Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 305, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 December 1915 — Page 2

NEAL of the VAVY

by HAMILTON OSBORNE

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BYNOPBIS. On the dur of the eruption of Mount Pelec Capt. John Hardin of the at earner Princess reecuea five-year-old Annette rtlncton from an open boat, but ia forced to leave behind her father and hla companiona. Ilintton la aaaaulted by Heruandem and Ponto in a vain attempt to Vet paper* which Itinfiton haa managed to Bend aboard the Princess with his daughter, papers proving hia title to the lost Island of Cinnabar. Ilinxton's injury cause* hla mind to become a blank. Thirteen years elapse. Hemandea, now an opium smuttier with Ponto and Ine*. a female accomplice, and the mindless brute that once was Ilintton, come to Seaport, where the widow of Captain Hardin la llvint with her son Neal and Annette Ilintton. and plot to steal the papers left to Annette by her father. THIRD INSTALLMENT THE FAILURE CHAPTER XI. May the Beet Man Win. Neal Hardin, clad In hla life-savin* uniform, aat upon the gunwale of hla lifeboat, gazing seaward —ever seaward. He was seeing visions—always visions of the sea. He caught Annette’s hand In hla own. He turned to her. “Annette," he cried, ‘Tve got to do It—l can’t help it. It calls to me—the •ea. It’s in my blood." The girl smiled —a bit sadly perhaps. But her eyes glowed. She returned the pressure of Neal’s hand with her warm, strong, girlish grasp. “It’s in your blood," she repeated, “your father was a hero of the sea — he saved me —you saved me, Neal. You’ve got to go.” “You—want me to?" he asked. “Yes, I want you to.” “I’ll go.” said Neal. . _The girl held in her right hand a newspaper—the current issue of the local Seaport weekly. “I saved this just for you. Look. Read it, Neal," she said. She pointed to an item on the first page. CONGRESSMAN PRIME ANNOUNCES PRELIMINARY ANNAPOLIS EXAMINATIONS. Congressman James J. Prime of Seaport announces that the preliminary examination for candidacy for Annapolis finals will be held at the High School hero on Thursday next at 9 a. m. The congressman's privilege le limited to but one appointment May the best man win. “It’B your chance, Neal," said the girl. She placed a hand upon his shoulder, and at her touch the blood ran through his veins like wine. “You’re the best man, Neal,” she whispered, “always the best man. You’re bound to win.” Congressman James J. Prime was a Seaport man—and the biggest man in that shore town. He had sprung from boatbuilding, seafaring ancestors; he knew seagoing folk; he liked them. And he liked the sea. And the pleasantest thing he did, he was wont to tell his friends, was to recommend dear-eyed, clean limbed young fellows for Annapolis. At the very time that Annette and Neal were sitting in the lifeboat gazing seaward, the congressman was at the post office, surrounded by a circle of old cronies, holding forth upon the navy. As he talked he examined his mail, opening it with a clumsy forefinger. He had mail aplenty small envelopes and big ones, long and short. Three times he dropped a letter, once he dropped a check somebody picked them up for him. Then, unknown to himself, and unseen of anyone about him, he accidentally dropped something else upon the floor —a long, folded printed paper. He didn’t miss it; and when Congressman James J. Prime moved off in the direction of his home, a human being slouched over to that corner, placed a concealing foot upon the folded paper, struck a match and lit a cigarette, stooped suddenly and with nicotinestained fingers, picked up the document. The' concealing foot and the nicotines tain ed fingers belonged to a young and Bporty gentleman of the name of Joey Welcher. He thrust the document into his pocket and then, he too, moved off to some less public place. When he reached a place less public, he examined his find. He was disappointed at first He was prepared for anything of interest But he was disgusted when lie opened the document and read its headlines: Questions and Correct Answers to he used In Preliminary Competitive Examination for Congressional Appointment District of New Jersey, for Navy Academy, Annapolis Duplicate. It didn’t Interest him, but he glanced over its contents; then thrust it into his hip pocket and, went his way—smoking a cigarette. CHAPTER XII. The Spider and the Fly. Back in the Hardin cottage by the tea, Irene Courtier —known in other and less reputable circles by the name of Inez Castro —limped (not ugrecefttlly) downstairs from the

