“I will get off at Rochester,” she told herself, “and then I’ll inquire for the Criterion Theatre.” She looked at the slip of paper which she carried so carefully in the little brown leather wrist bag. “Then,” she went on, “if the company has left Rochester I will go to Rockdale. But if it should get dark!” she cried in a low wail of terror. “If it should get dark and I should be all alone in a strange city!”
Then came the thought of the folks at home and how they would worry if night came on and she did not reach them. Was ever a girl so situated?
All sorts of dangers flashed before her mind, and now, though too late, she realized sharply how unfit a young girl is to cope with a big, strange world, how little the world cares for a girl’s tender feelings, and how cold and heartless it is when she tries to make her way through the city streets alone, yet crowded on every side by a throng of other human beings.
“But Tavia had to go through it,” concluded Dorothy, “and I must not be less brave than was she.”
The train was somewhat delayed on the run from Buffalo to Rochester, so it was almost noon when Dorothy reached the latter city.
On a slip of paper she had the directions of the theatre she wished to visit, and at the ticket station learned where the building was located. Then off she started, with never a look at the shop windows filled with wonderful displays of all kinds. She soon found the amusement resort, and stepping into the lobby, approached the ticket window and asked timidly:
“Can you tell me where the ‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company is playing to-night?”
The man looked at her sharply. Then he smiled so ironically that Dorothy’s heart gave a painful thump, and a great lump came into her throat.
“‘Lady Rossmore’s Secret’ company,” he repeated, with the most prolonged and distracting drawl. “I guess there isn’t any. It’s down and out. Didn’t play to a house here last night big enough to pay the gas bills.”
“But the members of the company?” asked Dorothy with a choke in her voice.
“Hum! How should I know?” he asked with a sneer. “In jail, maybe, for not paying their board bills.”
For a moment Dorothy felt that she must cry out and tell him that the matter was very vital to her—that she must find a young and friendless girl who was a member of the company; but she realized what sort of a man he was and her better judgment asserted itself.
“But are there any members of the company in this city?” she persisted bravely, trying to keep up her courage, so as to get a clue as to the whereabouts of Tavia.
“In this city?” he repeated with the same distracting drawl. “Well, no. They managed to get out of here before the sheriff could attach their baggage and the scenery, which he was ready to do. They certainly were as poor a company as we ever had in this theatre. It was awful. Oh, no, they didn’t dare stay here.”
“Then where did they go?”
“Rockdale was their next booked place, but maybe they didn’t dare go there, for fear some word had been sent on ahead,” the ticket seller sneered.
“How can I get to Rockdale?” asked the girl, trying to keep back her tears.
“Get there on a train, of course,” and the man turned back to the paper he had been reading when Dorothy came in. Perhaps he was angry because she had not purchased a ticket to the current attraction.
“If you would be—be kind enough to direct me,” pleaded Dorothy. “I am a stranger here, and I must find a—a young girl who is with that company.”
Something in her voice and manner seemed to touch the rather indifferent man, for he straightened up in his tall chair and looked squarely and more kindly at Dorothy.
“Oh, that’s it, is it? I didn’t know. I have a lot of silly girls always asking about traveling companies after they’ve left here, and I thought you might be one of them. Now you’re talking. Yes, of course, certainly. If you’ve got to find anybody connected with that company you’d better be quick about it, for I should think there wouldn’t be much left of ’em by this time. I heard they had quite a time of it getting their trunks away from here. Held up for board, you know. But of course they’re used to that sort of thing.”
Dorothy took hold of the brass rail in front of her as she turned away from the window. She felt as if she could hardly stand any more of the man’s veiled insinuations. But it might not be true—surely it could not be true—it was only his cruel, teasing way. Tavia could not be in such distress.
“How can I get there?” Dorothy repeated.
“If you want to get to Rockdale,” the ticket seller answered after a pause, “you can take the train at twelve forty-five.”
“Thank you,” murmured Dorothy, turning dizzily toward the street to make her way to the station she had so recently left. How she managed to reach the place she never knew. The great buildings along the way seemed about to topple over on her head. Her temples were throbbing and her eyes shot out streaks of flashing light. Her knees trembled under her. If only she had time to get something to eat! But she must not miss that train. It might be the last one that day.
