-long contest, and McCarthy sought his berth and sat alone, striving to read. In the berth just ahead of his seat the quartette, which had been silent during tho period of depression and discouragement that followed Careen's injury, gathered and com menced to sing. Every baseball club, whether In major or minor league, whether from a college or from a country town, has its quartette. Usually they are bad, devoting themselves to senti mental love songs, and they are uncertain and quavery, although they always rally and fin ish strong and full on the final chord. The Bears, however, possessed a quartette with some musical merit and musical knowledge. Kennedy, the quiet, big catcher, had a good baritone voice and it showed training. Nor ton. who seldom spoke, but always was ready ^to sing, led, and Swanson was the bass, k's olcAdeep and organ-like, making up In povf • and richnesa much that it lost in lack of train ing. Kirkland, the tenor, was weak and un certain yet, as Swanson remarked “He can't sing much, but he Is a glutton for punishment.” When the quartette started to sing, McCarthy dropped his book and sat gazing out into the lathering twilight, listening to the strong, lealthy voices. Lights commenced to flash out from the farm houses, nestling clown between the hills, and the haze settled in waving cur tains over the ponds and the lowlands. Ho was lonely, homesick at thought of other voices Mid other scenes and tho joyousness of his new comrades seemed to depress rather than to lift his spirits. Berths were being prepared for the night. Already in several the weary and the lame were reclining, reading. Others, worn by the strain of the day's game, were getting ready to draw their curtains. The trainer and his assistant were passing quietly from berth to berth, working upon aching arms and bruised muscles, striving to keep their valuable live stock in condition to continue the struggle. Tho odor of liniments and drugs floated through the car, mingling witn the incense of cigar smoke. The hubbub and the rough play diminished. At the end of the car the bridge fiends were playing their interminable game, forgetful of all else. The quartette sang on and on, regardless of the lack of an audience, for no one in the car appeared to be listening. They sang tawdry "popular” songs for the most part; songs of home and mother, of love and death and part ing, occasionally breaking into a ribald ragtime ditty, followed by a sickly sentimental ballad. McCarthy, half reclining upon an elbow, re mained gazing out of the window at the un familiar landscape as the train roared through villages and flashed past stations, watching the mystic white of the moonlight that now flooded the night. Kennedy's voice, without warning, rose strong and clear almost before the final chord of the song over which the quartette had been In travail had died away. Kennedy had a habit, when he wearied of the songs they sang, of singing alone some song the others did not know; some quaint old ballad, or oftener a song of higher class. For a moment the others strove vainly to follow; as if hoping to recog nize the song and join in the melody. Then silence fell over them as Kennedy's voice rose, clearer and stronger, as he sang the old words Df Eileen Aroon. “Dear were her charms to me.” His voice was pregnant with feeling. "Dearer her laughter—-free." Kennedy was singing as if to himself, but as he sang a voice, strong and fresh, like a clear bell striking into the music of chimes, joined his and sang with him the words. "Dearer her constancy " The card players suddenly lost interest in their game, dropped their hands and turned to see who was singing. Players who had been reading and those who had been vainly striving to sleep poked their heads between curtains of the berths, the better to listen. On and on through the haunting, half pa thetic minors of the old song the clear, sweet tenor and the strong, well modulated voice of Kennedy carried the listeners. McCarthy, leaning toward the window and gazing out upon the moonlight as if under its mystic spell, sang on in ignorance of Ihe interest his voice had aroused in the car. Several players had crowded forward quietly ami were lean ing over berth backs watching him. The song ended. For a moment the silence in the car was so complete that the clicking of the wheels upon the fish plates sounded sharply. Then Swanson, with a yell, broke the spell Hurdling the back of the berth he descended upon the startled McCarthy, who seemed dazed and bewildered by the outburst and the pattering applause that it started. "Yeh, Bo,” yelled Swanson, giving his dia mond war cry. “Yeh, Bo, you’re a hear. Hey, you folks, throw Kilty out of the window and make room for this redheaded Caruso. Why didn't you tell me you could sing? The quar tette is filled at last!” McCarthy, still appearing confused