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room she had been occupying for some time, and entered the living room. “Under your kind care,” she said to Mrs. Hardin, her hostess —and in her tone was the slightest foreign accent —“I am so well again, that I must leave you.” She paused. Joe Welcher pushed open the door and slouched Into the room. Inez Castro glanced at him seductively from under her long lashss and went on. "With the aid of Mr. Joey Welcher,” she proceeded, “I have consulted timetables, and I find very good connections on the next train.” She opened her handbag, and took out bills. "And,” she added, “1 insist on paying board.” Mrs. Hardin held up her hand. "Miss Courtier,” she returned, ”1 can’t think of it You have taken what we call pot-luck with us. You have been friendly with us, and 1 hope we have been friendly with you.” Inez smiled and shrugged her pretty shoulders. She glanced casually at Joe Welcher. She slightly raised her eyebrows—she watched Joey as a cat watches a mouse. And Joe —he was watching something, too —the cash that Inez was holding in her hand. Inez groaned suddenly and put out her hand. "Stupid,” she said, "I have forgot. My outer bandage. I must return.” She returned the money to her handbag and laid it down upon the table. Then she left the room and went upstairs. Mrs. Hardin, Welcher’s foster mother, sniffed the air. "There’s something burning in the kitchen, Joey,” she exclaimed, “if Miss Courtier comes down I'll be right back.” She, too, disappeared. And Joey—easy-money Joey Welcher, was left alone with the handbag and the bills. Joey listened for an inßtant, then tiptoed forward, seized the handbag and drew forth the roll of bills. He needed money badly —he had to pay a debt of honor, which means a gambling debt. He opened the roll of bills and peeled off a few where their absence would least be noted, and then restored the balance of the bills to the handbag—thrusting his share into his pocket. Inez Castro, seated halfway up the stairs, watching through an inch of open doorway, smiled to herself. Then she tripped a bit noisily, and irregularly—to show her limp—down the stairs and glided gracefully into the room. Joe lit a cigarette and watched her. He was nervous, but game. He watched her closely. She took up her bag and once again took out the bills. “My charming hostess,” she exclaimed, “where should she be?” “She should be here,” said Joey, evading her glance, “wait a bit, I’ll get her.” He got her, and Inez resumed her former conversation —once more insisting upon payment for her board. Her offer was quite as insistently declined. She sighed prettily and clicked shut her bag. Welcher also sighed—with unmistakable relief. She turned to him. “The one-horse vehicle?" she asked. “Outside,” said Welcher, offering his arm, “boy’s ready —time that you were off.”

Once at the station Inez bought a ticket for New York. But when the train —a local —drew up at Lonesome Cove, three miles north of Seaport, Inez dropped off the rear platform of the last car, and waited on the far side of the track until the train was out of sight. There was no station at Lonesome Cove —merely a shed. Swiftly Inez crossed the track and passed this station and then sped on down toward the shore. She reached a narrow strip of beach, stepped down to the v ater's edge, and looked about her. Suddenly she saw what she was looking so bandanna handkerchief thrust above a clump of bushes. On the sea side of this clump of bushes was a rock. Inez raised her parasol and sauntered gracefully toward this rock, and composed herself also gracefully—in the shadow of the rock. Before doing so she peered into the bushes, noted the presence there of three shadowy figures, and nodded slightly, in recognition. A man with a foreign accent spoke. “What progress?*' he queried anxiously. “Best in the world,” she answered, “we have a new recruit." She changed her position. A man thrust his head and face for a moment out of the bushes —a face across which was a saber cut; a livid scar. For a moment, with their heads together, the two whispered. The man with a scowl of satisfaction*, finally withdrew his head. Inez rose to her feet and looked about her. “Where is this Lonesome Cave Inn, then?” she queried. “Half a mile farther up the beach — follow the shore line —turn in at the cove. Follow the water line —it takes you there. Good luck.” v CHAPTER XIII. The Honor Slip. A crowd of thirty—more or lew

