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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


JNVESTMINTS  &  INSURANCE, 
7O3  Pacific  Finance  Bldg. 
Los  Angelas,  Cat 


OUT   FOR   THE   COIN 


Seven  Orphan  Skates — bred 
in  Old  Kentucky." — Page  25. 


BY  HUGH  McHUGH 


jr-flr 


AUTHOR  OP 

"JOHN  HENRY,"  "DOWN  THE  LINE  WITH  JOHN 

HENRY,"  "  IT'S  UP  TO  YOU,"  "  BACK  TO 

THE  WOODS,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATIONS   BY  GORDON   H.    GRANT 

G.  W.    DILLINGHAM  CO. 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1903 

By  G.   W.  DlLLINGHAM   Co. 

Issued,  August,  1903 


[All  rig  kit  reserved^ 


OUT  FOR   THE  COIN 


fs 


Hi* 


To  the  thousands  and  thousands  of  the 
Faith fut  who  have  Followed  me  From  my 
First  book  to  the  Fourth,  be  patient  with 
the  Fifth  and  Jet  us  be  Friends  to  the 
Finish. 


7592.21 


CONTENTS 


PACK 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  WALL  STREET  .     .     .  n 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  HORSE  TRAINER    .  27 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  SOUSE  THING     .  39 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  Two  DIPPY  BOYS  .  51 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  ORPHAN  SKATES   .  70 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  BIG  RACE       .     .  83 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  STRONG  FINISH  .  96 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  Seven  Orphan  Skates — bred  in  Old  Ken 
tucky  !  " — Page  25  ....     Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"  Yo'  all  was  Big  Casino  on  the  Eastern 

Tracks" 30 

Murf  sat  on  Uncle  Peter's  Chest       ...       66 

The  Ponies  soon  tumbled  that  I  was  their 

Meal  Ticket 70 

Then  suddenly  the  shout,  "  They're  off  !  "       89 

"  Look  out  !  I  took  the  hinges  off  that  gate 

to-day" 105 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN. 

CHAPTER  I. 

JOHN    HENRY    GETS    IN    WALL    STREET. 

SEVEN  thousand  ahead  in  seven 
days! — John,  if  you  keep  that 
up    you'll    set    Morgan    back 
among  the   pikers!"     Bunch  Jeffer 
son  joshed  me,  as  we  ducked  out  of 
a  broker's  office  and  headed  up  Wall 
Street  for  Broadway. 

"It  does  look  like  a  skeeze!"  I 
answered,  swelling  up  fore  "and  aft, 
as  I  gave  Bunch  the  easy-money 
gaze. 

"I've  got  money  now  I  can't  spend. 
Every  morning  I  crawl  into  the  bank 


12  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

with  a  bundle  of  bills  that  a  horse 
couldn't  kick  apart  in  a  week!" 

"Say!  Bunch,  the  receiving  teller 
up  at  the  Money  Barn  has  gout  in  his 
ringers  from  counting  the  kick-full 
of  yellow  backs  I  unload  on  him  every 
day.  If  my  luck  holds  out  and  I 
keep  on  Pierping  I'll  have  to  build 
my  own  bank." 

Bunch  gave  me  the  merry  ring-off 
and  told  me  that  my  head-piece  was 
growing  out  over  the  sidewalk  too 
far. 

"The  trouble  with  you,  John,"  ex 
plained  Bunch,  as  we  dropped  into 
the  club  where  I  get  my  mail  down 
town,  "is  that  a  bundle  of  quick 
money  gives  you  palpitation  of  the 
egotism,  and  you  begin  to  see  medals 
on  your  chest!" 

Bunch  loves  to  throw  ice-water  at 
his  friends. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  13 

"Who  put  you  woozy  to  this  Wall 
Street  fight?"  inquired  Bunch. 

"Uncle  Peter  did,"  I  answered. 
' '  Say !  will  you  go  in  bathing  if  I  call 
the  waiter?  What '11  it  be,  surf  or 
still  water? 

"A  lemonade  for  mine,"  Bunch 
said. 

"All  right,  if  you're  afraid  of  the 
surf  so  am  I — bring  me  the  same! 
Yes;  you  know  Uncle  Peter  used  to 
be  a  money-coaxer  here  in  the  Street. 

"  He  was  one  of  those  old  guys  with 
the  mucilage  on  the  hands — couldn't 
drag  the  money  away  from  him  with 
out  tearing  it. 

"  Finally  he  got  so  rich  that  he  used 
to  trip  and  fall  over  the  day's  win 
nings  when  he  tried  to  lock  up  shop 
in  the  evening.  He  then  decided  to 
build  a  fort  around  his  rake-off,  so  he 


14  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

grabbed  his  lid,  shook  a  day-day  to 
the  Street,  and  dipped  for  the  woods." 

"No  doubt  your  family  history  is 
highly  diverting  when  heard  for  the 
first  time,"  Bunch  put  in,  "but  it 
turns  sour  on  the  twenty-second  re 
peat.  Let's  have  sixteen  bars  rest 
on  this  Uncle  Peter  gag.  I  know  he's 
the  man  who  invented  money  and 
then  sat  down  on  his  invention,  but 
why  tease  ourselves  by  walking 
around  the  mint  when  the  gates  are 
all  locked?" 

"Bunch,  you  give  me  a  pain  in  the 
waist!"  I  got  back;  "ever  since  you 
fell  in  love  with  Alice  Gray  you've 
done  nothing  but  stand  around  and 
throw  the  hammer  at  Uncle  Peter. 
The  fact  that  Alice's  Uncle  William 
Gray  and  Peter  Grant  are  ancient 
enimies  doesn't  give  you  the  right  to 
jab  the  harpoon  into  my  uncle.  What 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  15 

are  you  trying  to  do,  cook  up  one  of 
those  Kentucky  feuds  just  to  make 
good  with  the  girl?" 

Bunch  laughed  uneasily,  and  said, 
"  Nix  on  the  feud  thing,  but  you  must 
remember,  John,  that  Uncle  William 
Gray  used  to  do  a  few  stunts  in  Wall 
Street  himself  before  he  crawled  away 
into  high  grass  to  cool  off.  Peter 
Grant  wasn't  the  only  cuckoo  on  the 
curb  in  those  days!" 

"Why,  Uncle  Peter  put  it  all  over 
old  Bill  Gray  whenever  they  bumped," 
I  yelled.  "  Every  time  they  clinched 
Uncle  Peter  used  to  push  Bill  Gray 
under  the  safe  and  hit  him  with  the 
combination. 

"  Old  Bill  Gray  is  only  an  imitation 
financier.  He's  nothing  but  a  piker. 
Whenever  he  lost  two  dollars  he  made 
the  office  boy  jab  the  hypodermic 
needle  into  his  shoulder  in  order  to 


l6  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

put  strength  enough  in  his  arm  to 
pay  up. 

"  I'm  wise  to  that  old  jojo.  Every 
time  he  won  eight  dollars  he  used  to 
run  out  in  the  street  and  faint  there 
so  as  not  to  wear  out  his  office  floor. 
Don't  unveil  any  Bill  Gray  statues 
near  me,  Bunch,  or  I'll  get  critical." 

Bunch  was  hot  about  the  collar 
just  about  then,  so  I  called  for  another 
dish  of  ice  and  we  bit  into  it. 

Presently  Bunch  caught  a  cool  and 
inquired,  "What  stock  are  you  trail- 
ing?" 

"D.  Q.  &  N.,"  I  said,  "and  it's  the 
goods.  I  climbed  in  at  95  and  to-day 
it's  104.  It's  a  moral  that  it  goes  to 
10  before  it  hits  the  ceiling.  Why 
don't  you  cut  off  a  slice? " 

"Not  me,"  Bunch  said;  "I've  been 
tipped  to  a  sag." 

"Sag  nothing,"  I  chirped;   "every- 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  17 

thing  is  on  the  airship.  It's  a  case  of 
balloon  on  the  Bourse,  my  boy,  so 
come  on  up  the  ladder.  D.  Q.  &  N. 
goes  up  to  10  without  a  single  side 
step. 

"Why,  Bunch,  I've  picked  out  the 
spot  where  I'll  build  a  tunnel  from 
here  to  Hartford,  Conn.,  as  soon  as 
D.  Q.  &  N.  hits  the  rafters.  That's 
the  latest  pizaro,  my  friend.  All  we 
millionaires  begin  to  build  tunnels 
when  our  wealth  gets  cumbersome. 
Come  on,  Beau,  get  in  on  D.  Q.  &  N., 
and  join  the  tunnel  push,  won't  you?" 

"Take  my  paragraphs  for  the  real 
news  and  bow  yourself  out  of  D.  Q.  & 
N.  There  are  doings,"  Bunch  ad 
vised. 

"Say,  you're  handing  me  the  same 
line  of  gas  gab  that  Uncle  Peter  threw 
at  me  this  morning  before  I  left  home. 
'Get  out  when  it  hits  102,  John!'  he 


l8  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

told  me.  Suppose  I  had  listened  to 
his  patter  song,  wouldn't  I  be  good 
friends  with  the  lobsters?  I've  got 
it  right  that  D.  Q.  &  N.  is  on  the  hal 
yards  for  a  hoist,  and  I'm  going  up  in 
the  elevator,  too." 

"You  for  the  witch  hazel  on  the 
neck!"  Bunch  chimed  in. 

"Oh,  very  well,  Beau,  I'll  get  off  if 
you're  going  to  get  sulky  about  it,'' 
I  said  with  appropriate  sarcasm,  as  I 
dived  for  the  telephone. 

Get  out  of  D.  Q.  &  N.  now,  when  I 
stood  to  win  a  wad  a  street  roller 
couldn't  flatten  out !  Nix  on  the  back 
up. 

I  called  Clara  J.  on  the  'phone  and 
asked  her  to  meet  me  in  town  for 
dinner. 

When  I  got  back  to  Bunch  he  was 
using  the  grin  that  won't  rub  off.  It 
always  tickles  an  advice-pusher  if  he 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  IQ 

thinks  somebody  has  listened  to  his 
tip. 

I  let  him  dream. 

"Still  living  at  Jiggersville ? "  Bunch 
inquired. 

"Jiggersville  nothing!"  I  snapped; 
"why,  we  held  a  mass  meeting  of  the 
citizens  and  changed  the  name  of  the 
place.  Uncle  Peter  and  I  went  down 
to  the  depot  and  woke  up  the  rest  of 
the  inhabitants,  and  he  came  out  of 
the  ticket  office  and  helped  us  change 
the  name  to  Ruraldene.  Like  it? 
And  we  call  our  home  Dove's  Nest 
Villa — wouldn't  that  keep  you  off  the 
grass?  " 

"Dove's  Nest  Villa,  Ruraldene!" 
Bunch  repeated,  gingerly. 

"Pastoral  idea,  isn't  it?"  I  urged. 

"Very,"  Bunch  agreed;  "sounds 
like  a  cow  promenading  a  muddy  road 


2O  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

after  a  rainstorm.  It's  full  of  local 
color." 

"Jealous!"  I  retorted.  "You!  in 
a  minute!  Why,  you'd  be  over  the 
hills  to  a  shack  in  the  woodlands  in 
jig  time  if  you  only  had  nerve  enough 
to  lure  that  girl  of  yours  away  to  a 
minister  and  have  him  rivet  the 
handcuffs  on!" 

"Nix  on  the  hayseed  habitation — 
not  me!"  grinned  Bunch.  "Not  any 
bungalows  in  the  brush  for  mine. 
Why,  I  wouldn't  wear  out  my  feet 
running  after  the  7:02  train  in  the 
morning  and  the  5:19  in  the  evening 
for  any  castle  in  a  cornfield — not  if  it 
had  a  bevy  of  real  cooks  chained  to 
the  kitchen  wall!" 

"Say!  we  had  a  cook  that  stayed 
with  us  a  whole  week!"  I  boasted. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  snickered  Bunch; 
"  she  stayed  the  last  six  days  because 


OUT    FOR    THE    COI-N  21 

she  fell  off  the  veranda  and  sprained 
her  ankle.  Are  you  paddling  after 
the  ponies  these  moments?" 

"Not  so  that  you  could  notice  it," 
I  answered.  "Why,  Bunch,  I  took 
a  solemn  six  months  ago  not  to  look 
another  race  track  in  the  eye  as  long 
as  I  live. 

"I've  handed  the  good-night  signal 
to  the  bookies  and  for  me  so  far  as  the 
turtles  are  concerned  the  six  o'clock 
whistle  blows  perpetually. 

"Say,  Bunch,  this  Wall  Street  pic 
nic  has  the  races  squeezed  to  a  shriek. 
No  more  bum  gallops  for  mine!" 

"Wife  objected,  didn't  she? "  Bunch 
quizzed. 

"Well,  Clara  J.  didn't  exactly  ob 
ject,  but  after  I  lost  everything  I  had 
in  the  world  except  my  appetite,  she 
made  me  promise  to  pass  the  ponies 
up. 


22  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

"She  suggested  that  every  time  I 
felt  an  uncontrollable  desire  to  lose 
my  money  I'd  better  put  the  coin  in 
a  bag  and  she'd  walk  down  to  the 
river  with  me  and  help  me  drown  it 
like  they  do  kittens. 

"For  a  week  or  two  kind  friends 
had  to  blindfold  me  and  lead  me  past 
the  bulletin  boards,  but  since  I  got 
the  dope  out  of  my  system  I  feel  fine." 

"  Never  no  more? "   Bunch  queried. 

"Not  on  your  palisades!"  I  an 
swered.  "I  promised  Peaches  never 
again,  and  this  time  it  goes  if  I  have 
to  wear  blinders.  Why,  I  wouldn't 
trot  to  the  track  again  even  if  I  could 
drag  the  long  green  away  in  a  dray." 

"That  sounds  good,  John,  but  I 
hope  you're  not  treating  yourself 
to  a  hot-air  serenade,"  said  Bunch, 
thoughtfully. 

"Nix  on  the  steam  spiel,"  I  an- 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  23 

swered.  "I  wouldn't  ring  in  a  cold 
deck  on  the  little  woman  at  home  for 
any  horse  that  ever  hugged  a  hames 
— not  me! 

"Why,  for  four  years  the  Bookies 
broke  it  off  in  me  till  I  looked  like  a 
porcupine  in  distress.  I  had  base 
ball  fingers  and  knots  on  my  thumbs 
from  trying  to  get  my  money  out  fast. 
Honest,  Bunch,  my  face  used  to  get 
sore  just  from  trying  to  look  pleasant 
after  a  long  day's  lose." 

At  this  point  one  of  the  hall  boys 
butted  in. 

' '  Letter  here  for  you,  Mr.  Henry — 
been  here  three  or  four  days,"  he  said, 
as  he  placed  the  document  in  my  hand 
and  retired. 

"Somewhat  the  worse  for  wear, 
isn't  it?"  I  observed  to  Bunch,  after 
a  hasty  look-over. 

It  had  evidently  been  chasing  me 


24  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

around  town,  for  the  envelope  gave 
token  of  having  been  re-addressed  sev 
eral  times. 

I  opened  it  and  read  it  through  cas 
ually.  Then  I  became  the  author  of 
a  yell  that  awoke  the  neighborhood. 

"What  is  it?"  gasped  Bunch  in  as 
tonishment. 

"Read  the  damn  thing!"  I  splut 
tered,  fanning  myself  with  the  lemon 
ade  glass  while  heat  waves  played  tag 
all  over  my  system. 

Bunch  took  the  letter  and  read  it 
aloud : — 

LEXINGTON,  KY.  ,  June  igth. 
JOHN  HENRY,  Esquire. 