and em barrassed by the outburst, was dragged, pro testing, from his seat, struggling with Swan son, who was shouting: "D'Ju hear him? Say, this Bo can sing bet ter than he can play ball. 1 think he quit opera to join us.” Flushed and laughing in his embarrassment, McCarthy was borne up the aisle and de posited in the place of honor in the quartette. Suddenly the scuffling and boisterous laugh ter ceased, and the players drew aside, apolo getically, to make way for an eager, bright eyed girl, whose face was flushed with pleas ure, hut who advanced toward McCarthy with out a trace of embarrassment. McCarthy, glancing at her, recognized the girl who had directed him to Manager Clancy on the eve ning of his first appearance in the Bear camp "1 was coming to say good night to father," she said quickly, “and 1 heard you sing. I want to thank you.” She extended her hand frankly to McCarthy, who stood blushing and striving to stammer some reply. "Oh, 1 say," he protested. “It was nothing— I wasn't thinking" "You sang it beautifully.” she interrupted "The song is one of my favorites. 1 did not know Mr. Kennedy knew it.” “Used to sing it at home,” said Kennedy, as If indifferent. "Thank you,” McCarthy stammered, partly recovering his poise. "It is good of you to like it 1 seldom sing at all. The song made me forget where I was." "You must sing for us,” she said simply. “The boys will make you. I am certain that after you feel more at home among us you will give us that pleasure. Good night—and thank you again.” The girl smiled and McCarthy, stuttering in his effort to reply, managed to mutter good-night as she passed into the next car. “It's a pink Kohlnoor now,” said the re lentless Swanson, as he observed the flushed face of the recruit. “All fussed up. isn't he?” “Oh. cut it out,” retorted McCarthy, striv ing to cover his embarrassment by ball field 'onversational methods “A fellow might be expected to be a little bit embarrassed with a 'ot of big stiffs like you standing around and never offering to introduce a fellow." “I forgot it, Kohlnoor," said Kennedy quickly. "I forgot you never had met her. She is Betty Taber. Sec’s daughter, and one of the best little women in the world. She usually makes one trip a season with us to teach us manners.' Even Silent is a gentle man when she is with the team." “I'm always a gent, Bo,” declared Swanson indignantly. “I took a night school course In etiquette once. Any one that ain’t a gent when she is around I’ll teach to be a gent—■ and this is the perfessor." He exhibited a huge, red fist and smote the cushions of the berth with a convincing thud. "I’ll introduce you properly to-morrow,” volunteered Kennedy. “Come on and get into the quartette. We’ll try you out.” Thus invited McCarthy surrendered more to conceal his agitation than because he felt like singing. He did not desire that any of the players should suspect that ever since the girl had come to his rescue in the lobby of the hotel he had been hoping for an oppor tunity to see her again. The quartette sang until the bridge players grew weary of the game and the tired athletes who preferred sleep to the melody howled Im precations upon the vocalists. For a long time after McCarthy climbed into his berth he remained staring into the dark ness, striving to recall the outlines of a face set with a pair of friendly brown eyes that lighted with a look of eager appreciation. He reqiembered the little dimples at the corners of the mouth, and the wealth of soft, brown hair that framed the oval of her face. He strove to recall more of her appearance, but could remember only her eyes and the warm softness of the hand he had touched as she thanked him for singing. He blushed hotly in the darkness at Ihe thought of his own rather threadbare raiment, and he decided that he would evade an introduction until he could secure money from Manager Clancy and re cover the clothes he had left In an express office. He found himself striving to compare her face with that of another. “She is not as pretty as Helen is,” he told himself. “But it's different somehow. Helen never seemed to feel anything or to under stand a fellow, and I’m sure Betty—Betty? I wonder if that is her real name—I’ll sing for her as often as she will listen.” And, after a long reviewing of the past that was proving such a mystery and which the baseball reporters were striving in vain to explore, McCarthy muttered: 'Tve made a fool of myself," and turned over and slept. CHAPTER IV. "Kohinoor”Meets Betty. fJlHE train was speeding along through the -L upper reaches of a beautiful valley when Mc Carthy awoke the following morning. His dreams had been pleasant and filled with ro mance, in which always the heroine was brown eyed and brown of hair. He chided himself for fickleness as he recalled a pair of blue eyes and a wealth of light, wavy hair, which for