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, INP.

congregated about the steps of toe school building In Seaport, N. J. Neal was there. Some of the thirty he knew and some he dldn’L Neal started suddenly. A hand was laid upon his shoulder. He turned. Joey Welcher, his foster brother, faced him. Joey smiled. ’’Neal,’’ he said, "1 think I'll take a hack at this Annapolis exam myself.” For a moment Neal was taken back Then he recovered. “Gorry.” he returned. “I'm glad of that. When did you decide?” “Before you did,” replied Welcher, "I’ve had this up my sleeve for a year or so. I’ve been boning on the quiet—boning hard.” It was quite true that he had been boning hard —and also on the quiet. He had been studying the examination paper dropped accidentally by the congressman in the local poet office, and he had mastered every answer by heart “You bet your life I’m going in,” he said. Ten minutes later Neal and Welcher were seated side by side at desks in the old-fashioned little schoolroom. The examination questions had been written on the ample blackboards that completely circled the room. The examiner had copied them from his printed list of questions. There was a knock on the door and the congressman came in. The examiner left his desk and met the congressman half way. He whispered ,to him. “How goes it?” asked the congressman. 'Tve only had the chance to look over young Hardin’s papers as they came in—he’s been the first to finish. They look good to me. They’re wellnigh perfect. There he is now. He’s all through.” “May the best man win,” said the congressman, “he looks the part at any rate.” He glanced about the room; he seemed to be trying to remember; then he remembered. "Say, look a here,” he said, “Beecher's letter says he mailed me a duplicate of those questions and answers; and I’ll swear I saw a duplicate when I read his note —did I hand you two or one?” “One,” returned the examiner. He stepped back to his desk. Neal handed in his final paper. The examiner thrust in front of Neal a slip of paper and a pen. “Sign this, please,” he

“I’m Disgraced,” Cried Neal. “You Tell Them, Joe.”

said. This is what it said —and Neal signed it as requested: I do solemnly declare on my honor as a gentleman that I have neither obtained nor given aid of any kind during the course of this examination. Neal Hardin, Candidate. He had no sooner finished signing than Joe Welcher approached the desk. “Through, Joey?” queried Neal, "I’ll wait for you.” Welcher signed his own honor slip. Neal waited —and while he waited, he thrust his hand into his coat pocket. There was something unfamiliar there. Involuntarily he drew it out — it was a crumpled printed paper. The examiner’s eagle eye was upon it in an instant. “Haven’t been cribbing, boy?” he exclaimed. “No,” stammered Neal, “I—l don’t know what it is.” The examiner knew It however, for the thing it was. He grabbed Neal’s hand and snatched the paper from him. “Oh!” he said, “the missing duplicate —questions and answers both. No wonder Hardin’s papers were wellnigh perfect.” He turned to the congressman—who nodded understanding^. “I don’t know how it got there,” stammered Neal, “I didn’t put it there —I never saw the thing before. On my honor —” “Pah," cried the congressman, his eyes flashing, “look at it —thumbed and soiled —he’s had It for a week — he’s learned the thing by heart” Angrily he tore up the honor slip—tore up Neal’s answers —and flung them to the floor. He pointed to the door. “Go,” he exclaimed, “the navy’s well rid of sneaks like you.” Once outside his pace slackened. He didn’t want to go home. And yet he must go home —he'd have to tell them >ll about It —tell his mother—tell Annette —how muck would they believe?