Respected  Sir. — Your  father's  brother,  Owen 
Henry,  having  departed  this  world  by  dying,  has 
left  to  you  in  my  care  seven  horses,  mostly  two- 
year-olds,  and  all  of  them  promising  youngsters. 
As  I  am  coming  East  with  some  of  my  own 
horses,  I  will  bring  yours  along  and  will  be 
pleased  to  meet  you  in  Jersey  City  about  June 
2gth  in  the  afternoon  to  deliver  the  goods. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  25 

Hoping  this  finds  you  well,  as  it  leaves  me  at 
present. 

Your  obed't  serv't, 

MURF  HlGGINBOTTOM. 

"Wouldn't  that  keep  you  waiting?" 
Bunch  grinned. 

"Seven  orphan  skates!"  I  groaned 
in  bitterness. 

"They  were  bred  in  old  Ken 
tucky  ! ' '  Bunch  carolled  gayly . 

"My  father's  brother,  Owen!"  I 
gasped. 

"Seven  come  eleven!"  whispered 
Bunch. 

"Uncle  Owen  is  dead,"  I  mur 
mured,  "and  I  never  knew  he  was 
alive!" 

' '  Mostly  two-year-olds ! ' '  said  Bunch 
in  a  stage  whisper. 

"All  of  them  promising  young 
sters,"  I  muttered. 

"But  you  promised  the  little 
woman  at  home  never  no  more  to ' ' 


26  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

"Oh!  shut  up!"  I  snapped,  "and 
tell  me  what  am  I  to  do?" 

"Do!"  echoed  Bunch.  "Do  noth 
ing.  Pass  it  up,  unless  you  want  to 
start  a  stable  and  go  broke! " 

"Wait!"  I  yelled;  "see  here — he 
arrives  June  2Qth — that's  to-day — 
now! — where's  my  hat?" 

"And  what  then?"  asked  Bunch. 

"  Me  for  the  ferry !"  I  said,  hoarsely. 


CHAPTER  II. 

JOHN     HENRY     GETS     SOME     HORSES. 

I  FOUND  Murf. 
Over  in  the  yards  of  the  Pennsy, 
I  found  him  and  his  select  assort 
ment  of  equine  roustabouts. 

Murf  was  all  to  the  good.  He  had 
a  Kentucky  dialect  that  sounded  like 
a  pink  tea  on  a  moonshiner's  lawn, 
and  he  was  made  up  to  look  like  some 
thing  that  could  be  but  didn't  seem 
possible. 

Murf  was  glad  to  see  me.  "  Yo'  all 
cern'ly  do  favah  yo'  Uncle  Owen,  suh: 
Mighty  sudden  taking  off,  but  a 
ge'man,  suh,  right  up  to  the  finish  of 
the  funeral  sa'monies — yes,  suh!  Prov 
idence  had  saw  fit  to  drag  yo'  Uncle 


28  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

away  from  the  pleasures  of  the  thirst, 
but  like  a  brave  Kaintucky  ge'man 
he  furnished  drinkables  for  all  them 
that  saw  him  planted — thoughtful 
ge'man,  yo'  Uncle  Owen,  suh!  In  all 
the  history  of  our  country,  suh,  they 
wa'nt  nevah  a  funeral  wh'a  B'u'bon 
was  so  free  and  tasted  so  good.  Know 
much  about  hosses,  suh? " 

Then  and  there  I  tried  to  confess  to 
Murf  that  I  didn't  know  the  difference 
between  a  fetlock  and  a  quart  of  oats. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  why  my 
late  lamented  Uncle  Owen  should 
have  turned  this  foundling  asylum 
of  fillies  over  to  me,  Murf.  I  never 
did  Unc  any  harm  in  life  and  I  don't 
see  why  he  should  come  back  after  the 
croak  and  haunt  me  in  the  form  of 
seven  spinled-legged  sand -pounders!" 

"Family  pride,  suh!"  Murf  an 
swered,  incisively.  "Yo'  late  Uncle 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  29 

Owen  done  much  for  the  spo't  of  Kings, 
suh!  He  spent  his  money  freely,  suh, 
for  the  glory  of  the  steeplechase  and 
the  one  mile  dash  ovah  the  old  co'se, 
suh!" 

"Generous  Unc,"  I  answered,  some 
what  bitterly. 

"And  when  yo'  uncle  was  entered, 
suh,  in  his  last  race  with  the  pale  hoss 
whose  rider  is  Death,  suh,  he  called 
me  ovah  and  says,  'Murf,  yo'  all  take 
three  of  them  thu'breds  for  yo'self 
and  them  othah  seven  goes  to  my 
brother's  boy  in  New  Yo'k  according 
to  my  last  will  and  testament — bettah 
pull  open  a  fresh  bottle  of  that  B'u'- 
bon,  Murf!' he  said,  suh,  just  afo'  he 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall." 

Murf  paused  while  memory  stepped 
up  to  the  bar  and  refreshed  itself. 

"What  made  Uncle  Owen  think 
that  I  would  shriek  with  joy  over  the 


30  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

arrival  of  seven  sunburned  colts  into 
the  bosom  of  my  family?"  I  finally 
asked  in  despair. 

"Just  a  few  weeks  previous  to  yo' 
uncle's  demise,  suh,  a  Kaintucky 
hossman  came  home  from  the  East, 
suh,  and  info'med  yo'  uncle  that  yo' 
all  was  big  Casino  on  the  Eastern 
tracks,  suh!" 

"A  Kentucky  horseman  told  Uncle 
Owen  that?"  I  repeated.  "Naughty 
horseman.  What's  his  name?" 

"Hank  Peters,  suh,  from  ovah 
Bowling  Green  way.  Him  and  Kee 
Barclay,  the  old  colt  tamer  from 
Princeton,  Kaintucky,  spent  sev'al 
weeks  in  the  East  this  spring.  Hank 
told  yo'  Uncle  Owen,  suh,  that  he 
chummed  up  with  yo'  all  at  Graves- 
end." 

"Hank  chummed  up  with  me  at 
Gravesend!"  I  echoed,  vainly  trying 


"  Yo'  ail  was  Big  Casino  on  tf 
Eastern  Tracks." — Page  30. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  31 

to  get  wise.  "I  wonder  if  that  was 
the  day  I  fell  off  the  water  wagon!" 

"Hank  was  all  swelled  up  ovah 
meeting  yo',  suh.  Yo'  all  told  Hank 
that  when  it  came  to  knowing  the  race 
track  game  yo'  had  Pittsburg  Phil  put 
to  bed  without  saying  his  prayers!" 

"'I  told  Hank  that,  did  I?" 

"  Yo'  all  did,  suh;  and  yo'  told  him 
that  when  it  came  to  a  show  down  on 
hoss  knowledge  yo'  had  William  C. 
Whitney  up  in  a  sycamo'  tree  a'holler- 
in*  for  help,  suh!" 

I  could  feel  my  ears  getting  red. 

"That  was  the  day  yo'  all  won 
$42,000  on  the  fo'th  race,  suh!" 

"The  day  I  won  $42,000 — who 
dared  to  wake  me?" 

"Hank  says  yo'  all  told  him  that  it 
was  the  smallest  win  you  had  made 
at  the  meet,  suh!" 

"There's  no  doubt  about  it,  Murf," 


32  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

I  said,  thoughtfully.  "That  ivas  the 
day  I  fell  off  the  water  wagon,  and  I 
must  have  landed  on  Hank  good  and 
hard.  I  remember  the  afternoon,  but 
I  can't  place  Hank.  I  wonder  what 
round  of  drinks  he  blew  in  with! 
That  was  the  evening  I  win  $8  and 
the  shock  drove  me  up  against  the 
bar.  It  was  my  first  take-down 
in  six  weeks  and  it  made  me  so  ner 
vous  I  was  afraid  to  keep  the  cash. 
Before  dark  I  had  traded  my  roll  for 
a  bun,  and  then  I  began  to  talk  pipe- 
talk,  and  dream  out  loud.  You 
know,  Murf,  whenever  I  hit  the  hose 
the  first  thing  I  do  is  to  turn  on  the 
electric  fan  and  get  the  hot  air  busy. 
Your  friend,  Hank,  probably  got 
caught  in  the  wind  storm." 

Murf  listened  in  silence  till  I  had 
finished;  then  he  said,  slowly: 

"Yo'  Uncle  Owen  left  this  world, 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  33 

suh,  believing  yo'  to  be  a  fuss  class 
hossman.  It's  up  to  yo'  all  not  to 
make  yo'  Uncle  Owen  out  no  liah, 
suh ! ' ' 

Murf  the  implacable ;  Murf  the  un 
believer;  Murf  with  a  power  of  attor 
ney  from  Fate.  What  would  Clara 
J.  say  when  she  discovered  that  I  had 
jumped  into  the  stormy  sea  of  horse 
speculation  and  was  far  from  the  life- 
raft?  Visions  of  a  happy  home  rent 
asunder  tortured  my  sight  and  I  could 
hear  busy  old  Uncle  Peter  driving  me 
forth  with  wild  anathemas. 

Presently  Murf  broke  in  upon  my 
meditations:  "  Hadn't  yo'  all  bettah 
look  the  hosses  ovah,  suh?  " 

I  took  a  peep  at  the  ponies,  and  see 
ing  but  seven  of  'em  I  asked  Murf 
where  his  three  were. 

"  It  became  necessa'y  for  me  to  part 
with  my  three,  suh,  in  order  to  ca'y 


34  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

out  yo'  Uncle  Owen's  request  and  de 
liver  the  goods  to  yo'  all,"  he  an 
swered,  quietly. 

"Murf,"  I  said,  with  a  bit  of  a  lump 
in  my  throat,  "you're  aces  up  with 
me  from  this  moment.  This  cloud 
burst  of  horses  came  on  so  suddenly 
that  I  forgot  my  manners — shake!" 

We  shook  hands  and  I  asked: 
"Didn't  Uncle  Owen  leave  any  money 
when  he  took  the  long  canter?" 

"After  the  estate  was  settled  up, 
suh,  they  wa'nt  nothing  left  but  them 
thar  hosses  and  yo'  Uncle  Owen's  last 
will  and  testament,"  Murf  replied. 
"I  was  yo'  Uncle  Owen's  trainer  for 
eighteen  years,  suh,  and  when  I  heard 
the  facts  in  the  case  I  says,  'Murf, 
yo'  all  are  going  East  to  train  them 
thar  colts  for  yo'  friend  Owen's 
nephew  seeing  as  how  Hank  Peters 
says  the  young  man  is  big  Casino  on 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  35 

the  Eastern  tracks.'  I  had  to  sell  my 
colts  to  do  it,  but  I  got  here  and  I 
wait  yo'  orders,  suh!" 

I  couldn't  possibly  do  a  soft  shell 
solo  and  leave  that  kind  of  a  man  flat 
without  the  price  of  a  dish  of  beans  in 
his  rowdy  do  ws,  so  I  quickly  made  up 
my  mind  to  see  Murf  through  if  I  had 
to  put  him  and  the  ponies  in  the 
spare  room  at  Ruraldene. 

"Yo'  Uncle  Owen  had  a  pow'ful 
sum  of  money  once  but  he  was  enticed 
into  speculating  in  Wall  Street  and 
lose,"  Murf  continued;  "it  is  one  of 
my  pa'ticular  desiahs  to  meet  one  of 
them  brokers  and  communicate  my 
best  respects,  suh!"  he  added,  bit 
terly. 

I  sized  up  the  wiry  frame  of  Murf 
and  shuddered  as  I  thought  of  the  re 
sult  it  would  have  on  that  human  air 


36  ©UT    FOR    THE    COIN 

cushion  known  as  Uncle  Peter,  but  I 
said  nothing. 

Finally  I  came  to  an  amicable  un 
derstanding  with  Murf  Higginbottom, 
my  friend  from  Kentucky,  and  we 
decided  to  send  the  colts  to  a  train 
ing  farm  not  far  from  Ruraldene. 

I  figured  it  out  that  by  getting  rid 
of  my  D.  Q.  &  N.  stock  at  the  present 
price  I'd  be  about  $8,000  to  the  good, 
and  with  this  amount  I  saw  my  way 
clear  to  making  a  shine  start  with  my 
Santa  Claus  stable. 

"If  yo'  all  don't  happen  to  be  big 
Casino  on  the  Eastern  tracks,  suh,  I 
would  advise  you  not  to  mention  noth 
ing  about  it,  because  I  don't  care  to 
have  yo'  Uncle  Owen's  opinions  dis 
turbed,  suh!"  Murf  quietly  admon 
ished  as  we  parted. 

Plainly  I  was  being  whipsawed  by 
circumstances,  but  I  hugged  the  con- 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  37 

soling  thought  that  some  day  one  of 
those  Kentucky  rabbits  might  get 
scared  and  cut  around  the  track  in  a 
manner  calculated  to  give  the  odds- 
layers  a  nervous  chill. 

I  didn't  want  to  keep  Clara  J.  wait 
ing  up  town,  so  I  hustled  over  the 
Cortlandt  Street  ferry  to  keep  our 
dinner  engagement. 

The  first  foot  I  stepped  on  in  the 
Elevated  belonged  to  Bunch  Jefferson. 

"You're  a  lucky  McManus,  all 
right!"  he  informed  me  as  I  shared 
his  strap. 

"You  haven't  seen  Murf  and  the 
seven  goats,"  I  answered,  sadly. 

"  No,  but  I  saw  my  prophecy  pulled 
off,"  he  answered.  "Mean  to  tell  me 
you  have'nt  heard  about  the  slippery- 
day  stairs  in  the  Street?" 

My  heart  began  to  beat  its  way  out 
and  I  could  feel  the  cold  chills  moving 


38  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

into  furnished  rooms  up  and  down 
my  spine. 

"I've  been  too  busy  to  buy  a  paper; 
anything  happen?"  I  gasped. 

"The  bottom  dropped  out  of  the 
market  ten  minutes  after  you  left. 
D.  Q.  &  N.  fell  in  the  well  and  closed 
at  93.  You  certainly  were  a  wise 
William  to  roll  off  the  toboggan,"  he 
said,  calmly. 

I  tried  to  bite  the  strap,  but  the 
guard  had  his  eye  on  me,  so  I  com 
promised  by  emitting  a  short,  sharp 
groan. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Bunch  in 
quired. 

"Nothing"  I  answered  feebly;  "I 
was  thinking  about  my  orphan  skates 
far  from  their  old  Kentucky  home." 


CHAPTER  III. 

JOHN    HENRY   AND   THE    SOUSE    THING. 

I  BROUGHT  Tacks  with  me  be 
cause  I  had  to  do  some  shop 
ping,  and  he's  so  much  com 
pany,"  Clara  J.  explained,  when  I 
joined  them  at  the  restaurant. 

"Tacks  is  always  pleasant  com 
pany,"  I  said,  politely,  but  I  deter 
mined  to  keep  a  watchful  eye  on  my 
youthful  brother-in-law,  nevertheless. 

That  kid  was  born  with  an  abnor 
mal  bump  of  mischief  and  by  pains 
taking  endeavor  he  has  won  the 
world's  championship  as  an  organ 
izer  of  impromptu  riots. 

"Oh,  John!"  said  Clara  J.  when  I 
began  to  make  faces  at  the  menu 


4O  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

card,  "  I  didn't  notice  until  now  how 
pale  you  look.  Have  you  had  a  busy 
day?" 