months had occupied the same space in his dreams and which had played a large part In his young life's drama. As he splashed and scraped his face In the washroom he found himself torn between de sire to hasten the introduction which Ken nedy had promised and to avoid meeting the girl. He glanced down at his worn garments, wondering whether or not the girl had ob served them. He went forward. to the din ing car with sudden determination, having decided to avoid the introduction and to have breakfast with Swanson, who had wakened him from his dreams with the news that the last call had been made. The dining car was crowded, and the table at which Swanson was eating was filled. McCarthy stopped, looked around for a vacant seat. There seemed to be only one—and at that table Miss Betty Taber was breakfasting with Manager Clancy and his wife. "Good morning,” said the girl, smiling brightly. “There is a seat here. My father had to hurry away. Mr. Clancy will intro duce us." Clancy suif^ended his operations with hi9 ham and eggs long enough to say: “Miss Taber, Mr. McCarthy. Kohinoor, this is the old lady." "I heard Mr. McCarthy sing last night,” said the girl, acknowledging the informal presentation. “He sings well.” “So I should guess,” remarked Clancy dryly. "Swanson has been bellowing his praise of it until everyone on the train thinks we have grabbed a grand opera star who can hit 400." McCarthy, received in this fashion, was at his ease, and, forgetting his clothing, he joined in the lively conversation. He found him self talking with Miss Taber and Mrs. Clancy and laughing at the quaint half brogue of the manager's buxom wife as if they had known each other all their lives. Clancy him self had little to say. The conversation had drifted to discussion of the country through which the train was running and McCarthy suddenly ceased talking. "I always have loved this part of the val ley," said Miss Taber. "When I was a little girl father brought me on a trip and 1 re member then picking out a spot on the hills across the river where, some day, 1 wanted to live. I never pass it without feeling the old desire. Have you been through this country before?" The question was entirely natural, but Mc Carthy reddened as he admitted it was his first trip. “And what part of the world do you come from?" asked Mrs. Clancy. “I'm from the West," he responded. “Prob ably that is why I admire this green country so much.” "What is your home town?" persisted Mrs. Clancy. Miss Taber, scenting an embarrassing situ ation, strove to change the subject, but Mrs. Clancy refused to be put off. “Why is it you are ashamed of your home and play under another name, boy?” she de manded. "Why do you think my name isn't McCar thy?" he parried. "The McCarthys aren't a red-headed race.” she said, her brogue broadening. “Ye have Irish in ye, but ye're not Irish. Is baseball such a disgraceful business ye are ashamed to use your name?” "Of course not. Mrs. Clancy,” he responded Indignantly. “It is a good enough business— but—but—Oh. I can't explain.” "This mystery business is ; a big drawing card," remarked Manager Cle^ cy, endeavoring “Good morning,” said the girl, smiling brightly. “There is a seat here. My father had to hurry away. Mr. Clancy will introduce us.” to ease the situation. “They flock to see him because each one can make up his own story. Let him alone, mother. Don’t spoil the gate receipts." “Let him alone, is it?” she asked, turning upon her husband. “ Tis for his own sake I'm f iking. They’ll be saying you’ve done sometning bad and wicked and are afraid to use your own name.” “What isn't true cannot hurt anyone,” he replied quickly. “I have not'committed any crimes.” “.Mother is a good deal right about it,” re-, marked Clancy quietly. “A baseball player is a public person. The fans are likely to say anything about a player, and the less they know the more they will invent. If they knew all about you they probably would forget about it. but if it is a mystery they’ll try all the harder to find out, and what they can’t learn they’ll invent.” "I believe Mother Clancy is right,” said Miss Taber, seeing that her effort to turn the con versation had failed. “But there really isn’t anything to tell— anything any one would be interested in. It’s a private matter,” protested McCarthy. "Listen, boy,” said the manager's wife. “I’ve been with the boys these many years. They are all my boys, even the bad ones, and I don’t want any of them talked about.” “There is nothing to talk aDout," he con tended, irritated by the persistency of the manager’s wife. "They’re already saying things,” she re sponded, leaning forward. “They’re a saying that you’ve done something crooked—that you’ve thrown ball games ” “Oh," ejaculated Miss Taber. “They wouldn’t dare!” “I’d like to have some one say that to me," McCarthy said, flushing with anger. “Hold