Again • friendly band wms placed upon his shoulder. Again It was Joe Welcher. He sighed with relief. “Look here, Joe,” he pleaded, “you don't think I did tbls thing r Joe shrugged his shoulders. "It’s all right, old man," he said finally, "remember, no matter what has happened I’m your friend.” Side by side they entered the cottage. Annette was there —so was Neal's mother —both waiting eagerlyNeal strode to the table, and faced to the two women, the young one and the old. He started to speak. Then he slumped down Into a chair and hid his face in his hands. “I’m disgraced,” he cried, “you—you tell ’em, Joe.” Welcher told them —with considerable unction, putting in fancy touches of his own. Neal sprang to his feet —his face ablaze with anger and determination. “Never mind,” he cried, “I can’t get into Annapolis—but I can get into the navy and I will. Mother —Annette — Joe —I’ve got to go—the navy calls for me. I’m going to enlist I’ve got to go.” CHAPTER XIV. Wind and Limb. Dress suit case in hand Neal stopped in front of a cigar store in New York. Next to the cigar store was an entrance to a stairway that led to the second floor above. In front of this entrance paced an officer in uniform. “Recruiting station?” queried Neal, saluting. "Nothing but,” returned the man in uniform, “you’re as welcome as the flowers in May. Ascend.” He waved his hand invitingly. Neal ascended. Half an hour later he had regularly enrolled —he was an apprentice seaman in the navy. The United States at its own expense shipped him with a squad of recruits to the naval training school at Norfolk. As the hours flew by, Neal’s eyes were opened. He loved the sea —had always loved It. He plunged into the life of an apprentice seaman. He wrote his mother and Annette that afternoon after drill was over. “This is the life,” he said to them, “I’ve been fighting all the afternoon — aiming thirteen inch guns at hostile battleships, handling a cutter; splicing

ropes, tying sailor’s knots, cutting off imaginary heads with cutlasses —and tonight for the first time since the eruption of Mt. Pelee, I’m sleeping in a hammock. This is the life and no mistake. We even have the pie that mother used to make.” Neal’s letter reached home next day. And next day something else happened. Joe Welcher burst into the living room at the Hardin cottage, early in the evening, with the local paper, still damp from the press, in his hand. “I’ve just sent one of these to Neal,” he said, “and here's a copy for you Read it, Annette. Now what have you got to say.” Annette read it. This is what it said: JOSEPH WELCHER OF SEAPORT WINS ANNAPOLIS APPOINTMENT. In Congressman James J. Prime’s recent competitive examination for the Annapolis appointment, Joe Welcher, our young townsman, came very near the hundred mark and distanced all his fellows. Good work, Welcher. Seaport will back you through Annapolis and through the navy. Become an admiral. Hitch your wagon to a star. Mrs. Hardin, Joe’s foster mother, caught him in her arms. "Both my boys—Neal and Joe —in the navy,” she exclaimed. “Yes,” returned Welcher, with a sneer, “but there’s a difference. I go in as an officer—and Neal’s nothing but a common seaman, understand?” Annette flushed, but gave no other sign. CHAPTER XV. Finesse. It was somewhat early in the morning. , Joe Welcher, seated at a round table in the Seaport house bar, still celebrated with three boon companions, his success as a passer of com-

petltive examinations. Suddenly the window was raised —swiftly but noiselessly, and from without. One of Joe’s friends across the table rose, with terror written on his face. He pointed with his finger at the window; “Look, look," he cried. They looked. A long thin, gristly brown arm with long clawlike fingers, thrust itself through the window and thrust a folded piece of paper into the breast pocket of Joe Welcher’s coat. Joe sprang to his feet, crouched terrorstricken in the corner, shielding his face with his arm. His three cronies leaped to the window, and looked out There was a moon. But there was no one to be seen. The owner of the hand and arm had disappeared. Welcher, coming to himself, clutched at the note, and unfolded it and read. My Charming Friend: (it said) Once more I have returned from New York. I stay at Lonesome Cove Inn. Meet me there tomorrow afternoon — perhaps I should say—this afternoon —at three. It Is of importance. When you come, Inquire for Inez Castro —I have used that name in order that certain mutual friends might not hear of IL As ever, Irene Courtier., That afternoon at three Lonesome Cove —three miles north of Seaport — was graced by the presence of Joe Welcher. Welcher made a bee line for the case and properly spiced up his breath before proceeding to keep the rendezvous. Then he approached Mulligan, the ill favored proprietor. "You got a certain party here of the name of Inez Costro,” whispered Welcher to Mulligan. “What’s that to you,” said Mulligan. Welcher produced his note —the note produced an unusual effect upon Mulligan. He dropped his surliness, and with a wink beckoned to Welcher, leading him down a dim corridor. “Go up that there staircase,” he commanded, “and knock at Number Seven.” “I sent for you,” Inez began, “that you should do a favor for me —” Welcher seized her hand. That was his undoing. In a moment she w r as in his arms, struggling. He kissed her full upon the lips. “I’ll go to hell and back for you,” he said. Struggling, she half screamed. Then something happened. Unknown to Welcher, the door of Room Seven opened noiselessly, and a well dressed man, with a saber cut across his face, entered on tiptoe. He closed the door behind him, and stood there, watching the struggle, silent, sinister. Suddenly Inez screamed. She released herself from Welcher’s arms — and reeled against the table, her eyes wide with fright. “My—my husband,” she gasped. She held out her hands pleadingly toward the newcomer. Welcher cowered in abject terror.