"Busy!"  I  repeated;  "well,  rather. 
I've  been  giving  imitations  of  a  bull 
fight.  Everybody  I  met  was  the  bull 
and  I  was  the  fight.  Nominate  your 
eats!  What '11  it  be,  Tacks?" 

"Sponge  cake,"  said  Tacks, 
promptly. 

"What  else?"  asked  Clara  J. 

"More  sponge  cake,"  the  youth  re 
plied,  and  just  then  the  smiling  and 
sympathetic  waiter  stooped  down  to 
pick  up  a  fork  Tack  had  dropped. 

In  his  anxiety  not  to  miss  any 
thing,  Tacks  rubbered  acrobatically 
with  the  result  that  he  upset  a  glass 
of  ice  water  down  the  waiter's  neck, 
and  three  seconds  later  the  tray- 
trotter  had  issued  an  Extra  and  was 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  41 

saying  things  in  French  that  would 
sound  scandalous  if  translated. 

It  cost  me  a  dollar  to  bring  the  dish- 
dragger  back  to  earth,  and  Tacks  said 
I  could  break  his  bank  open  when  we 
got  home  and  take  all  the  money  if  I'd 
let  him  do  it  again. 

"Uncle  Peter  is  delighted  beyond 
measure  with  your  business  ability," 
Clara  J.  informed  me  after  the  treaty 
of  peace  had  been  signed  with  the 
waiter. 

"  He  has  a  right  to  be ! "  I  muttered, 
painfully,  as  I  thought  of  my  swift 
ride  down  the  mountain  side  on  D.  Q. 
&  N. 

' '  He  says  that  by  following  his  di 
rections  carefully  you  are  seven 
thousand  richer  to-day.  Are  you, 
John?" 

"Sure,  Peaches!"  I  answered, 
truthfully,  "I'm  seven  to  the  good." 


42  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

I  neglected  to  add  the  word  skates, 
but,  then,  what's  a  little  thing  like 
that  amount  to  among  friends? 

"Seven  in  one  day,"  she  said,  en 
thusiastically. 

"Seven  in  one  day — one  of  them 
with  four  white  feet,"  I  said,  like  a 
man  in  a  dream. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Clara  J. 
asked;  "is  that  a  Wall  Street  ex 
pression?" 

"No,"  I  answered  hastily;  "I  was 
only  talking  to  myself  and  I  held  the 
'phone  too  close  to  my  mouth.  Let's 
start  this  banquet  with  a  hot  wave — 
waiter,  clam  cocktails  for  three!" 

"Uncle  Peter,  Aunt  Martha  and  I 
had  a  long  talk  to-day  about  your 
prospects  in  Wall  Street,"  Clara  J. 
rattled  on.  "Oh,  John,  you  don't 
know  how  happy  it  makes  me  feel  to 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN  43 

think  that  you'll  never,  never  go  near 
those  awful  race  tracks  again." 

My  thoughts  took  the  ferry  for  Jer 
sey  City,  and  I  could  hear  Murf  Hig- 
ginbottom  saying,  "Yo'  Uncle  Owen 
considered  yo'  all  as  big  Casino  on  the 
Eastern  tracks,  suh!' 

"You'll  make  a  lot  of  money  with 
the  seven  you  got  to-day,  won't  you, 
dear?"  Peaches  asked,  encourag 
ingly. 

"Possibly,"  I  replied,  nervously; 
"still,  you  never  can  tell.  They  may 
get  into  the  habit  of  running  back 
wards — er,  I  mean,  the  market  is  very 
uncertain! — Tacks,  take  your  thumb 
out  of  that  butter!" 

"I  was  so  sorry  I  couldn't  get  you 
on  the  'phone  early  this  afternoon," 
Clara  J.  informed  me.  "I  called  up 
your  broker's  office  down  town,  but 
they  couldn't  find  you." 


44  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

"Sorry  I  had  to  give  you  the  busy 
ear,  Peaches,  but  the  fact  is  I  paddled 
away  to  the  office  of  Higginbottom  & 
Co.,  who  wanted  to  put  me  wise  to 
some,  er — that  is,  some  new  stock!" 

"Railroad  stock?"  she  inquired. 

"Well,  not  exactly  Twentieth  Cen 
tury  Limiteds  or  Royal  Blue  Flyers," 
I  answered,  "but  I  think  some  of  it 
could  win  from  a  slow  freight  if  prop 
erly  coaxed." 

"Watered  stock,  I  suppose!" 
laughed  Clara  J. 

"Yes,  it  was  watered  all  right,  but 
not  fed,"  I  replied.  "There  wasn't 
much  doing  in  oats  until  I  led  the  way 
to  the  barn." 

I  had  Peaches  in  the  air  by  this  time, 
but  she  thought  I  was  talking  the 
broker  dialect,  so  she  stayed  on  the 
roof  and  watched  the  scenery  go  by. 

Just  then  I  got  a  flash  of  Dike  Law- 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  45 

rence  bearing  down  in  our  direction 
under  a  full  head  of  gasolene. 

Dike  was  leading  a  three-days'  jag 
by  the  hand  and  talking  to  it  like  a 
child. 

A  good  old  fellow,  Dike,  but  for 
years  he  permitted  a  distillery  to  use 
his  thirst  as  a  testing  station  and  it 
had  put  the  dear  boy  away  to  the 
conviv. 

Dike  was  a  good  lawyer  when  he 
worked  at  it,  rich,  unmarried,  and  the 
busiest  booze  buyer  in  the  Borough. 

"H'ar'ye,  Mrs.  John?  Howdy, 
John?  How  do  do,  little  man! 
Scuze  me  for  int'rupting  a  family 
party,  but  I  demand  'pology!"  he 
spluttered. 

"What's  wrong,  Dike?"  I  inquired. 

' '  Demand  'pology, ' '  Dike  continued. 
"Old  friend  life  time  threw  me  down 
— lesh  have  drink!  Your  little  son 


46  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

growing  shplendid  boy,  Mrs.  John!" 

"This  is  Tacks,  my  little  brother, 
not  my  son,  Mr.  Lawrence!"  Clara  J. 
explained;  "we  haven't  any  chil 
dren,"  she  added  nervously. 

"Haven't  got  a  baby — my  mis 
take!  Ought  to  have  one  by  this 
time — damshame,  John!  I  demand 
'pology!  Lesh  have  drink!" 

As  I  said  before,  Dike  is  the  cham 
pion  bun  builder  of  my  acquaintance, 
consequently  his  conversational  out 
bursts  are  never  considered  seriously. 

"Shorry  make  such  a  shene,  Mrs. 
John!"  old  Doctor  Benzine  rattled 
on,  "but.  musht  have  'pology  from 
life-long  friend.  Threw  me  down 
hard — waiter,  bring  bo'l  wine,  quart 
wine,  two  quarts  wine,  whole  dam- 
case  wine — beg  pardon,  Mrs.  John! 
shouldn't  shwear  presence  lady  and 
her  little  son — little  brother,  scuze 


OUT   FOR   THE    COIN  47 

me! — the  wish  is  father  to  the  son,  I 
mean  father  to  the  boy — don't  know 
what  fell  I  mean! — lesh  have  drink — 
musht  have  'pology!" 

"What's  gone  wrong,  Dike?  Who 
owes  you  an  apology?"  I  asked  in  an 
endeavor  to  calm  him. 

"You  do,"  he  answered,  trying  to 
look  me  in  the  eye;  "wait  till  I  get 
back  I'll  shplain  why  demand  'pol 
ogy,"  and  then  his  lamps  started  to 
follow  the  room  as  it  went  round  and 
round. 

Presently  his  gaze  rested  on  Clara 
J.,  and  he  continued,  "Mrs.  John, 
your  husband's  gay  Lothario — bet 
two  dollars  thash  lasht  time  to-day 
I'll  be  able  to  shay  that  word.  Never 
could  shay  word  like  that  after  sheven 
o'clock.  Mrs.  John,  you  mush  join 
me  demand  'pology  from  thish  man. 
Time's  come  when  friendship  sheashes 


48  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

and  we  musht  shtand  togezzer,  sho'ler 
to  sho'ler,  Mrs.  John,  and  so  mush 
your  little  son — I  mean  little  brother 
— for  love  of  Heaven  please  have  little 
son  with  you  next  time  so  I  can  shay 
what  I  want  to!  Lesh  have  drink!" 

"What  did  my  husband  do  to 
offend  you,  Mr.  Lawrence!"  Clara  J. 
asked,  encouragingly. 

"Threw  me  down — hard,  cold,  flat! 
Life-long  friend  threw  me  down.  I 
shink  I'll  bust  out  crying!"  Dike  an 
swered,  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"Where  did  I  throw  you  down, 
Dike?"  I  asked,  smilingly. 

"Jershee  Shizzy!"  he  answered, 
painfully. 

"Where  did  you  say?"  I  snapped, 
perceiving  quickly  that  Dike  and  his 
souse  promised  to  lead  me  into  the  ice 
house  with  Clara  J. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  49 

"Jershee  Shizzy!"  Dike  repeated, 
doggedly. 

"Does  your  friend  mean  Jersey 
City?"  Clara  J.  asked,  throwing  out  a 
chill  that  cooled  the  room. 

"Jershee  Shizzy,  ash  what  I  shed," 
Dike  put  in.  "  If  I  don't  get  'pology 
I'll  bust  out  crying!" 

"When  did  you  see  me  in  Jersey 
City?  How  dare  you  make  such  an 
accusation  against  me?"  I  demanded. 

"John,"  said  Dike,  trying  earnestly 
to  look  at  me  gravely,  "I  shaw  you 
in  Jershee  Shizzy  zish  aft'noon.  Pen- 
shionvania  station,  zish  aft'noon. 
Spoke  to  you  politely — you  threw  me 
down.  Followed  you  to  demand  'pol 
ogy — you  gave  me  shake.  "  Saying 
this  he  grabbed  a  wine  glass  from  the 
table  and  held  it  close  to  his  heart  in 
order  to  illustrate  the  intensity  of  his 
feeling. 


50  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

The  next  instant  a  thick,  reddish 
liquid  began  to  flow  sluggishly  over 
the  bosom  of  his  immaculate  white 
shirt  and  was  lost  in  the  region  of  his 
equator,  seeing  which  Dike  gave  vent 
to  a  yell  that  brought  the  waiters  on 
the  hot  foot. 

"I'm  stabbed!  stabbed!"  groaned 
the  startled  jag-carpenter,  clutching 
wildly  at  his  shirt  front. 

"It's  my  clam  cocktail,"  whispered 
Tacks  to  me ;  "I  poured  it  in  his  wine 
glass  'cause  they  was  too  much  to- 
bascum  sauce  in  it  for  me!" 

' '  B rave  boy ! "  I  answered.  "It  was 
a  kindly  deed.  Come  on,  Clara  J., 
the  woods  for  ours!" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

JOHN    HENRY    AND   THE    TWO 
DIPPY    BOYS. 

TACKS  laughed  half  the  way 
home,  but  Clara  J.  kept  hand 
ing  me  the  verbal  ice  pitcher. 

"What's  the  matter,  Peaches? 
surely  you're  not  angry  because  the 
old  original  jag  builder  butted  in! 
Dike  doesn't  mean  any  harm,  believe 
me;  and,  besides,  I  couldn't  help  it — 
I  didn't  see  him  first,"  I  explained. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Lawrence  didn't  worry 
me,"  she  answered;  "I  felt  sorry  for 
him,  that's  all." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  haul  in  the 
cold  wave  flag?  "  I  insisted. 

"What  did  he  mean  about  Jersey 
City?"  she  queried. 


52  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

"Peaches,  I'm  astonished!"  I  an 
swered.  "Don't  you  know  that  Dike 
has  been  carrying  that  lightship 
around  with  him  all  day?  Don't  you 
know  that  a  man  hasn't  time  to  think 
straight  when  he  is  trying  to  pilot  a 
bun  like  that  through  the  city's 
streets?  Don't  pay  any  attention  to 
Dike;  every  time  he  gets  good  and 
kippered  with  the  souse  thing  he  al 
ways  goes  around  among  his  friends 
hoping  somebody  will  apologize  to 
him  for  something  so  that  he'll  have 
another  excuse  to  buy  a  tub  of  suds." 

"  Yes,  but  you  went  to  Jersey  City 
alone,  and  I've  been  begging  you  for 
six  months  to  go  over  there  with  me 
and  call  on  Aunt  Debbie  Williams," 
Clara  J.  complained. 

"Is  that  all  that's  worrying  you?" 
I  answered.  "You  see,  I  had  to  go 
over  there  on  business — stock  busi- 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  53 

ness — and  that's  no  idle  dream!  The 
first  time  I  get  hold  of  an  evening  that 
I  really  hate  I'll  take  it  over  to  Aunt 
Deb's  and  kill  it.  We'll  do  a  society 
call  that  will  make  her  and  the  parrot 
sit  up  and  notice  us.  Come  on,  now, 
Peaches,  let's  tear  up  the  divorce 
papers  and  be  good  friends  again!" 

Clara  J.  smiled  and  then  I  knew 
the  storm  was  over. 

Bright  and  early  next  morning 
Uncle  Peter  was  down  on  our  porch 
throwing  the  hooks  into  me  about  my 
Wall  Street  deal. 

"How much  are  you  ahead,  John ? " 
he  asked,  delightedly. 

Of  course  I  couldn't  afford  to  let 
him  know  that  I  had  sawdust  in  the 
coco  so  I  yawned  and  said,  "Oh! 
about  $8,000 ! "  in  a  bored  sort  of  way. 

"Fine,"  chuckled  the  old  gentle 
man;  "now  you  take  my  advice  and 


54  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

stay  out  of  the  market  for  a  week  or 
two." 

"Sure  as  you  live,"  I  answered, 
earnestly.  "Make  it  three  weeks — 
I'll  give  the  Street  a  chance  to  re 
cover  from  the  jolt  I  gave  it.  It 
doesn't  seem  right  to  go  down  and 
yank  the  yellowbacks  away  from 
those  busy  boys  in  the  Bond  district, 
so  I'll  let  up  on  them  for  a  while,  eh, 
Uncle  Peter?" 

The  old  man  took  my  josh  as  a  bit 
of  on-the-level  reading  matter  and 
said,  "Leave  it  to  me.  I'll  tell  you 
when  to  get  in  again  and  when  to 
get  out.  After  that  stormy  drop  in 
Westerns  yesterday  the  market  is 
bound  to  be  unsteady.  Walk  slow, 
John  and  watch  me." 

I  promised  to  be  very  careful  and 
went  in  the  house  to  figure  out  just 
how  I  stood  in  the  matter  of  ready 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  55 

cash.  After  a  hard  dig  I  found  that 
over  and  above  home  comforts  I  could 
roll  up  just  eleven  hundred  dollars, 
enough  to  keep  Murf  and  the  seven 
orphan  skates  out  of  the  poorhouse 
for  a  few  days,  at  any  rate. 

After  breakfast  I  sat  down  in  my 
dope  den  to  map  out  a  plan  of  cam 
paign  and  presently  Clara  J.  came  in 
and  said,  "John,  how  much  more 
money  will  you  have  to  make  in  Wall 
Street  before  you  can  buy  that  auto 
mobile  you  promised  me  ? ' ' 

' '  Did  I  threaten  to  get  one  of  those 
kerosene  carts  for  you?"  I  answered. 
"I'm  getting  so  absent  minded.  Well, 
just  as  soon  as  the  new  styles  are 
ready  I'll  get  a  devil  wagon  for  you, 
Peaches,  that  will  burn  up  the  barn 
every  time  it  goes  out." 

"When  do  you  think  the  new  styles 
will  be  ready?"  she  asked. 