on, mother,” interrupted Clancy. “I’m managing this team Let up on him. Where did you hear that kind of talk?" "1 heard it in the stands,” she argued earn estly. “They were saying you knew all about it If you deny it they’ll tell another story and if you keep quiet they’ll think its a confession. Tell them what you are and where you came from, boy." Her voice was pleading and her interest in his welfare was too real not to affect him. “I’m sorry, Mother Clancy,” he said grate fully. unconsciously adopting the term he had heard Betty Taber use. “There is nothing I can tell them—or anyone—now.” "It’s sorry I am, Jimmy,” she responded sadly. "If it’s anything ye can tell me come to me.” “I see I have another adopted son," remark ed Clancy teasingly as he winked at Miss Taber. “Ellen mothers them all, as soon as she learns their first names—even the Swede." “’Tis proud I’d be to have a son like Sven,” she said, defendingly. The breakfast ended rather quietly and Mc Carthy returned to his seat in the players’ car dispirited. In his heart he knew that Mrs. Clancy had spoken the truth. He knew. too. that Betty Taber held the same opinion and, somehow, her opinion of him counted more than that of all the others. "If I only could explain,” he kept thinking. “They have no right to ask,” he argued with himself. “Why do they suspect a man just because he refuses to tell them all his private affairs?” He refused invitations to play cards and picking up a magazine, he tried to read, only • to find himself revolving the situation over and over in his head, until in his irritation he threw down his magazine and joined in a heat ed argument with Swanson as to whether a foul tipped ball travels faster after it touches the bat than it does before being hit. The train was not due to arrive in the City of Pilgrims until nearly noon, and the argument served to pass the time, McCarthy amusing himself by conjuring up entirely fallacious al gebraic proof to support his side of the debate, enjoying the effect of his strange calculations upon Swanson, who, being unable to cope with such debating methods, departed to play in the poker game. McCarthy was settling Iiimself to resume reading when Adonis Williams came down the aisle, and, without invitation, sat down in the other half of the seat- The men had not spoken to each other since the encounter in the clubhouse, and Williams’s act in choosing him as a seatmate surprised McCarthy. He moved politely to give Williams more space, and without speaking waited for the pitcher to re veal the reason for his movement. Williams looked at him patronizingly for an instant, and in a rather sneering tone said: “Just a friendly little tip, young fellow. Keep off my preserves and you’ll get along better with this club.” “I don’t quite understand you,” replied Mc Carthy, his eyes narrowing with the anger aroused by the air of superiority assumed by the pitcher. “I was watching you during breakfast,” said Williams. “Don’t get it into your head that because you happened to play a couple of good games of ball you can run this club and do as you please.” “Hold on a minute,” retorted McCarthy, flushing with anger. “If you have any griev ance against me say so. Don’t beat around the bush. I don’t know what you are talking about.” “I just wauted to tip you off to keep away from the young woman you ate breakfast with.” McCarthy’s eyes flashed angrily, and he started to rise, but controlled himself with an effort. “Only muckers discuss such things,” he said, coldly. “Well, we’re going to discuss it," retorted Williams, who rapidly was losing his temper and working himself into a rage. "That young lady is going to be my wife, and I don’t care to have her associating with every hobo ball player that joins the team.” McCarthy clenched his fists and started to his feet, but gritted his teeth and kept control of his temper. “You’re to be congratulated— if it is true," he said slowly, his tone an in sult. “Men cannot fight over a woman and not have her name dragged into it. Drop that part of it and to-night I’ll insult you and give you a chance to fight.” “Any time you please,” replied Williams, rather taken aback. “Privately, I think you're yellow and won’t dare fight. But don’t for get. what I said about keeping away.” He swaggered down the aisle leaving Mc Carthy angry, helpless and raging because Williams had placed him in such a position. He was boiling with inward anger when Swan son slid down into the' seat with him as the train entered the suburbs of the Pilgrim City. ‘ Smarter, Bo?” asked Swanson, quickly ob serving that something was wrong. “1 saw Williams talking with you. Has he been try ing to bluff you? Don’t mind him. He has been as sore as a Charley horse ever since you joined the team, and he won’t overlook a chance to start trouble.” "He has started it ail right,” replied Mc