“It was nothing—nothing,” gasped Inez, “a bit of play—nothing else —believe me—” Hernandez smiled—a wicked smile. He never looked at Inez. He glared at Joey Welcher. “So I see,” he said, “a bit of play.” He whistled. The door opened once again. Two figures entered —the brute and Ponto. Hernandez gave a sign—and the brute picked Joe Welcher up, whirled him in the air, and brought him down seated at the table. This was the added finishing touch to make Joe realize his helplessness. Hernandez clapped his hands and the brute left the room. Ponto, the fat Mexican, curled himself up underneath the tablb. Hernandez seated himself. “A bit of play,” laughed Hernandez, harshly. Then his brow furrowed with wrinkles, his eyes became stern. “Young sir,” he said, “your foster sister is one Annette Illington. You live in the same house with her. She has in her possession a small oilskin packet—a yellow packet possibly you’ve seen it?” He waited for an answer. Joe moistened his dry lips and nodded. “Well and good,” went on Hernandez, “that packet is mine—it belongs to me. You shall steal It from her — steal it for me. You understand?” Hernandez smiled. Then his face froze. His hand darted forward and he clutched Welcher by the wrist. “My young friend,” went on Hernandez, “you are a crook. I have watched you from first to last. Always I have watched you. I watched you while you made love to my young wife this day. I watched you when you stole her money from her a week or so ago.” “Give me a drink,” cried Welcher, “go on. What do you want me to do?” “First,” returned Hernandez, “say nothing to anyone—about me or my companions—nor about Inez here — nothing. To you we are as a sealed book. Break silence and—-well, my ancestors were of the Spanish inquisition, my young friend. Silence comes first Next, get that packet I care not by what means—and bring it to me at the time and place I shall hereafter designate. Now go. Tonight you understand —tonight” That night, Welcher, fully dressed, and tossing In his restless bed, heard the tap-tap of pebbles on his window. Startled, he rose and peered without The sky was cloudless and the moon three-quarters—by Its rays he saw three crouching figures—shadows of the night One of these figures held np a white hand. Welcher responded with a silent signal; and then drew back into his room. He drew from his pocket a pint flask and drank deep. He smoked a cigarette, taking quick, swift, strong puffs and Inhaling deeply —he needed strength. He -waited until the tingling of that first drink had entered his system; and then he took another and another. Then he rejoiced, for he was reckless how, reckless as to consequences. He lit another cigarette, and tossed the lighted