56  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

"In  about  a  year,"  I  guessed.  "You 
see  Tom  Edison  is  working  on  a  new 
thingamajig  that  won't  buckle  the 
eccentric.  Oh!  it'll  be  a  great  day 
for  automobiles  when  that  new  thing 
amajig  is  invented.  I  promised  Tom 
faithfully  I  wouldn't  buy  a  benzine 
buggy  until  he  invents  the  dingus — 
that's  the  name  of  it!  The  dingus. 
You  see,  Peaches,  a  dingus  is  some 
thing  like  a  bifftoid,  only  its  deeper 
and  more  parallel  near  the  circum 
ference.  You  wouldn't  care  to  have 
an  auto  without  a.  dingus,  now  would 
you?  Especially  when  I've  promised 
Tom  to  wait  till  he  invents  one  ? ' ' 

Clara  J.  didn't  know  exactly  wheth 
er  I  was  kidding  her  or  not,  so  she 
laughed  and  dipped  her  oars. 

An  hour  later  she  was  back  again 
just  when  I  had  my  pipe  burning  fine 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  57 

and  my  horses  had  won  me  $89,000. 
I  hated  to  wake  up. 

"John,"  she  said,  "I've  been  talk 
ing  for  some  little  time  with  a  peculiar- 
looking  stranger  who  came  to  see 
you." 

"Yes, "I said;  " what'stheanswer?" 

"From  what  he  says  I  am  led  to 
believe  that  you  are  deceiving  me," 
she  came  back  at  me,  coldly  and 
cuttingly. 

"Deceiving  you!"   I   repeated. 

"About  horse  racing,"  she  added, 
with  falling  barometer  and  increasing 
cloudiness,  winds  shifting  to  north 
east,  probably  snow. 

I  began  to  wonder  if  I  had  talked  in 
my  sleep.  If  so,  here  was  my  chance 
to  confess  all  and  do  the  retreat  from 
the  Moscow  act;  but  I  hadn't  the 
nerve,  and  quickly  the  golden  moment 
was  gone. 


58  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

"The  man's  name  is  Murf  Higgin- 
bottom!"  she  said,  quietly,  looking 
me  straight  in  the  eye. 

"Murf  Higginbottom ! "  I  echoed 
slowly,  while  I  got  a  good  grip  and 
pulled  myself  together. 

"Yes,  Murf  Higginbottom!"  she 
said,  questioningly. 

"Dear  old  Murf,"  I  murmured;  "so 
he  did  get  out  to  see  us  after  all.  Bless 
his  kind  heart,  how  does  he  look?" 

"I  presume  he  looks  as  he  usually 
does;  you  ought  to  know,"  she  an 
swered,  haughtily. 

"All  the  way  from  Kentucky  to  see 
me,"  I  went  on  as  though  thinking 
aloud.  "He  was  my  Uncle  Owen's 
best  friend — Uncle  Owen  Henry,  of 
Lexington,  Kentucky." 

Clara  J.  watched  me  narrowly. 

"Poor  Uncle  Owen  is  dead!"  I 
said,  with  a  sob. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  59 

"Uncle  Owen  is  dead!"  Clara  J. 
said  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  dear,  but  don't  cry;  I'll  bear 
the  blow  alone,"  I  cut  in. 

"I  had  no  thought  of  crying,  I 
assure  you,"  she  answered.  "Why, 
I  never  even  heard  of  this  Uncle  Owen 
before." 

"Neither  did  I! — that  is,  I  mean  I 
never  heard  of  him  dying  until  he  was 
dead! — a  very  sad  case.  The  news 
only  reached  me  yesterday,  but  I  kept 
it  from  you  and  I  bore  up  and  was 
cheerful  just  for  your  sake,  Peaches." 

She  didn't  know  just  how  to  size 
me  up. 

"And  now  Murf  is  here,"  I  started 
again.  "  Murf  was  my  Uncle  Owen's 
care  for  years.  I  wonder  if  Murf  is 
still  afflicted.  Did  Murf  say  that  he 
was  on  here  with  a  string  of  horses?" 

"He  did,"  she  said,  stonily. 


60  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

"  Poor  old  Murf !  A  string  of  seven 
horses  for  me?" 

"A  string  of  seven  horses  for  you, 
yes!" 

"Too  bad;  I  was  so  in  hopes  Murf 
was  better.  Did  he  say  that  Uncle 
Owen  considered  me  big  Casino  on  the 
Eastern  tracks?" 

"His  very  words,"  Clara  J.  said. 

"Isn't  it  pitiful  to  think  Murf  is  no 
better,"  I  went  on;  "but  he's  per 
fectly  harmless." 

"Harmless!"  she  repeated. 

"Perfectly  so,"  I  answered.  "  He's 
been  that  way  for  years.  When  quite 
a  young  man  a  thoroughbred  horse 
belonging  to  my  Uncle  Owen  kicked 
Murf  on  the  head  and  ever  since  that 
day  the  poor  fellow  is  always  arriving 
in  the  East  with  a  string  of  seven 
horses  for  the  big  Casino  on  the  East 
ern  tracks.  He's  what  we  call  '  colt- 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  6l 

crazy '  in  medical  circles.  As  soon  as 
I  meet  him  he'll  tell  me  the  horses  are 
well,  see  if  he  doesn't." 

The  only  thing  that  kept  me  from 
hating  myself  was  the  thought  that 
some  of  those  horses  might  win  me 
enough  to  keep  Clara  J.  in  luxury  all 
the  rest  of  her  life. 

"We  must  humor  him,  that's  all," 
I  continued;  "he  won't  stay  long — 
poor  old  Murf!" 

Clara  J.  began  to  walk  slowly  up 
to  the  straight  goods  counter  and  I 
felt  that  a  catastrophe  had  been 
averted. 

"Let's  go  and  see  Murf,"  I  sug 
gested,  "but  let  me  handle  him.  So 
long  as  I  don't  deny  what  he  says 
about  horses  you'll  find  him  the  quiet 
boy  with  the  gentle  gaze;  and  if  he 
does  insist  that  I'm  a  horse  owner,  give 
him  the  belief  smile  and  pass  it  up." 


62  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

On  the  veranda  Murf  and  Uncle 
Peter  were  conversing  earnestly,  but 
directly  we  appeared  Murf  arose  and 
said,  "Yo'  colts  are  doing  fuss  class, 
suh;  but  I  reckon  yo'  all  best  come 
down  and  look  them  ovah,  suh! 
We  are  qua'ted  only  about  three 
miles  away  from  here,  suh!" 

"Didn't  I  call  the  turn?"  I  whis 
pered  to  Clara  J.  "Put  Uncle  Peter 
wise  to  Murf's  condition  and  tell  him 
not  to  make  any  breaks." 

Uncle  Peter  scowled  fiercely  at  me 
and  joined  Clara  J.,  while  I  shook 
Murf's  hand  and  lied  how  glad  I  was 
to  see  him. 

"This  here  old  man  is  yo'  uncle, 
suh?"  Murf  inquired. 

"My  wife's  uncle,"  I  replied. 

"That's  some  bettah,  suh;  being 
no  blood  relation,  it  won't  hu't  yo' 
pride  so  much  when  I  tell  yo'  all  that 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  63 

he  has  lightning  bugs  in  his  hayloft," 
Murf  said,  earnestly. 

"What  has  the  old  gentleman  done 
to  you,  Murf?"  I  inquired. 

"Done,  suh!"  sniffed  Murf,  con 
temptuously;  "when  I  info 'med  him, 
suh,  that  I  had  brought  seven  hosses 
on  from  Kaintucky  for  yo'  all  he  be 
gan  to  froth  at  the  mouth,  suh!  And 
when  I  told  him  that  yo'  Uncle  Owen 
went  ovah  the  final  and  full  co'se  be 
lieving  that  yo'  all  was  big  Casino  on 
the  Eastern  tracks,  suh,  that  old 
truck  hoss  laughed  in  my  face,  suh. 
I  permit  some  few  people  to  use  their 
laugh  on  me,  pussonally,  but  I  allow 
no  one,  suh,  to  laugh  at  yo'  Uncle 
Owen's  beliefs,  now  that  it  is  too  ever 
lasting  late  to  change  them,  suh!" 

"Good  old  Mtirf,  you  mustn't  mind 
Uncle  Peter;  he's  sun-touched,"  I 


64  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

said,  tapping  my  forehead  signifi 
cantly. 

"Oh!"  said  Murf;  "locoed?" 

"Plum,  on  the  horse  question,"  I 
answered;  "but  otherwise  as  harm 
less  as  a  kitten.  He  was  kicked  on 
the  forehead  some  years  ago  by  a 
roadster,  and  now  even  the  mention 
of  a  horse  puts  him  up  in  the  air. 
Talk  automobiles  to  him,  Murf,  and 
be  on  the  safe  side." 

"I  reckon  yo'  all  best  excuse  me 
from  any  automobile  talk,"  said  Murf, 
earnestly.  "I  nevah  hope  to  see  the 
day,  suh,  when  one  of  them  foolish 
wagons  can  rise  high  enough  in  my 
esteem  to  be  talked  about.  I'm  a 
hossman,  and  from  Kaintucky,  suh!" 

At  that  moment,  Clara  J.,  Aunt 
Martha,  Uncle  Peter  and  Tacks  ap 
peared,  and  it  was  evident  from  their 
actions  that  a  family  council  with  re- 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  65 

gard  to  Murf 's  supposed  mental  con 
dition  had  just  adjourned  pending 
further  investigation. 

The  two  ladies  remained  at  a  safe 
distance  and  whispered  together  sym 
pathetically  from  time  to  time,  while 
Tacks  armed  himself  with  a  rock  and 
prepared  for  the  worst. 

But  the  hit  of  the  show  was  Uncle 
Peter.  He  danced  around  Murf  with 
a  broad  grin  on  his  face  and  bowed 
extravagantly. 

Murf  sidled  up  to  me.  "Did  yo' 
all  say  he's  harmless?"  he  whispered, 
hoarsely. 

"Perfectly  so!"  I  answered;  "hu 
mor  him,  though." 

Uncle  Peter  called  me  aside.  "Sure 
he's  harmless?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 
.    "Perfectly  so,"  I  told  him;  "but 
humor  him." 

The  two  eyed  each  other  and  began 


66  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

to  grin  foolishly.  It  was  my  cue  to 
crack  a  rib,  but  I  had  to  keep  a  straight 
face  or  lose  the  fight. 

Presently  Uncle  Peter  and  Murf 
were  strolling  around  the  lawn  to 
gether,  the  former  laying  himself  out 
trying  to  be  pleasant,  while  the  latter 
kept  watching  his  companion  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye. 

I  joined  Clara  J.  and  Aunt  Martha 
to  tell  them  that  the  visitor  was  as 
docile  as  a  pet  lamb,  when  suddenly 
an  awful  yell  caused  us  to  turn  quick 
ly,  and  we  beheld  Uncle  Peter  down 
on  the  lawn  kicking  furiously,  while 
Murf  sat  on  his  chest  and  swatted  him 
in  the  ribs. 

In  a  moment  I  had  pulled  them 
apart  and  Murf  exclaimed,  "When 
the  gentleman  info'med  me,  suh,  that 
he  used  to  be  a  brokah  in  Wall  Street, 
I  fo'got  for  the  moment  that  he  is  off 


Murf  sat  on  Uncle 
Peter's  Chest.— Page  66. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  67 

his  dip,  suh,  and  I  plugged  him  one 
for  yo'  Uncle  Owen's  sake,  suh,  ac 
cording  to  certain  promises  made  to 
myself,  suh!  I'll  be  glad  to  see  yo'  all 
at  ouah  training  quatahs  to-morrow, 
suh!"  and  with  this  Murf  politely 
doffed  his  hat  to  the  alarmed  ladies 
and  strode  off  majestically  down  the 
road. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Uncle  Peter,"  I 
said,  "but  on  the  level,  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  not  to  mention  Wall  Street  to 
poor  old  Murf." 

"Confound  you  and  poor  old 
Murf!"  spluttered  my  surprised  and 
bewildered  relative,  feeling  the  dis 
turbed  portions  of  his  anatomy  care 
fully  for  breakages.  "The  man  is  a 
lunatic.  Harmless,  indeed!  It's  my 
belief  he  ought  to  be  in  an  asylum. 
Oh!  my  chest!  my  chest!  I  believe 
it's  crushed  in!" 


68  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

Aunt  Martha,  in  tears,  ran  hither 
and  back  in  wild  alarm.  "Oh, 
Peter!"  she  cried;  "you  must  put  on 
a  mustard  plaster  at  once.  Tacks, 
dear,  run  and  get  the  mustard!  Come 
in  the  house,  Peter,  and  lie  down. 
Oh,  John,  don't  let  that  horrid  man 
come  here  again ! "  and  with  this  they 
all  rushed  in  to  spring  the  first  aid  to 
the  injured  gag  on  Uncle  Peter. 

I  knew  the  old  gentleman  was  more 
frightened  than  hurt,  so  I  sat  down  on 
the  wheelbarrow  and  treated  myself 
to  a  hearty  laugh. 

Presently  a  wild  war  whoop  issued 
from  the  interior  of  the  house  and 
Uncle  Peter  came  running  out,  claw 
ing  at  his  manly  bosom. 

' '  Take  it  off !  take  it  off ! "  he  yelled ; 
"it  isn't  mustard.  Mustard  only 
burns;  this  is  biting  clean  through  to 
my  backbone !  Take  it  off ! "  and  with 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN  69 

this  he  threw  the  offending  plaster 
out  on  the  lawn  and  rushed  off  up 
stairs  like  one  pursued  by  dogs. 

I  picked  up  the  cause  of  the  riot  and 
looked  it  over  just  as  Tacks  drew  nigh. 

"You  said  the  other  day  that  Uncle 
Peter  was  bughouse,  so  when  Aunt 
Martha  wanted  to  make  the  mustard 
plaster  I  gave  her  the  can  of  insect 
powder,"  he  said,  softly. 

Isn't  that  boy  the  limit? 


CHAPTER  V. 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  ORPHAN  SKATES. 

DURING  the  following  week  I 
spent  most  of  my  time  at  the 
training  quarters,  and  it  wasn't 
long  before  the  colts  would  nose 
around  my  pockets  for  the  lumps  of 
sugar  I  brought  them. 

The  ponies  soon  tumbled  to  the  fact 
that  I  was  their  meal  ticket. 

The  things  Murf  knew  about  horse 
flesh  were  scandalous.  He  had  the 
racing  business  tied  up  in  a  knot  in 
his  handkerchief.  Murf  was  one  of 
those  gamey  little  men  that  wouldn't 
take  a  dare  from  any  nag  that  ever 
chewed  a  halter. 

"That  there  little  light  bay  filly 


The  Ponies  soon  tumbled  that  I 
was  their  Meal  Ticket. — -Page  70. 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN  71 

with  the  fo'  white  feet  for  mine!"  he 
observed  sententiously,  after  the 
seven  had  been  tried  out  thoroughly. 

"Make  mine  the  same,  Murf,"  I 
answered;  "she's  all  the  goods,  for 
sure." 

"Whoa,  little  girl,  steady!  Yo' 
Uncle  Owen  would  delight  in  that  par 
cel  of  hossflesh,  suh;  have  yo'  all 
procu'd  a  name?"  he  asked. 

"Call  her  Peaches,"  I  answered 
quickly. 

"Peaches!"  Murf  repeated. 