Through the crowd of waiting persons she made her way to the ticket office and purchased the slip of cardboard that entitled her to a ride. She learned that the train was late and that she would have to wait ten minutes. Grateful for that respite Dorothy turned to the little lunch counter to get a sandwich, and some coffee. But, before she had reached the end of the big depot where refreshments were sold, she suddenly stopped—some one had grabbed her skirt.
Turning quickly Dorothy beheld a crouching, cringing figure, almost crawling so as to hide herself in the crowd.
“Girl!” cried Dorothy, trying to shake off the grasp on her skirt. “Let me go! What do you want?”
“Don’t you know me?” whispered the miserable creature. “Look again—don’t you know—Urania, the Gypsy girl?”
Then beneath the rags and the appearance of age that seemed, in so short a time to have hidden the identity of this young girl, Dorothy did recognize Urania. How wretched—how forlorn she was; and even in danger of arrest if she was seen begging in the depot.
“Don’t turn away from me, Miss!” pleaded the unfortunate Gypsy girl. “Please help me!”
She stretched out to Dorothy a dirty, trembling hand. The gate to the Rockdale train had been thrown open, and Dorothy felt that the time was almost up.
“You should go home,” she said, dropping a coin into the outstretched palm.
“Yes, yes, I want to go home,” cried the girl, and Dorothy was afraid her voice would attract attention in the crowd. But the passengers were too busy rushing for their trains to heed anything else. “I want to go home,” pleaded Urania. “You should take me home,—it was your fine cousin—the boy with the taffy-colored hair—that brought me here!”
“What!” cried Dorothy. “How dare you say such a thing?”
“Ask him, then, if it isn’t so. And ask him if he wasn’t in this very station an hour ago, looking for some one—that red-headed girl, likely.”
“Do you mean to say you saw my cousin here to-day?” gasped Dorothy. “Come; tell me the truth and you shall go home—I’ll take you home myself—only tell me the truth.”
“Yes, I’ll do it,” answered the girl. “Well, him and his brother came in here an hour ago. They asked the man at the window if he had seen a young girl with a brown hand bag. I stood near to listen, but kept out of sight. Then they dashed off again before I could ask them for a penny, or throw it up to that dandy that it was the ride he gave me in the auto that brought me to this.”
“Don’t talk so!” exclaimed Dorothy, much shocked. “Do you want to go back to the camp where your people are?” She was too dumfounded at the news to argue with the wild creature.
“Yes, oh, yes, back to the camp!” and Urania’s eyes flashed. “They’ll take me back. Even Melea would not turn me out now for I am sick and sorrowful.”
It needed but a glance to see that in this, at least, the girl spoke truthfully.
“Come,” ordered Dorothy, “I’ll take care of you. But first I must get something to eat. We have a few minutes.”
Without heeding the attention she attracted by almost dragging the beggar girl up to the lunch counter, Dorothy made her way there and ordered coffee and sandwiches for both. She hurriedly disposed of her own share, being only a little behind Urania, who ate as though famished. Then, hastily procuring another ticket, she bolted through the door, followed by the Gypsy, who seemed to take it all as a matter of course.
The ride was, for the most part, a silent one. Dorothy was busy with her thoughts, and the Gypsy girl was almost afraid to speak.
“But you will see me to my home—to the camp?” she pleaded once.
“Yes,” answered Dorothy. “But you must have patience—I have something more important to attend to first.”
“I can wait,” answered the little Gypsy.
The Rockdale station was a brick structure, with a modest waiting-room for women passengers at the far end. It was there that Dorothy took Urania as they left the train which steamed away into the distance. The room was without a single occupant, a matter of rejoicing to Dorothy, as she had already experienced considerable difficulty in passing with Urania through the ordinary marts of travel.
“Now you stay here,” she told the Gypsy girl, “and I’ll go out and get you something. You must be sure to stay in this corner, and eat carefully so as not to make crumbs. If the station agent should speak to you while I’m gone, just tell him you are waiting for—for a lady, who told you not to leave this room until she returned.”