match far from him and he tiptoed from the room. Softly and fa his stocking feet, he crept along the narrow second story hallway. At last he stood in front of Annette’s door. The door was closed. Welcher turned the handle softly, noiselessly, and it yielded to his pressure. The door was not locked. Under his silent, steady pressure, it opened on * crack —Inch wide —more. Then suddenly, from within he heard Annette’s voice—a dream voice “Neal—Neal." It startled him. He stood there silent for an instant Then he realised that something had happened to him — he had become sober, too sober, to do the trick. He felt fa his pocket for the flask. It was not there. He had left in In his room. Stealthily he gropeji his way hack to his room, opened the door and reached for the bottle. Then with a choking, inarticulate cry, he turned and darted down the stairs, out of the house and up the road. His room was a living furnace of red flames —the hastily tossed lighted match had done its work. • Outside, Ponto and Hernandez wondering, gave chase. Welcher, with fear at his heels, sped on and on. CHAPTER XVI. Peril. Annette woke, choking. Smoke poured into her room. She realized al once that the house was burning. She heard the nearby crackling of flames — she saw the nearby glare of flame. Without the village fire gong clanged —she heard the shouts of volunteers coming down the road. She ran to Mrs. Hardin’s room. The door was locked; smoke was creeping from underneath the door. “Mother— Mother Hardin,” cried Annette. There was no response. In a frenzy Annette rushed back to her seized a chair and returned to the locked door. With a sudden twist of her lithe body she raised the chair above her shoulders and brought it crashing against the door. A volume of smoke poured out. Regardless of it, Annette rushed in, dragged Neal’s mother —unoonscious as she was —from tl e bed, out of the room and down the stairs. “Joey,” gasped Anne e, “Joey Welcher —he’s in there. We must save him, too.” “No,” interposed a distant neighbor, “he’s not in there. I saw him in the village, running for help.” During the confusion, three shadowy figures, returning as from a chase, crept through the smoke and crouched beneath bushes in the rear of the house, unnoticed and unseen. One of these men turned to another. “Ponto,” cried Hernandez in a low voice, “what of the packet?—what of Lost Isle? —the fool Welcher! By this time we might have had it.” Annette, seated on the grou id, with Mrs. Hardin’s head in her lap, the scene as in a dream. Her glano© roved from the flames to the crowd of jostling people—and from them back to the flames again. Then suddenly her heart rose to her throat. Peering at her from the middle of a dense mass of shrubbery, there was a sac face with staring eyes, matted hair, and unkempt beard. She had seen that face before —and on that very road —it had once stricken terror to her heart. This time however, it had a far stranger effect upon her. No sooner had she caught sight of this uncanny countenance, than, unaccountably she remembered something—the yellow packet “My father’s fortune —my father’s whereabouts,” she cried. She surrendered her charge to a neighborly woman close at hand and struggled to her feet. She reached her room In comparative safety, save for the choking in her throat. Once there she seized a water pitcher and drenched herself from head to foot —then with dripping hair and clothes she felt for and found her hiding place. She groped for .the packet. A tongue of flame swept the window. She shut it, and , the glass cracked and fell tinkling to the ground below. Then she groped again. “I’ve got it—got it," she cried in exultation, and thrust the yellow packet safely in her breast. There was a sudden crash. She flung open her room door. The staircase, eaten through with flame as its top moorings had fallen in. The hallway was alive with flame. She Bprang to her window —no thoroughfare —the whole side wall —the side of her room —was now ablaze. Obeying some instinct Annette threw herself face downward on the floor. The air there was singularly sweet and cool. “Somebody will come,” she told herself, “somebody will come.” Without the word passed that Annette had rushed into the house —was Inside now. A huge figure leaped into the crowd, parting it right and left and bounded into the doorway of the house. Whimpering with fear, the Brute ran hither, thither, through the living room, and entered the hall —finding the staircase a mass of ruin. He leaped and clutched the landing up above. Some instinct led to Annette’s room. He saw and found her—clutched her unconscious form in his huge arms and leaped with her to the floor beneath and, unseen, laid her unconscious form down at the feet of Mrs. Hardin. Then black, burned, and unrecognizable, he sped away into the night. Hernandez gritted his teeth. “1 thought I had that brute trained." he exclaimed wrathfully, as he realized that Annette and her treasure had escaped him. “and I thought he was afraid of fire. In both I was mistaken. We must take It out of his hide, Pons to—next time he must make no alb take" (TO BE OONTXNUKhI