"Sure  as  you  live,"  I  said;  "we'll 
name  her  for  the  best  girl  that  ever 
took  a  hurdle  like  me  for  a  husband. 
Here's  to  Peaches!  may  she  always 
have  a  place  at  the  table  when  For 
tune  passes  the  cream!" 

"I  drink  to  yo'  health,  suh,  and  to 
Peaches!"  Murf  said,  drawing  a  flask 
of  his  beloved  Bourbon  from  his  pock- 


72  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

et  and  tipping  it  slightly;  "this  here 
youngster  promises  well,  and  no  Kain- 
tucky  hoss  evah  yet  broke  a  promise 
to  me,  suh!" 

I  gave  all  the  money  I  possessed  to 
Murf  and  told  him  to  go  ahead  and 
see  the  thing  through  to  a  finish. 

"You  have  full  authority,  Murf," 
I  said,  "and  all  the  money  I  can  raise 
without  resorting  to  the  use  of  dizzy- 
drops.  If  you  win  out,  the  glory  will 
be  yours." 

"Yo'  Uncle  Owen  considered  yo' 
all  big  Casino  on  the  Eastern  tracks, 
suh;  it  is  my  duty  to  prove  it,  seeing 
that  it  ain't  possible  now  to  convince 
yo'  Uncle  Owen  othahwise,"  he  an 
swered,  slowly,  and  that  settled  it. 

"I've  been  watching  that  black  one 
yonder,  Murf!"  I  said,  pointing  to 
little  sad-eyes,  the  laziest  looking 
skate  in  the  string. 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN  73 

"Yes!"  Murf  answered,  question- 
ingly. 

"I  christen  that  one  Shoemaker," 
I  said. 

' '  Shoemaker ! ' '    Murf    echoed. 

"Shoemaker,"  I  continued,  "be 
cause  he'll  be  near  the  last  all  his 
life." 

I  didn't  get  a  smile  from  Murf,  so 
I  got  mad  and  went  home. 

The  next  morning  while  in  the  sit 
ting  room  reading  the  papers  I  heard 
an  argument  started  on  the  veranda, 
and  looking  out  I  beheld  a  weazened- 
face  kid,  not  much  larger  than  Tacks, 
holding  a  free-for-all  with  Uncle 
Peter. 

"Does  Mr.  John  Henry  live  here?" 
the  visitor  asked. 

"He  does,"  Uncle  Peter  replied, 
somewhat  shortly;  "what  do  you 
want  with  him?" 


74  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

"I  want  him  to  gi'me  de  gaze!" 
the  youth  answered. 

"To  give  you  what?"  Uncle  Peter 
asked. 

"De  look-over,  see!  I'm  for  him 
if  he  warms  to  me  on  the  peep!" 

Uncle  Peter  was  too  mystified  to 
speak. 

To  tell  the  honest,  I  was  a  bit  to  the 
daze  myself.  I'm  considered  a  fairly 
wise  guy  on  the  figure  of  speech  prop 
osition,  but  that  kid  had  me  whim 
pering. 

"Haven't  you  made  a  mistake  in 
the  house?"  the  old  gentleman  finally 
inquired. 

"Aw,  choke  up!  choke  up!"  the 
stranger  advised.  "What  do  you 
t'ink  I  am — a  wax  works?  My  nut 
ain't  no  empty  shell,  see!  I've  got  a 
bunch  of  machinery  behind  my  map 
for  to  steer  me  straight,  and  I  ain't 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  75 

making  no  bum  starts!  Put  me  wise 
to  de  real  Captain,  will'e?" 

"Have  you  something  to  sell?" 
Uncle  Peter  asked,  suddenly  struck 
with  the  idea  that  the  stranger  might 
be  a  peddler. 

"Aw,  say,  Foxy  Gran',  ring  de 
tinkler  on  yourself!"  he  answered, 
scornfully;  "I  ain't  out  doing  no 
lecture  for  a  living.  Me  t'roat  is  too 
busy  to  talk  to  you — pass  my  name 
up  to  de  Main  Squash,  wiU'e?" 

"What  is  your  name?"  Uncle  Peter 
inquired. 

"Spuds!"  came  the  answer. 

"  Bless  my  soul ! "  Uncle  Peter  cried, 
in  astonishment;  "what  a  remarka 
ble  name;  did  you  say  Spuds?" 

"I  said  Spuds,  didn't  I?"  was  the 
somewhat  sharp  rejoinder.  "What 
do  you  want  to  call  me,  Percival?" 

"I   don't  want  to   call  you  any- 


76  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

thing,  you  impertinent  young  rascal," 
Uncle  Peter  said,  hotly.  "I'll  call 
the  dog  presently." 

"Don't  you  call  no  bow-wow  on 
me  or  I'll  bite  him,"  the  irrepressible 
Spuds  retorted.  "Say!  what  is  dis> 
a  chin-chin  to  a  show  down?  Can't 
youse  bow  yourself  out  and  chase  de 
Boss  Carpenter  to  me?" 

Clara  J.,  attracted  by  the  loud 
tones,  strolled  over  from  the  garden 
to  see  what  was  doing,  and  as  for  me, 
I  was  enjoying  the  affair  too  much  to 
break  it  up  by  butting  in. 

"You  wish  to  see  somebody?" 
Clara  J.  asked,  sweetly. 

"Yes,  lady,"  the  youth  answered, 
dragging  a  reluctant  lid  from  his  top- 
piece  and  shuffling  nervously  from 
one  foot  to  another.  "I  was  trying 
to  cook  up  a  chance  to  hand  a  line  of 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  77 

talk  to  de  Main  Stake,  but  old  Santa 
Claus  gave  me  de  ice." 

Clara  J.  looked  at  Uncle  Peter  in 
astonishment,  and  he  scowled  silently 
at  the  intruder. 

"Come  now,  young  man,  state  your 
business,  or  be  off !"  the  old  gentleman 
commanded. 

"Aw,  get  used  to  yourself,"  the 
Spuds  lad  muttered.  "  I  don't  do  no 
sneak  till  I  pull  off  a  meeting  with  the 
High  Card,  and  dat  goes,  see!" 

"Don't  you  know  the  name  of  the 
party  you  wish  to  see?"  Clara  J.  in 
quired. 

"Sure  I  do,"  Spuds  responded; 
"it's  Mr.  John  Henry." 

"Oh!"  she  said;  "he'll  be  here 
presently,  I'm  sure.  Who  sent  you? " 

"Mr.  Murf,"  Spuds  answered, 
whereupon  I  jumped  quickly  to  my 


78  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

feet.  The  affair  had  assumed  a  se 
rious  turn. 

"Mr.  Murf,"  she  repeated,  just  as  I 
stepped  out. 

"That's  the  infernal  bandit  who 
was  here  the  other  day,"  thundered 
Uncle  Peter.  "I'm  black  and  blue 
all  over  from  thinking  about  him. 
Drive  this  person  off  the  premises; 
very  likely  he's  crazy,  too!" 

"Easy,"  I  whispered;  "this  is 
Murf's  valet,  no  doubt." 

"Valet!"  snorted  the  old  gentle 
man;  "keeper,  you  mean.  I  must 
say,  John,  that  I  don't  admire  your 
selection  of  friends;  when  they  aren't 
foolish,  they  are  idiotic!"  and  with 
this  he  flew  in  the  house. 

"  This  is  the  gentleman  you  wished 
to  see,"  I  heard  Clara  J.  saying  to  the 
caller  as  I  turned. 

"Mr.  Murf  sent  me  down  to  tell 


OUT   FOR   THE    COIN  79 

youse,  sir,  dat  de  little  goil  is  doin' 
fine!"  was  the  first  upper-cut  I  got 
from  Spuds. 

"Poor  Murf!"  I  said  to  Clara  J.; 
"isn't  it  wonderful  how  he  can  make 
people  believe  that  there  isn't  any 
furniture  broken  in  his  garret.  This 
young  man,  no  doubt,  is  under  the 
impression  that — " 

"Say!"  Spuds  broke  in,  "Mr.  Murf 
is  willing  to  let  me  wear  the  colors  if 
you'll  give  him  the  ticket  for  me  to 
ride,  see!" 

Then  like  a  flash  it  dawned  upon 
me.  Spuds — the  jockey!  Murf  had 
sent  him  up  to  me  for  a  final  look- 
over.  Clara  J.  must  not  be  permitted 
to  suspect — what  ho! 

"Go  back  to  Mr.  Murf,"  I  said, 
quickly  to  Spuds,  "and  tell  him  he's 
on!" 

Spuds  let  one  yell  out  of  him  and 


80  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

started  to  do  a  series  of  joyous  «art- 
wheels  all  over  the  lawn. 

"  What  in  the  world  does  it  all 
mean?"  Clara  J.  asked. 

"The  ticket,"  I  explained;  "didn't 
you  hear  him  say  ticket?  Poor  old 
Murf  is  tired  of  the  East  and  wants  to 
go  home.  For  dear  Uncle  Owen's 
sake  I  must  buy  Murf 's  railroad  ticket ; 
don't  you  think  so?" 

"Good,  generous  John!"  she  an 
swered,  kissing  me,  and  I  felt  as  manly 
as  a  chair  with  one  leg  off. 

"  Hasn't  that  annoying  person  gone 
yet?"  demanded  Uncle  Peter,  ap 
pearing  in  the  doorway  suddenly. 

"Aw,  choke  up!  choke  up,  Bill 
Bailey,  and  de  cosy  corner  for  yours!" 
the  young  scoundrel  got  back;  then 
to  me,  "Say,  you're  aces  wit'  me,  Mr. 
Henry,  and  I'll  grab  dat  wire  foist  if 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  8l 

ever  de  little  goil  goes  out,  or  spoil  me 
map,  see!" 

With  a  wild  yell  of  delight  Spuds 
danced  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
training  quarters,  and  just  then  Tacks 
rushed  breathlessly  around  the  corner. 

"See  that  kid,"  Tacks  gasped;  "I 
saw  him  yesterday  down  the  road 
about  two  miles  on  the  finest  little 
horse  you  ever  see,  and  the  crazy 
man  that  was  here  the  other  day  was 
with  him,  but  I  wasn't  frightened!" 

"Then  your  friend,  Murf,  really 
has  a  horse,"  Clara  J.  said,  slowly  and 
with  signs  of  a  gathering  storm. 

"He  has,"  I  answered;  "but  I  did 
it  for  old  time's  sake.  It  cost  me 
only  a  few  dollars  to  rent  the  horse 
from  a  livery  stable,  and  you  can't 
imagine  how  it  soothes  and  comforts 
poor  old  Murf!" 

"Forgive  me,  John!"  Clara  J.  said, 


82  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

almost  tearfully,  and  again  she  kissed 
me. 

I  felt  that  I  was  beginning  to  show 
the  first  faint  symptoms  of  being  a 
liar! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE   BIG    RACE. 

IN  ABOUT  fo'  weeks  this  here 
Peaches  filly  will  show  us  how 
a  Kaintucky  hoss  can  get  real 
busy,  suh!"  Murf  chuckled  one  morn 
ing  when  I  dropped  in  to  see  him. 

"  I  catch  your  words,  Murf,  but  the 
meaning  is  away  to  the  fritz,"  I  an 
swered;  "what's  doing?" 

"I  have  entered  this  here  Peaches 
filly  for  the  Culmination  Stakes,  to 
be  run  ovah  the  Futurity  co'se,  suh!" 
Murf  replied. 

"Are  you  handing  me  a  line  of 
bogus  conversation?"  I  asked  in  sur 
prise. 

"Yo'  all  left  these  here  matters  in 


84  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

my  hands,  suh!"  Murf  went  on. 
calmly,  "and  I  certainly  have  to 
prove  that  yo'  Uncle  Owen  knew 
something  about  hossflesh.  I  only 
ask  you,  suh,  to  stand  by  and  pre 
pare  to  see  the  dust  move — that's  all, 
suh!" 

"Count  me  in,  Murf;  I'll  follow  the 
band  wagon  till  the  bass  drum  springs 
a 'leak!"  I  chipped  in. 

"Only  two  of  these  have  worked 
out  to  my  liking,  suh,  and  I'm  for 
selling  the  othah  five,  if  it  suits  yo 
all." 

" Do  so,  Murf,"  I  said,  "and  use  the 
money  just  as  though  it  were  handed 
to  you  by  Uncle  Owen.  Which  colt 
shall  you  keep  besides  Peaches?" 

"The  one  yo'  all  fastened  to  that 
there  fool  name  Shoemaker,  suh," 
he  answered  so  earnestly  that  I 
laughed  for  ten  minutes. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  85 

The  days  rolling  by  found  me  con 
stantly  with  Murf  and  the  two  colts. 
Wall  Street  knew  me  no  more,  despite 
the  long  dissertations  I  was  handed 
daily  by  voluble  Uncle  Peter.  Every 
blessed  tip  he  had  given  me  on  the 
market  proved  to  be  the  real  goods, 
and  simply  by  following  his  schedule 
I  should  have  been  many  thousands 
to  the  good. 

Instead,  however,  I  was  down  to 
the  little  bundle  of  small  bills  other 
wise  known  as  my  income,  sufficient 
in  itself  to  keep  the  wolf  from  eating 
the  knob  off  the  door,  and  no  more. 

In  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which 
the  "Culmination"  was  to  be  run, 
Clara  J.  said,  "John,  Aunt  Martha 
and  I  are  going  to  town  to-day.  We're 
going  to  meet  Alice  Gray  and  some  of 
my  girl  friends  and  we'll  all  take 


86  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

luncheon  at  the  Waldorf.  Please,  do 
join  us  there,  won't  you?" 

"Impossible,  little  woman,"  I  said; 
"I  simply  must  attend  a  very  im 
portant  stockholders'  meeting — roll 
ing  stock,  you  know!" 

"I'm  beginning  to  hate  that  old 
Wall  Street,"  she  pouted;  "you've 
been  so  quiet  and  so  preoccupied  of 
late.  Really,  John,  you  should  take 
a  day  off!" 

"Soon,"  I  answered;  "but  not  too 
soon,"  and  we  parted  good  friends. 

At  the  track  I  found  Murf ,  anxious 
but  not  excited. 

"That  there  little  Peaches  filly  may 
give  some  of  these  Eastern  hoss 
ownahs  bad  dreams  to-night,  suh!" 
Murf  said  slowly,  as  he  went  back  to 
the  stables. 

I  couldn't  dig  up  nerve  enough  to 
dope  Peaches  to  win.  Even  if  she 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  87 

looked  an  oil-painted  cinch  I  wouldn't 
have  bet  a  dollar.  Clara  J.  had  my 
promise  not  to  spend  another  case- 
note  on  a  horse,  and  I  wouldn't  break 
my  promise  to  the  best  girl  of  all — 
no,  not  even  for  her  namesake. 

I  roamed  around  like  an  uneasy 
spirit.  Just  to  show  how  popular 
I  was  with  myself,  I  determined  not 
to  flash  my  presense  near  the  grand 
stand — the  far  field  for  mine. 

Just  before  the  great  event  I  edged 
up  close  to  the  fence,  with  every  nerve 
in  my  system  bobbing  around  and 
carrying  weight  for  age. 

In  the  person  of  the  rail-bird  next 
to  me  I  discovered  a  friend,  old  Uncle 
Harry  Carroll,  late  of  Carroll  County, 
Maryland;  highly  colored,  but  one  of 
the  best  cooks  that  ever  peeled  a  ter 
rapin. 

Old   Uncle   Carroll   worked   for  a 


88  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

neighbor  of  ours  near  Ruraldene,  and 
he  managed  to  get  down  to  our  train 
ing  quarters  often  enough  to  become 
interested  in  the  colts. 