Willingly enough Urania sank down on a corner of the bench, and tried to smile her thanks at Dorothy. But Dorothy was too excited to notice the feeble effort. She hurried to a little store opposite the station, bought some crackers and cakes, and after putting the package into the Gypsy’s hands, with another word of caution, was off again, this time to find the Lyceum Theatre.
It seemed to Dorothy that any place must be easy to find in a small town, and when she was directed to the theatre by a man on the street, she was not surprised to find that it was but a few blocks from the depot.
Hurrying along, she reached a big hall, for the Lyceum, in spite of its name, was nothing but a big country hall, with the additional attraction of iron fire escapes. She knocked at the big broad wooden door, but soon discovered that the place was locked up and, evidently, deserted. She made a number of inquiries of boys she saw nearby, but all the information she could elicit from the urchins amounted to nothing more than laughter and “guying” to the effect that the company had come to grief in its attempt to give Rockdale folks a hint as to what Lady Rossmore’s “Secret” was. It appeared that the company had arrived in town, but had at once gotten into legal difficulties because of some trouble back in Rochester.
“But where are the members of the company?” Dorothy asked of one boy who was larger than his companions, and who had not been so ready to make fun of the unfortunates.
“Some’s gone back home I guess, that is if they has homes—some’s hanging ’round the hotel, where their trunks was attached as soon as the baggage man brought ’em in—some’s sitting around on the benches in the green. Guess none of ’em had any dinner to-day, for them hotel people is as mean as dirt.”
“Where is the hotel?”
“That’s the hotel, over there,” answered the boy, pointing to a building on the opposite corner. “Mansion House, they call it, though I never could see much of a mansion about that old barn.”
The afternoon was wearing away and Dorothy felt that she must make all possible haste if she was to get back to North Birchland that night, as she knew she must for her own sake. So, thanking the boy she hurried over to the hotel, and, after making some inquiries of a number of loungers on the broad, low veranda, was directed to the office.
She asked some questions regarding the whereabouts of members of the theatrical company, but the man at the dingy old desk was inclined to make inquiries himself, rather than answer Dorothy’s. He wanted to know if she had called to settle up for any of the “guys” and if not he demanded to know if she took him for a bureau of information or a public phonograph, and he grinned delightfully at his feeble wit.
“I don’t keep tabs on every barn-storming theatrical company,” he growled out. “Much as I kin do to look after their baggage and see they don’t skin me—that’s my game in a case like this.”
Dorothy pleaded with him to give her any information he might have as to the whereabouts of any girl or woman member of the company, but he was ugly, evidently because of the loss of some money or patronage in connection with the theatrical fiasco, and would not give so much as an encouraging word.
Dorothy looked about but could see no one who seemed to be an actor or actress. She had learned in a measure to know the type. Fairly sick and disheartened she turned away. How could she give up now, when she felt that Tavia must be almost within hearing of her voice? How loudly her heart cried out! Surely some kind fate would bear that cry to Tavia’s ear and bring her to her friend Dorothy—for now Dorothy felt that she could hardly go many steps farther in her weary search.
She heard a train steam into the station and go on without making a stop.
“Oh,” thought Dorothy, “if we could only get a train back again soon! But I can not give her up! I must—must find her wherever she is!”
Exhausted and discouraged, she sank down by the roadside at a grassy spot where the street turned into a country park. She felt that she must cry—she would feel better when she had cried—out there alone—away from the cruel persons—away from the seemingly cruel fate that was so relentlessly urging her on beyond her strength—beyond the actual power of human endurance. Was there ever so wretched a girl as was Dorothy Dale at that moment? Yes, she would indulge in a good cry—she knew it would relieve her nerves—and then she could go on.
The rough boys, playing nearby saw the girl sitting beside the road and, whether out of kindness or curiosity they hastened over to the place and stood looking down at Dorothy in respectful silence.
“Did they do anyt’ing to youse?” asked a little fellow with a ring of vengeance in his small, shrill voice. “Dem hotel guys is too fresh, an’ me fader is goin’—he’s goin’ t’ do somet’ing to dem if dey don’t look out.”