Carthy, savagely. “We’re going to fight to night and I’ll”—— “Steady, Bo, steady,” warned Swanson, drop ping his voice. “That’s his game, is it? He won’t fight any one. He heard Clancy warn you not to fight and he is trying to get you in bad. I know his way." “I told him I’d fight,” responded McCarthy, worriedly. "Now i ll have to. I don’t know anything I’d enjoy better." "I’d like to second you and make you do it," responded the giant. "But it would be playing into his hands if you punched him. Leave him to me. I’ll fix his clock.” Swanson's methods were all his own. The repairing of Williams’s timepiece took place in the big auto ’bus that carried the players from the train to their hotel. Swanson, wise with long experience in such matters, secured a seat across the 'bus from Williams, and when the vehicle rolled onto smoother streets he addressed the pitcher. “Hey, Adonis,” he said in tones Manager Clancy could not fail to hear, “trying to take out your grouch on Kohinoor, eh? You lay off him or count me in on anything that comes off." “That sneak been tattling and crying for help, eh?" sneered Williams. “I wasn’t going to hurt him.” “You’re right, you’re not.” retorted Swanson. “He didn’t tell me. I saw you trying to start something with him, and I’ve seen you do it to too many other kids not to know what you \yere up to.” “Who’s talking fight?” demanded Clancy sharply, turning to scan the players until his eyes rested upon Williams's flushed and angry face. “Nobody is going to fight," said Swanson easily. “Adonis has been trying to bully Kohi noor and stir him up. I guess he thought ha could put over his bluff because you told Kohi noor not to fight-” “Adonis, you cut that stuff out or I’ll take a hand in it myself,” said Clancy, whose ability and willingness to fight had earned him a rep utation during his playing days. “You’ve had a grouch for a week or more. As for you, rvohinoor, don’t think you can fight your way through this league. The first thing you have to do is to learn to stand punishment and keep your temper.” “No fresh prison pup can swell up and try to cut into my affairs," muttered Williams, sullen under the rebuke. McCarthy sprang up to avenge the fresh in sult, but before he could act or speak he was forestalled. “Oh,” said Clancy sharply. “So you’re the fellow who has been making that kind of talk? I’ve been trying to find out where it came from. One more bit of that kind of conversa tion will cost you a bunch of salary.” “I’ve heard it everywhere,” muttered Will iams taken aback by the sudden defense of the recruit by the manager. “Well, dQn’t hear any more of it,” snapped Clancy, and McCarthy, feeling he had emerged with the honors, discreetly maintained silence. In the game that afternoon McCarthy suf fered his first reverse. His error early in the game permitted the Pilgrims to gain the lead, and in the seventh inning, after the Bears had! fought their way back to a tied score, Mt» Carthy attempted to score fron) first base on a hit which was fumbled for an instant in the outfield, and was caught at tbe plate, compel ling the Bears to play eleven innings in orde« to beat the Pilgrims. Although Manager Clancy said nothing of his failure to accomplish either play, McCarthy was downhearted- Th* fact that Clancy had said "Good boy—nice try,’ when he was caught at the plate was not suffi cient salve for the fact that some of the play ers seemed disgusted with his work. He slipped away to his room early, and it wa# growing late when Swanson, after a val* search for him, came in a nd found him read ing. “What started Adonis after you this morn ing?" asked Swanson, as he hurled garments around the room and wrought disaster to thi , order of his trunk as he hunted pajamas. "Guess he was just trying to start somr- thing.” responded McCarthy, still reading. “Girl?” inquired Swanson. “What makes you think that?” "He was mad when he saw you at break fast with Betty. He’s jealous of everyone who talks to her." “She’s a dandy girl,” said McCarthy, gener ously. “I don’t much blame a fellow for -being jealous when he is engaged to a girl like that ” “Engaged to Betty Tabor? That stiff’’” ejaculated Swanson. “Say, did he spring > line of talk like that on you? Why, he ha, been crazy about her for three years, but she knows what he is, and she won’t talk to him any more than to be polite;" “I thought it was odd,” commented McCar thy, his heart becoming strangely lighter. “Don’t make^ any mistake, though," added Swanson earnestly, as he turned out the lights “You’ve stirred up a had enemy. He won't fight you openly; but keep an eye on him Swanson’s warning fell upon deaf ears. Mo Carthy’s attack of blues was cured, and he fell ' asleep to the music of street car wheels that seemed to say; “She isn’t engaged, she isn't engaged,” as they rolled past the hotel. (To Be Continued Next Sunday}