"I  done  dreamed  dat  Whitefoot 
lady  cern'ly  gwine'r  get  busy  dishyer 
day!"  he  informed  me. 

"Oh!  you  mean  Peaches!"  I  an 
swered. 

"Yath,  dat  Whitefoot  lady,"  he 
went  on,  repulsing  the  suggestion  of 
a  more  formal  title.  "Cern'ly  do 
find  some  foolish  pussons  handlin' 
money  down  dishyer  way.  Dat 
Whitefoot  lady  gwiner  go  to  de  post 
at  100  to  i  to  win." 

"A  hundred  to  one  to  win!"  I 
gasped;  for,  to  be  frank,  I  didn't 
trust  myself  any  too  well  and  took 
no  chances  by  mixing  with  the  push 
in  the  betting  ring. 

"Yath,"  he  grinned,  "and  I  done 


Then  suddenly  the  shout, 
"  They're  off  !  "—Page  89. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  89 

bet  foah  bones  on  dat  Whitefoot  lady 
to  win — cern'ly  did.  If  mah  dream 
doan'  tu'n  out  to  be  a  liar  I  won't 
cook  no  mo'  fo'  a  year!" 

Peaches  a  rank  outsider — 100  to  i 
to  win — post  odds!  It  was  not  yet 
too  late — no;  get  thee  behind  me, 
Sate!  Not  a  dollar  up,  and  then  no 
matter  what  might  happen  I  could 
go  home  to  Clara  J.  with  a  more  or 
less  quiet  conscience. 

They  were  long  dropping  the  flag 
for  the  great  race,  and  I  began  to 
sprout  a  fine  crop  of  freckles  under 
that  broiling  sky. 

Then  suddenly  the  shout,  "They're 
off!" 

Out  of  the  chute  in  to  the  straight 
away  course  they  foamed,  that  heav 
ing,  seething  mass  of  horseflesh.  The 
sunlight  seemed  to  rush  after  them, 
eager  to  dance  on  their  glossy  backs, 


90  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

while  all  the  world  stood  still,  listen 
ing,  listening  to  the  musical  thunder 
of  the  hoofbeats. 

A  hundred  thousand  eyes  were 
fixed  intently  on  the  living  river  of 
racers — an  army  of  eyes  watching 
eagerly  for  the  horse  which  would 
first  give  token  that  it  was  being 
piloted  by  the  god  Success. 

But  where  was  Peaches!  There! 
there  in  the  centre  of  the  storm- 
tossed  mass,  her  pretty  head  straight 
out  toward  the  goal,  her  eyes  darting 
forth  the  fire  of  a  hundred  famous 
ancestors;  she  seemed  a  sea-bird  dip 
ping  to  the  wave  and  rising  all  foam- 
bedecked  to  meet  the  next. 

Leaning  far  over  her  arched  neck 
was  Spuds,  whispering  kindly  cheer 
into  ears  that  hearkened  well:  "Go 
on,  Peaches!  keep  to  de  hot-foot; 
youse  has  de  bunch  lookin'  like  dey's 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  91 

nailed  to  de  grass!  Go  on,  little  goil! 
Dey's  no  one  here  but  your  old  col 
lege  chum,  Spuds!  Steady,  Peaches! 
Save  your  pipes  for  de  wind  up! 
Easy,  good  Peaches!  They  ain't  a 
soul  watchin'  youse  except  everybody 
on  earth!  Steady,  Peaches!" 

On  they  flew,  while  now  from  fifty 
thousand  throats  hoarse  cries  of  en 
couragement  were  flung  upon  the 
winds  of  evening  to  be  carried  echoing 
away  on  the  clouds  of  dust"  which 
arose  lazily  from  the  track. 

By  my  side  old  Uncle  Carroll  rode 
an  imaginary  horse  with  all  the  vigor 
of  youth.  The  frenzy  of  the  moment 
was  in  his  blood,  and  his  age-dimmed 
eyes,  screwed  into  little  points  of 
sight,  followed  the  every  undulation 
of  his  choice! 

"Oh,  Lordy!  brung  dat  Whitefoot 
lady  home,  brung  her  home!  Oh, 


92  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

Lordy!  doan'  yo'  heerd  what  I  said, 
brush  her  on,  brush  her  on!  Yo' 
brack  devil  hoss,  keep  out'n  mah 
Whitefoot  lady's  way,  yo'  hyar  me! 
Go  on,  may  Whitefoot  chile,  go  on! 
I'se  tremblin'  fo'  yo'  all,  I'se  sho'ly 
tremblin'!  Oh,  good  Lordy!  make 
dat  jockey  h'ist  dat  cat'tails  "dess 
once — dess  tetch  her  one  teeney  tap 
on  de  ham  bone!  T'won't  hu't  yo', 
Whitefoot  chile;  no  indeedy;  on'y 
make  yo'  narvous !  Oh,  Lordy !  brung 
dat  frien'  o'  mine  out'n  dat  bunch  of 
wicked  hosses!  Brush  her  on,  Lordy, 
brush  her  on!  She's  goin'!  she's 
goin'!  an'  I'se  still  livin'  to  see  it — 
oh,  halleloo!  halleloo!" 

With  the  rush  of  an  angry  wind 
across  a  starless  night  the  horses 
roared  by  the  outposts  where  we 
stood,  and  through  the  clouds  of  dust 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  93 

I  could  see  the  jockeys  preparing 
swiftly  for  the  fury  of  the  finish. 

The  beautiful  black  horse  was  still 
in  the  lead,  but  there,  creeping  slowly 
up  on  him,  inch  by  inch,  was  another 
— no,  surely,  it  isn't — 

At  this  moment  the  fifty  thousand 
throats  united  to  shriek  the  name  of 
a  horse  that  sounded  like  "Peaches!', 
— but,  no,  it  couldn't  be  possible?  She 
hadn't  a  single  chance,  not  one  in  a 
— what!  is  that  "Peaches,"  there 
near  the  leader?  I  could  feel  the 
light  of  day  fading,  fading  away 
while  my  heart  seemed  to  stand  still. 

Poor  Uncle  Carroll,  his  dim  old  eyes 
strained  to  the  point  of  bursting  from 
their  sockets,  yet  seeing  only  vaguely 
a  confused  and  tossing  sea  of  thor 
oughbreds,  gave  free  rein  to  the  hope 
he  was  riding  to  win: — 

"Oh,  Lordy,  how  come  I  kaint  see 


94  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

my  Whitefoot  lady!  Get  out'n  de 
way  yo'  brack  devil  boss,  ain't  yo' 
got  no  manners !  Is  you  gettin'  home, 
honey?  Yes,  yo'  is!  yes,  yo'  is!  Go 
on,  Whitefoot  lady;  it  ain't  fur  now, 
an'  dey's  de  bestest  bucket  of  oats  yo' 
all  evah  tasted  waitin'  fo'  yo',  honey! 
Oh,  Lordy,  brush  her  on!  brush  her 
on!" 

"Peaches!  Peaches!"  how  I  yelled 
and  cheered  her.  Inch  by  inch  she 
crept  up  on  the  black.  Now  her  head 
is  at  his  flank;  at  the  girth — but  the 
wire  is  so  near,  so  very  near!  Go  on, 
good  Peaches!  Her  nose  is  at  his 
shoulder — can  she  fight  him  to  the 
finish!  Can  she — look!  look!  they 
are  neck  and  neck,  and  the  multitude 
is  mad  with  watching ! 

In  that  instant  Spuds  brought  the 
cruel  whip  down  wickedly,  and  stung 
with  the  surprise  and  shame  of  it, 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN  95 

Peaches  leaped  forward — yes,  God! 
she  wins! 

There  is  a  bedlam  of  huzzas  in  the 
stands,  and  when  the  sobbing  Spuds 
was  dragged  from  his  saddle  to  be 
seated  in  triumph  in  the  floral  horse 
shoe  a  shout  went  up  such  as  must 
have  startled  the  nervous  heavens. 

Peaches  won. 

I  crawled  away  into  a  corner,  weak 
from  the  excitement,  and  if  there 
were  tears  in  my  eyes  it's  nobody's 
damn  business. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  STRONG  FINISH. 

AFTER  the  big  race  was  run,  I 
got  up  and  ran  myself.  There 
was  something  in  the  air  that 
frightened  me,  so  I  climbed  a  car  and 
hiked  it  for  home! 

When  I  reached  Dove's  Nest  Villa 
I  found  Uncle  Peter  on  the  veranda, 
fanning  himself  and  telling  Mother 
Goose  rhymes  to  the  tame  mosquitoes. 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  matter, 
John?"  he  asked  in  alarm;  "you  look 
positively  ill;  go  in  and  pour  your 
self  out  a  glass  of  sherry." 

"Nix  on  the  pour,"  I  answered; 
"it's  nothing;  I've  been  pacemaker 
for  a  nightmare,  but  I'll  wake  up 
presently.  Where's  Clara  J.?" 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  97 

' '  She  and  your  Aunt  Martha  went 
to  town ;  I  suppose  they'll  be  out  on 
the  next  train.  Try  a  tumbler  of 
whiskey,  John;  there's  some  good 
Bourbon  in  the  sideboard,"  he  ad 
vised. 

"Not  me,"  I  answered;  "I've  had 
a  dose  of  Kentucky  spirits  this  after 
noon  that  will  last  me  a  lifetime," 
and  with  this  I  left  the  old  gentleman 
flat  and  struck  for  the  sofa  to  do  a 
lullaby. 

An  hour  or  so  later  I  awoke  from 
troubled  dreams  to  hear  voices  out 
side  the  window. 

' '  Why,  Clara  J. ,  what  on  earth  is  the 
matter?"  Uncle  Peter  was  saying; 
"you  look  paler  than  John  did  when 
he  came  home.  Are  you  ill  ?  What's 
the  matter,  Martha  ?  You  are  trem 
bling  all  over.  How  d'you  do,  Miss 
Gray!  Sit  down,  won't  you?" 


98  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

"Where  is  John?"  I  heard  Clara  J. 
ask  in  the  most  mournful  of  tones. 

Before  any  one  could  answer,  Alice 
Gray's  voice  floated  in,  "Oh,  I've 
been  telling  them  all  the  way  out  here 
that  there's  really  nothing  to  be  so 
dreadfully  worried  about.  Why,  I'm 
sure  Clara  J.  simply  couldn't  help  it 
when  she  saw — " 

"Hush!  please  do  hush,  Alice!" 
Clara  J.  broke  in,  and  I  began  to  won 
der  what  it  was  all  about. 

Clara  J.  couldn't  help  it  when  she 
saw — saw  what  ?  Weouw !  my  name 
must  have  crept  into  the  news 
papers — that  must  be  it.  Me  for  the 
Morgue !  She  would  never  forgive  me 
for  such  long-continued  and  pic 
turesque  deception. 

As  I  arose,  quite  prepared  to  grab 
my  finish  by  the  elbow,  Clara  J.  came 
slowly  through  the  door. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  99 

Seeing  me,  she  lit  her  lamps  with 
pleasure  for  a  moment  and  then  put 
them  out  with  a  burst  of  tears. 

"Oh,  John!  John!"  she  moaned, 
bitterly. 

It  was  all  off.  I  had  been  caught 
with  the  goods  and  the  delivery  wagon 
was  at  the  door. 

"Oh,  it's  too  terrible!"  she  sobbed. 

I  didn't  know  what  to  say.  I  felt 
as  hopeless  as  a  piece  of  soap  in  the 
ocean.  "Don't  cry,"  I  soothed  her; 
"come  on,  now,  be  a  good  fellow  and 
brace  up,  Peaches!" 

"Oh!  don't  call  me  that — never, 
never  again!"  she  howled,  and  then 
I  knew  that  my  name  was  Pipestem. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it!"  I  begged 
her;  foxy  boy  me,  eager  to  know  just 
how  much  she  had  heard. 

"Alice  Gray  and  Aunt  Martha  and 
Bunch  Jefferson  drew  my  attention  to 


100  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

it, "she said,  between  sobs;  and  I  im 
mediately  picked  out  three  people  I 
didn't  like. 

"Oh,  John!  will  you  ever  forgive 
me?"  she  wailed. 

"Forgive  you! "  I  repeated,  and  so 
surprised  was  I  that  a  tap  from  a 
feather  would  have  been  my  death 
blow. 

"Promise  to  forgive  me  and  I'll 
confess  all,"  she  sobbed,  burying  her 
head  in  a  sofa  pillow. 

"It's  a  cinch!"  I  answered;  "why, 
I'm  the  best  little  forgiver  that  ever 
signed  a  pardon.  Mention  the  crime 
and  I'll  prove  an  alibi.  I'll  take  my 
affidavit  that  you  were  not  there  at 
the  time  specified." 

"But  I  was  there,  John!"  she 
groaned,  and  the  mystery  grew  so 
deep  I  nearly  fell  in  it. 

"I    went    to    town" — sob — "with 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN  IOI 

Aunt  Martha  to  do  some  shopping" — 
sob — "but  we  went  to  luncheon  first " 
— sob — "with  Bunch  and  Alice" — 
sob — "and  they  dared  me" — sob — 
"  I  mean  they  coaxed  me " — sob — "to 
go  to  the  races  with  them" — sob — 
"and  I  went" — long  series  of  sobs. 

"Fidge!"  I  said,  airily;  "what's 
that  amount  to  ?  Lots  of  people  go  to 
the  races.  I  saw  several  there — I 
mean,  I'm  glad  you  did  go.  The  ex 
citement  will  do  you  good.  It  did 
me  good;  that  is,  it  used  to  do  me 
good!" 

"But,  John,  I  made  you  promise 
me  never,  never  to  bet  again  on  a 
horse  race,"  she  continued,  solemnly. 

"And  I've  kept  my  promise  faith 
fully,"  I  answered,  whereupon  she 
started  crying  as  though  her  heart 
would  break. 

Finally  she  controlled  herself  and 


IO2  OUT    FOR   THE    COIN 

said,  "  Bunch  showed  me  a  program, 
and  when  I  saw  a  horse  named 
Peaches  in  a  race  I  became  so  excited 
I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Nobody 
ever  called  me  that  but  you,  John, 
and — and,  well,  I  just  couldn't  help 
it!" 

"Couldn't  help  what?"  I  laughed; 
"  did  you  take  a  flying  leap  out  of  the 
stand?" 

"No,  but  Bunch  told  me  it  would 
be  simply  criminal  if  I  didn't  bet  on 
my  namesake,  so  when  Aunt  Martha 
wasn't  looking  I  pulled  a  bill  hastily 
from  my  purse  and  told  him  to  bet  it 
on  Peaches  to  win." 

Say!  I  had  a  grin  on  my  face  the 
size  of  a  barn  door. 

"After  Bunch  had  gone  I  looked  in 
my  purse  and  found  I  had  given  him 
the  wrong  bill.  I  meant  to  give  him 
$10,  but  by  mistake  I  gave  him  the 


OUT    FOR   THE    COIN  103 

hundred  dollars  you  gave  me  to  buy 
that  summer  suit." 

"And  Bunch  played  a  hundred 
dollars  for  you  on  Peaches? "  I  gasped. 

"Ah-huh!"  she  nodded. 

"At  100  to  i,"  I  shrieked. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  was  at,"  she 
answered  through  her  tears;  "for 
after  I  realized  what  I  had  done  I 
nearly  fainted.  I  was  so  frightened 
I  couldn't  even  watch  the  race.  When 
it  was  over,  Bunch  screamed  like  an 
Indian  and  rushed  away.  Presently 
he  came  back  and  threw  a  bundle  of 
bills  in  my  lap  and  I  stuffed  them  in 
Aunt  Martha's  purse  and — and — 
cried  so  they  had  to  take  me  home. 
Can  you  ever  forgive  me,  John?" 

"Forgive  you!  Why,  say!  you  are 
the  most  thoroughly  forgiven  girl 
that  ever  brought  home  money  to  a 
lazy  husband.  A  hundred  dollars  on 


104  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

Peaches  at  a  100  to  i — well,  say! 
Where's  Aunt  Martha?  That's  too 
much  money  for  a  reckless  old  lady  to 
lug  around — lock  all  the  gates!" 

Then  and  there  I  'fessed  up  every 
thing  from  Alpha  to  Omaha,  and  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  the  expres 
sion  on  Clara  J.'s  face  when  I  came  to 
the  finish  and  told  her  that  "Peaches '' 
was  our  horse! 

She  forgave  me  and  I  forgave  her. 
and  then  we  both  forgave  each  other, 
and  wound  up  by  dancing  around  the 
room  and  kicking  the  meaning  out  of 
all  the  furniture. 

When  presently  we  strolled  out  on 
the  lawn  we  found  Bunch  there,  and 
Alice  broke  away  long  enough  to  say, 
"Didn't  I  tell  you  he'd  forgive  you!" 

"Why,  Alice,"  I  answered,  "for 
ten  thousand  dollars  I'd  open  a  fac- 


Look  out !   I  took  the  hinges 
off  that  gate  to-day."— Page  105. 


OUT    FOR    THE    COIN  105 

tory  and  turn  out  forgiveness  by  the 
barrel." 

Presently  it  was  noised  around  the 
household  that  I  owned  the  colt  which 
had  won  a  swell  race  and  the  change 
of  sentiment  in  favor  of  horses  was  so 
sudden  that  the  grass  got  frightened 
and  stopped  growing. 

Uncle  Peter  offered  to  back  me  for 
any  amount  of  money  and  said  that 
he  was  delighted  to  know  we  had  a 
horse  in  the  family  that  was  such  a 
credit  to  us. 

After  dinner  Clara  J.  and  I  strolled 
down  to  the  gate  to  talk  matters  over, 
and  presently  Tacks  yelled  at  us, 
"Say,  don't  lean  too  heavy  on  that 
gate,  'cause  I  took  the  hinges  off  to 
day  so's  I  could  get  through  quicker 
if  that  crazy  man  came  along!" 

At  that  very  moment  who  should 


106  OUT    FOR    THE    COIN 

come  plodding  up  to  the  gate  but  Murf 
and  the  hero  of  the  day,  Spuds! 

Clara  J.'s  welcome  included  a  kiss 
for  them  both,  to  their  intense  em 
barrassment.  For  the  next  half  hour 
Uncle  Peter  was  so  busy  apologizing 
to  Murf  and  Spuds  that  nobody  had  a 
chance  to  congratulate  them. 

Then  we  had  a  glorification  for  sure, 
and  Murf  succeeded  in  getting  his 
ancient  enemy  so  full  of  Bourbon  that 
finally  loving  hands  had  to  lead  Uncle 
Peter  out  to  the  pump  and  hand  him 
the  deluge  in  order  to  keep  him  from 
telling  all  the  family  secrets. 

"Peaches"  was  the  toast  of  the 
evening,  and  if  the  game  little  colt  had 
been  there,  a  seat  on  top  of  the  piano 
for  hers,  with  a  bottle  of  Ruinart  in 
each  hoof. 

When,  finally,  Murf  was  ready  to 
take  the  count  he  turned  to  me  and 


OUT   FOR   THE    COIN  107 

said,  "Yo'  Uncle  Owen's  judgment 
sho'ly  made  good,  suh;  and  it  is 
proved  that  Hank  Peters  ain't  no 
Hah,  suh,  for  right  now  yo'  all  are  big 
Casino  on  the  Eastern  tracks,  suh; 
good  night!" 


JOHN  HENRY,  Hugh  McHugh's 
first  book,  reached  the  25,000 
mark  two  weeks  after  it  was 
published.  It's  popularity  since 
then  has  been  unprecedented. 

"  John  Henry's  philosophy  is  of  the  most 
approved  up-to-date  brand.  He  is  by  all 
odds  a  young  man  of  the  period;  he  is  a 
man  about  town.  He  is  a  slang  artist;  a 
painter  of  recherche  phrases;  a  maker  of 
tart  Americanisms. 

In  this  book — it  is  "little,  but  oh  my !" — 
John  Henry  recounts  some  of  his  adven 
tures  about  town,  and  he  interlards  his  des 
criptive  passages  with  impressive  comments 
on  the  men,  women,  institutions,  and  places, 
brought  within  his  observant  notice.  We 
need  not  say  that  his  comments  are  highly- 
colored;  nor  that  his  descriptions  are  re 
markable  for  expressiveness  and  colloquial 
piquancy.  Mr.  Henry  is  a  sort  of  refined 
and  sublimated  type  of  "Chimmie  Fadden," 
though  there  is  by  no  means  anything  of  the 
gamin  about  him.  He  doesn't  speak  in  rich 
coster  dialect  such  as  is  used  by  Mr.  Town- 
send's  famous  character,  nor  is  he  a  mem- 


ber  of  the  same  social  set  as  the  popular 
hero  of  the  New  York  slums.  Mr.  Henry 
moves  on  a  higher  plane,  he  uses  good 
English — mostly  in  tart  superlatives — and 
his  associates  are  of  a  high  social  scale. 

Mr.  Henry's  adventures  as  he  describes 
them  here  will  make  you  wonder  and  make 
you  laugh. 

His  book  abounds  in  bon-mots  of  slang; 
of  the  kind  you  hear  in  the  theatres  when 
the  end-men,  comedians  and  monologuists 
are  at  their  wittiest  and  best,  when  they 
revel  in  mad  and  merry  extravagances  of 
speech  and  experience. 

It  is  an  art  to  use  street-talk  with  force 
and  terseness,  and  although  it  isn't  the  most 
elegant  phase  of  the  Queen's  English  it 
nevertheless  impresses  to  the  Queen's  taste. 
Hugh  McHugh  has  this  art."— Philadelphia 
Item. 

"  John  Henry  "  is  only  one  of  the  numer 
ous  young  men  who  are  treating  the  public 
to  the  latest  slang  through  the  medium  of 
print  nowadays,  but  he,  unlike  most  of  the 
others,  is  original  in  his  phrases,  has  the 
strong  support  of  the  unexpected  in  his  hu 
mor  and  causes  many  a  good  laugh.  For 
one  thing,  he  merely  tries  to  make  fun, 
wisely  avoiding  the  dangers  of  tediousness 
ii 


fn  endeavoring  to  utter  immature  wisdom  in 
the  language  of  the  brainless. 

"  The  author,  Hugh  McHugh,  is  thought 
to  be  Mr.  George  V.  Hobart.  Certain  it  is 
that  the  writer  is  a  Baltimorean,  past  or 
present;  the  local  references  evidence  that. 
In  some  places  the  expressions  have  the 
Hobart  ring  to  them.  But  if  Mr.  Hobart 
did  write  the  stories,  he  has  done  his  best 
work  of  the  kind  yet." — Baltimore  Herald. 

"  The  humor  is  of  the  spontaneous  sort 
that  runs  close  to  truth,  and  it  affords  many 
a  hearty  laugh." — Cleveland  World. 

"As  a  study  in  slang  it  surpasses  any 
thing  since  the  days  of  '  Artie.'  " — The 
Rocky  Mountain  News. 

"  Written  in  the  choicest  slang." — Detroit 
Free  Press. 

"  John  Henry."  A  regular  side-splitter, 
and  as  good  as  "  Billy  Baxter." — New  York 
Press. 

"  It  is  as  good  as  any  of  the  books  of  its 
kind,  better  than  most  of  them,  and  is 
funny  without  being  coarse." — Portage 
Register. 

iii 


11  Down  The  Line  With  John  Henry" 
is  the  second  of  the  "John  Henry" 
books  and  quickly  followed  its  pre 
decessor  along  the  highroad  of 
success. 

The  story  of  "John  Henry  at  the 
Races "  in  "  Down  The  Line  "  has 
already  grown  to  be  a  Classic  in 
Slang.  It  is  brimful  of  human 
nature  and  is  amusing  in  the  high* 
est  degree. 

CONTENTS   OF   "DOWN  THE 
LINE." 

JOHN  HENRY  AT  THE  RACES. 
JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  DRUMMERS. 
JOHN  HENRY  IN  BOHEMIA. 
JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  HOTEL  CLERK. 
JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  BENZINE  BUGGYc 
JOHN  HENRY  AT  THE  MUSICALS, 
JOHN  HENRY  PLAYS  GOLF, 
iv 


Down  the  Line  is  one  good  laugb  iron, 
tc  cover,  and  some  of  the  experiences  o* 
ifais  clever  man  are  both  amusing  and  interest 
ing.  The  book  is  illustrated  with  some  clews 
sketches  DV  McKee  Barclay."— St,  Low;  Star, 


A*  in  the  former  voiume,  the  present  £t>, 
'Action  of  stories  is  concerned  with  adventures  tf 
*  man  about  town.  It  abounds  in  the  weirdest 
fend  newest  slang,  rechercht  expressions  and  tart 
Americanisms.  There  is  much  clever  satire  Oft 
tbe  manners  and  habits  of  Americans,  Tbt 
down-to-date  *  man  who  is  fond  of  slang  wSC 
Snd  m  the  volume  a  new  supply  for  hM 
i"— Lot  Angelet  Exprttt, 


In  order  to  enjoy  fe  you  have  go?  :c 
'd  Jke  Wagner  and  chain  yourself  down  tot  thre* 
m  four  sittings,  and  then  you  are  en  rapport,  re 
*»  «peatu  Come  again  Tonathao  \ 


« It's  Up  to  You !"  is  the  third  book 
in  the  John  Henry  series.  This 
story  of  domestic  bliss  relates 
the  adventures  of  John  Henrydur- 
ing  his  courtship  and  marriage. 

"It's  Up  to  You!"  has  been  pro 
nounced  by  critics  everywhere 
the  funniest  book  of  the  year. 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  there 
is  a  laugh  in  every  line  for  this 
fact  is  amply  demonstrated  by  the 
enormous  demand  for  the  book. 

CONTENTS  OF  "IT'S  UP  TO 
YOU !" 

JOHN  HENRY'S  COURTSHIP. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  WEDDING. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  HONEYMOON  TRIP. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  SEASHORE  VISIT. 
JOHN  HENRY  HUNTS  A  FLAT. 
JOHN  HENRY  ENTERTAINS  FRIENDS 
JOHN  HENRY  PLAYS  PING  POVG. 


"  'It's  Up  to  You'  stares  out  from  the 
yellow  cover.  From  a  mere  passing  sight 
at  the  familiar  cheese-cloth  binding  and  the 
portrait  of  the  faultless  gentleman  in  the 
choker,  one  might  easily  think  it  was  an 
old  wandering  copy  of  the  original  'John 
Henry  ';  one  hardly  dares  hope  it  is  a  new 
edition  of  that  worthy's  confidence.  But 
it  is.  And  John  Henry  stabs  us  with  his 
sentiment.  He  commences  :  '  Seven  of  us 
were  entered  in  the  race  for  Clara  J.'s 
affections.'  Then  he  delightfully  tells  us 
how  he  won  out  from  the  '  other  six  society 
shines. '  The  chapter  explaining  his  method 
of  dragging  papa's  and  mama's  consent 
away  from  them  is  clogged  with  many 
smiles,  and  before  the  finish  of  the  honey 
moon  trip,  the  '  holler '  is  certainly  '  Up  to 
You ! '  After  a  bit  John  Henry  hunts  a  flat. 
The  finding  of  the  flat  is  the  richest  slice 
of  the  book.  He  does  more — he  lives  in 
it — with  the  consent  of  the  folks  above  and 
below;  he  entertains  and  concludes  the 
third  little  volume  of  his  spicy  adventures 
with  a  game  of  ping-pong.  Now,  never 
mind — All  men  make  mistakes. 

"We  have  not  heard  near  so  much  about 
John  Henry  as  we  have  of  ping-pong ;  we 
«rely  hope  to  learn  more  of  the  former, 


and  we  fervently  pray  to  be  delivered  from 
the  latter.  However,  in  the  midst  of  the 
plague,  the  half  million  special  newspaper 
scribes  who  issue  a  column  of  unintelligible 
rot  daily  concerning  the  silly  game  should 
each  secure  a  copy  of  '  Its  Up  to  You  '  and 
learn  how  to  write  descriptions  of  ping- 
pong.  It  is  there  with  all  the  lucidity  of  a 
press  prize  fight  story.  If  you  must  ring  in 
an  old  subject  do  it  well — and  perhaps  you 
will  be  forgiven. 

"There  is  nothing  very  long,  or  broad, 
or  deep  in  the  John  Henry  books.  A  man 
who  attempts  to  criticise  a  hearty  laugh 
wastes  his  time,  besides  betraying  his  lack 
of  a  good  dinner.  We  have  heard  the  tales 
of  John  Henry  were  often  written  in  a 
single  night,  and  that  their  first  mission 
was  to  advertise  certain  other  things,  but 
we  will  gladly  say  nothing  about  it.  They 
are  a  decided  success ;  they  are  not  copies 
of  things  we  have  read  before ;  they  are  the 
cleverest  bits  of  writing  yet  received  from 
the  pen  of  George  V.  Hobart.  Let  us  hope 
that  the  train  boys  will  not  stop  selling 
them." — Baltimore  Herald. 


vui 


"  Back  to  the  Woods,"  the 
fourth  of  the  John  Henry 
series,  is  without  exag 
geration  one  hearty  laugh 
from  cover  to  cover.  The 
cleverly  conceived  plot  and 
the  extremely  comic  inci 
dents  in  this  book  form 
the  basis  of  the  "John 
Henry "  play  now  so 
successfully  touring  the 
United  States. 

CONTENTS  OF  "BACK  TO  THE 
WOODS." 

JOHN  HENRY'S  LUCKY  DAYS. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  GHOST  STORY. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  BURGLAR. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  COUNTRY  COP. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  TELEGRAM. 
JOHN  HENRY'S  TWO  QUEENS. 
JOHN  HENRY  S  HAPPY  HOME. 


"  This  new  'John  Henry'  book  is  really 
the  best  of  the  four  written  and  further  por 
trays  the  fortunes  and  misfortunes  of  John 
Henry,  Clara  Jane,  Uncle  Peter,  Bunch, 
Aunt  Martha  and  Tacks." — New  England 
Stationer. 

"  The  many  friends  of  John  Henry  will 
warmly  welcome  his  reappearance  in  the 
pages  of  Hugh  McHugh's  latest  yarn,  "  Back 
to  the  Woods."  His  thoroughly  up-to-date 
slang  and  infectious  humor  have  lost  nothing 
of  their  freshness  since  this  breezy  man 
about  town  was  last  with  us." — Newark 
News. 

"We  will  wager  that  over  the  whole  story 
the  reader  will  laugh  his  money's  worth.  A 
small,  well  charged,  effective  book." — Eve 
ning  Sun. 

"  Back  to  the  Woods,"  the  story  of  a  fall 
from  grace,  which  for  effervescent  humor 
and  sparkling  wit,  quaint  and  original  twists 
of  satire  and  ludicrous  situations  is  so  far 
superior  to  like  late  books  as  to  justly  merit 
being  regarded  as  a  classic  in  up-to-date 
slang." — N.  Y.  American. 


HUGH    McHUGH'S 

FIVE  FAMOUS  BOOKS 

320,000  Copies  Sold 

"OUT   FOR  THE  COIN" 

FIRST  EDITION  so  ooo  COPIES 

"BACK  TO  THE  WOODS" 

50,000  COPIES  SOLD 

"IT'S  UP  TO  YOU!" 

60,000   COPIES  SOLD 

"DOWN  THE  LINE 

WITH  JOHN  HENRY'8 

70,000  COPIES  SOLD 

"JOHN    HENRY" 

110,000  COPIES  SOLD 

The  Five  Books  are  Illustrated.    Goth  Bound, 
Gilt  Top,  75  Cents  Each 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers  or  seat  by  mail, 
POSTAGE  FREE,  on  receipt  of  price  by 

G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO.,  Publishers 
119-121  West  23d  St.,  New  York 


POPULAR  BOOKS, 


A  SPECKLED  BIRD,  By  Augusta 
Evans  Wilson, 

This  new  novel  by  the  author  of  "St.  Elmo" 
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War.  Its  title  is  taken  from  the  scripture 
"As  a  speckled  bird,  the  birds  round  about 
are  against  her."  "A  Speckled  Bird"  bears 
quite  as  many  marks  of  the  author's  genius 
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which,  thirty-six  years  after  issue,  still  holds 
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Holmes, 

Nearly  four  million  copies  of  Mrs.  Holmes' 
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bound,  $1.50. 

xti 


DENSLOW'S  NIGHT  BEFORE 
CHRISTMAS,  The  old  classic  story, 
illustrated  by  W,  W,  Denslow, 

Here  is  the  best  Christmas  story  ever  told. 
The  man  is  yet  to  be  born  who  can  write 
anything  to  supersede  what  has  made  St. 
Nicholas  and  his  tiny  reindeer  living  and 
breathing  realities  to  millions  of  children 
throughout  the  world. 

Embellished,  as  it  is,  with  the  whimsical 
humor  of  Mr.  Denslow's  inimitable  draw 
ings,  produced  in  colors  by  the  most  beauti 
ful  printing,  it  will  eclipse  all  other  juvenile 
picture  books  of  the  year.  A  large  Quarto, 
handsomely  bound  In  Illuminated  Board 
Cover,  $1.50. 

THE  PAGAN'S  CUP,  By  Fergus 
Hume,  Author  of  "  The  Mystery  of 
A  Hansom  Cab,"  "The  Rainbow 
Feather,"  etc, 

This  is  a  thrilling  detective  story,  in  which 
the  interest  and  mystery  is  well  sustained. 
The  characters  are  finely  drawn  and  many 
of  the  scenes  and  climaxes  are  very  impres 
sive.  Cloth  bound,  $  1 .25. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  ROUGH 
RIDERS,  By  Edward  Marshall, 

The  most  intensely  interesting  book  of 
modern  times.  It  is  devoted  entirely  to  this 
one  famous  regiment.  It  contains  a  com 
plete  roster  of  the  regiment,  and  is  pro 
fusely  illustrated  from  photographs  and 
drawings.  1 2mo,  Illustrated,  cloth  bound. 
$1.50. 


THE  KISS  OF  GLORY,  By  Grace 
Duffie  Boylan. 

A  narrative  of  the  life  of  Joseph,  the  son  of 
Jacob.  His  captivity,  release  and  love 
life. 

Love  as  it  murmurs  in  the  heart  of  the  boy 
and  thunders  in  the  soul  of  the  man,  is  the 
keynote  of  this  unusual  romance  of  the  i8th 
dynasty ;  and  Joseph,  the  most  picturesque 
of  historical  characters,  has  been  chosen  by 
the  author  as  the  hero  of  the  story.  But 
while  the  thread  of  Bible  narrative  appears 
here  and  there,  connecting  the  thrilling 
series  of  adventures  with  the  dramatic  and 
beautiful  denouement,  the  novel  is  not  a  re 
ligious  one,  and  the  name  of  Deity  does  not 
appear  in  its  pages. 

This  novel,  which  is  as  simple  as  it  is  schol 
arly,  and  human  as  it  is  poetic,  will  touch  the 
chords  of  nature  everywhere,  and  appeal  to 
readers  of  every  taste  and  condition.  Illus 
trations  and  cover  design  by  J.  C.  LEY- 
ENDECKER.  Cloth,  12mo,  $1.50. 

LIONEL  AEDON,  By  Malcolm  Dear 
born, 

A  brilliant  story  of  love  and  chivalry,  the 
plot  of  which  is  laid  in  England,  beginning 
with  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  and  extend 
ing  through  to  that  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  In 
it  is  drawn  a  beautiful  picture  of  Lady  Jane 
Grey,  bringing  to  the  sympathy  and  admira 
tion  of  novel  readers  that  woman  of  purity 
and  exquisite  sensibilities.  A  thoroughly 
enjoyable  story,  which  last  year  ran  through 
the  McClure  syndicate  as  a  serial,  and 
created  great  interest  and  comment  among 
many  readers.  I2mo,  handsomely  bound 
in  cloth,  $1.50. 


THE  IKON  BRIGADE,  A  Story  of 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  By  Gen 
eral  Charles  King, 

In  choosing  the  subject  of  this  story  General 
King  has  taken  one  of  the  most  gallant  and 
heroic  organizations  of  the  Civil  War,  and 
woven  around  it  many  intensely  interesting 
historic  scenes.  Sketches  of  Lincoln  Stan- 
ton,  Grant,  Meade  and  other  prominent 
characters  of  the  time  lend  much  to  the 
holding  power  of  the  story.  Illustrations 
by  R.  F.  ZOGBAUM.  Cloth  bound,  $1.50. 

THE  FOOL,  By  Wm,  H,  Carson, 
Author  of  "Hester  Blair," 

"The  Fool"  is  really  a  man  of  parts;  cul 
tivated  above  others  in  the  village  and 
possessed  of  legal  knowledge,  together  with 
considerable  means,  left  him  by  his  father, 
all  of  which  he  contrives,  for  reasons  of  his 
own,  to  keep  from  knowledge  of  his  neigh 
bors,  and  reveals  only  to  his  dog,  a  canine 
of  supernormal  intelligence,  with  whom  he 
holds  long  conversations.  He  treats  the 
reader  to  some  quaint  and  interesting  bits 
of  philosophizing  on  life  and  its  ways.  Illus 
trated,  12mo,  Cloth  bound,  $1.50. 


King, 

"In  'Norman  Holt,'  the  newest  historical 
romance  by  General  Chas.  King,  the  Amer 
ican  public  has  been  given  his  strongest 
work.  If  he  had  done  nothing  but  this  one 
work  he  would  live  long  in  the  history  of 
American  letters."  —  N.  Y.  Press.  Cloth 
bound,  Illustrated,  $1.25. 


THE  ROLE  OF  THE  UNCON- 
QUERED,  By. Test  Dalton, 

A  thrilling  historical  narrative,  abounding 
with  life  and  action,  of  the  courtship  cf 
Henry  of  Navarre  and  Marie  de  Medici. 
"One  has  only  to  open  the  book  anywhere 
and  glance  down  one  of  its  pages  in  order  to 
agree  with  General  Lew  Wallace  that  the 
story  is  'animated,  carefully  arranged, 
dramatic,  and  unusually  interesting";  or 
with  James  Whitcomb  Riley  that  it  is  'an 
unusually  entertaining  work* ;  or  with  Booth 
Tarkington  that  it  is  'like  sitting  at  a  good 
old-fashioned  drama  where  all's  well  that 
ends  well.'  "—  The  Literary  Digest.  Cloth 
bound,  $1.50. 

NEW  ENGLAND  FOLKS,  By  Eu 
gene  W,  Presbrey, 

"  A  sunshine  and  shadow  novel  which 
opens  a  vista  along  a  cool  country  lane  and 
brings  all  the  freshness  of  rustic  air  and  the 
breath  of  roadside  flowers  to  the  delighted 
senses  of  the  reader."  —  Albany  Times- 
Union.  Cloth  bound,  $1.25;  paper 
covers,  50c. 

THE  KING  OF  HONEY  ISLAND, 
By  Maurice  Thompson,  Author  of 
"Alice  of  Old  Yincennes," 

"It  bears  quite  as  many  marks  of  the  genius 
of  the  author  as  does  '  Alice  of  Old  Vin- 
cennes.'  with  the  additional  charm, 
perhaps,  of  more  buoyancy  and  beauty  of 
thought  and  expression." — Topeka  Capital, 
Cloth  bound.  Illustrated,  $1.50. 


ECCENTRICITIES  OF  GENIUS, 

Memories  of  Famous  Men  and  Women 
of  the  Platform  and  Stage,  By 
Major  J,  B,  Pond, 

"  Every  consideration  bids  one  characterize 
this  as  a  remarkable  book.  It  has  a  thousand 
charms  and  a  thousand  points  of  interest.  It 
is  full  of  striking  gems  of  thought,  rare 
descriptions  of  men  and  places ;  biographical 
bits  that  delight  one  by  their  variety,  and 
the  distinction  of  those  alluded  to.  From  a 
literary  view  it  is  as  interesting  as  Disraeli's 
famous  'Curiosities of  Literature.'" — Phil 
adelphia  Item.  8vo,  cloth  bound,  gilt 
top,  $3.50. 

By 

Containing  stories  from  the  Archives  of  the 
Pinkertons.  Thrilling  accounts  of  The 
Northampton  Bank  Robbery,  The  Susque- 
hanna  Express  Robbery,  The  Pollock  Dia 
mond  Robbery,  The  Rock  Island  Express, 
The  Destruction  of  the  Renos,  and  The 
American  Exchange  Bank  Robbery.  1 6mo, 
cloth  bound,  75c. 

UNDER  A  LUCKY  STAE,  By  Char 
lotte  Abell  Walker, 

Tells  what  occupation  to  adopt  and  what 
line  of  life  to  follow,  what  associates  and 
partners  to  choose,  how  to  recognize  the 
possibilities  and  limitations  of  our  friends 
and  ourselves,  suggestions  on  marriage  and 
government  of  children,  being  mainly  culled 
from  the  minds  of  ancient  and  modern  phi 
losophers.  Illustrated,  cloth  bound,  $1.50. 


THE  WAY  OF  A  MAN  WITH  A 
MAID,  By  Frances  Gordon  Fane, 

"A  clever,  well- written  story,  full  of  love 
and   pathos,    and  thrilling  with    dramatic 
crises.     Each  step  of  the  domestic  tragedy 
is  skilfully  portrayed,  until  the  final  climax 
is  reached.    Its  author  has  made  it  a  power 
ful,  telling  story  to  read."— N.  Y.  World. 
"  The  author's  ability  as  a  story  writer  is 
unquestioned.  The  book  is  thoroughly  read 
able." — Indianapolis  Sentinel. 
12mo,  cloth  bound,  $1.50. 

THE  FUNNY  SIDE  OF  POLITICS, 
By  George  S,  Hilton, 

Nothing  has  ever  been  written  like  this 
book.  It  gives  many  amusing  stories  told 
in  the  House  and  Senate  in  Washington. 
The  book  is  replete  with  anecdotes  of  many 
living  politicians.  Their  names  are  given, 
as  well  as  the  occasions  which  called  forth 
the  stories.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  $1.25. 

JOHN  WINSLOW,  By  Henry  D, 
Northrup, 

"Country  life  at  its  best  is  admirably 
treated,  and  there  is  a  wealth  of  incident 
and  reminiscence,  humorous  and  pathetic, 
throughout  the  book." — Louisville  Courier- 
Journal.  Cloth  bound,  Illustrated,  $1.50. 

OLD  JED  PEOUTY,  By  Richard 
Golden  and  Mary  E,  Francis, 

"A  novel  that  is  worthy  to  become  a  New 
England  classic,  and  to  cause  the  name  of 
'Old  Jed'  to  be  as  widely  known  in  the 
book-loving  world  as  it  is  on  the  stage." — 
N.  Y.  Journal.  Cloth  bound,  $1.50. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  CAPTAIN 
KETTLE,  By  Gutliffe  Hyne, 

12mo,  cloth  bound,  illustrated,  $1.50. 

A  MASTER  OF  FORTUNE,  Being 
Further  Adventures  of  "Captain 
Kettle,"  By  Cutliffe  Hyne, 

"  Nobody  who  has    followed   the    gallant 

sailor  —  diminutive,  but    oh,  my!  —  in  his 

previous  adventures  around  the  earth,  is  go 

ing  to  miss  this  red-hot  volume  of  marvelous 

exploits."  —  N.  Y.  World. 

"It  has  the  dash  and  tinge  of  reality  that 

makes  you  feel  as  if  you  were  in  the  midst 

of  it  all."  —  Detroit  Free  Press. 

12mo,  cloth  bound,  Illustrated,  $1.50. 


A  reproduction  of  the  Famous  Comic  All- 
minax  which  ran  from  1870  to  1880.  Millions 
of  copies  were  sold,  and  for  ten  years  it  was 
the  most  popular  of  all  comic  books.  The  con 
tinuous  demand  since  it  has  been  out  of  print 
justifies  the  present  unique  reproduction. 
Cloth  bound,  Profusely  illustrated,  $1.50. 

THE  PERVERTS,  By  W,  L,  Howard, 

This  remarkable  work  is  a  romance  in  which 
are  graphically  described  the  many  morbid 
mental  conditions  existing  in  society  to-day. 
*'The  style  is  clear,  brisk  and  straightfor 
ward.  The  situations  are  in  many  instances 
dramatic,  particularly  noticeable  in  the  final 
climax  which  brings  the  story  to  an  abrupt 
and  astonishing  close."  —  Albany  Times- 
Union.  Cloth  bound,  $  1  .50. 


A  SLEEPING  MEMOEY,  By  E, 
Phillips  Oppenheim,  Author  of 
"Enoch  Strone,"  etc, 

This  story  might  be  taken  as  a  plea  for  the 
feasibility  of  the  doctrine  of  reincarnation, 
or  a  succession  of  totally  different  lives  here 
on  earth.  In  the  present  widespread  taste 
for  speculative  thought,  along  the  lines  that 
awaken  wonder,  it  will  cause  much  discus 
sion.  Its  sustairod  interest  from  start  to 
finish  is  intense.  Cloth  bound,  $1.50. 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  SWOED,  A 
Eomance  of  1796,  By  Leo  Ditrich- 
stein, 

"The  scenes  and  characters  of  this  stirring 
period  have  afforded  fruitful  themes  for 
novelists  and  dramatists  of  a  century ;  but 
few  writers  have  presented  its  romantic 
features  and  its  critical  situations  more 
vividly  or  more  dramatically  than  they  are 
presented  in  this  story." — Bookseller,  News 
dealer  and  Stationer.  1 2mo,  cloth  bound, 
gilt  top,  Illustrated,  $1.50. 

THE  DAY  OF  PSOSPEEITY,    A 

Vision  of  the  Century  to  Come,  By 
Paul  Devinne, 

A  vivid,  startling  and  original  picture  of  a 
reconstructed  world,  a  novel  with  an  ingen 
ious  plot,  and  a  sparkling  and  fantastic  story 
of  life  in  the  year  2000.  A  solution  of  to 
day's  most  mooted  problems ;  differing  from 
Bellamy  and  kindred  thinkers  though  fol 
lowing  somewhat  similar  lines.  A  very 
engrossing  novel,  with  humanly  sympathetic 
characters.  Cloth  bound,  $1.50. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
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