“Dat’s right,” spoke up another. “His fader is de sheriff an’ he’s goin’ t’ ’rest ’em, if dey don’t pay der own bills, fer all der talk of holdin’ de show trunks.”
Dorothy raised her head. Surely these boys were trying to comfort her in their own rough but earnest way. Perhaps they could help her look for Tavia.
“Do any of you know where the girls of this company are now?” she asked of the boys collectively. “I am searching for a girl with brown hair—”
She stopped abruptly, realizing how useless it would be to give these boys a description of Tavia.
“I sawr a girl wit a big kind of a hat and a little satchel, an’ I know she was wit de show,” volunteered a red-haired urchin. “I was right alongside of her when she bought five cents’ wort’ of cakes at Rooney’s, an’ after dat I seen her sittin’ on a bench in de green.”
“Honest?” asked an older boy severely, turning to the one who had given the information. “No kiddin’ now, Signal, or we’ll blow out your red light,” this reference being to the boy’s brilliant hair. “We want t’ help dis gurl t’ find de young lady, don’t we fellers?”
“Sure,” came in a ready chorus.
“I did see her,” protested Signal, rubbing his hand over his fiery locks and rumpling them up until they looked like a brush heap ablaze. “I sawr her less ’n hour ago.”
“Where?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.
“On a bench in de green.” And the lad pointed out the direction to Dorothy.
She followed the road to the end and there, stretching out before her was an open common, or the green, as the boys called it. In the centre was a little park, where a pretty fountain sent a spray of sparkling water high into the air. Arranged about it were benches, under shady bowers formed by overhanging bushes, and there were clumps of shrubbery that separated the seats, and concealed them.
Dorothy walked straight to the fountain. She sank down on a bench where she could watch the spurting water and listen to the cool tinkle as it fell into the basin. The sun shone through the spray, making a small rainbow.
It looked like a sign of hope, but she was too discouraged and dispirited to place much faith in it. She wanted to see Tavia; yet where was she? Here was the park the boys had spoken of, but there was no sign of the missing girl.
Dorothy felt she could not stay there long. After a few minutes’ rest she arose to make a circuit of the little park, hoping she might have overlooked some spot where Tavia might be. As she crossed back of a clump of shrubbery she saw the skirt of a girl’s dress showing on the border of a little side path. It riveted her attention. She turned down the path.
There sat a girl—a most forlorn looking girl—her head buried in her arms that rested on the back of a bench. Dorothy could see her shoulders heaving under the stress of heavy sobs.
She started! She held her breath! It looked like—yet could it be her—was it—she feared to ask herself the question.
The girl on the bench raised her tear-stained face. She looked full at Dorothy.
“Tavia!” screamed Dorothy, springing forward.
“TAVIA!” SCREAMED DOROTHY, SPRINGING FORWARD“TAVIA!” SCREAMED DOROTHY, SPRINGING FORWARD
“TAVIA!” SCREAMED DOROTHY, SPRINGING FORWARD
“Dorothy!” echoed Tavia.
There was a rush, and the next instant Dorothy Dale held Tavia clasped close in her arms, while she murmured, over and over again:
“Tavia! Dear Tavia! I have found you at last! Oh, I am so glad!”
Tavia could only sob.
It was some moments before either girl was able to speak after that first burst of emotion and surprise. But Dorothy was too happy to remain long in tears—even tears of joy that for the moment had overcome her.
Tavia was pale, and her eyes were red from much weeping. Her unhappy plight was apparent at a glance, and this was incentive enough to cause Dorothy to again clasp her in her arms and hug her tighter than ever. She had forgotten her own physical weakness now that she had found Tavia, and she felt that she must hasten to get her dear friend into a state of mind that might help her to forget the sad experiences she had passed through.
“Tavia! Tavia, dear,” whispered Dorothy, as the girl fell again to weeping, “do look up and forget it all—for my sake, do. I have searched so long for you, but now I have found you. Come with me and we’ll be just the same as we always were.”
“Oh, how can I?” cried the miserable girl. “Who will look at me now? How can I ever face the folks again? Oh, Dorothy, let me go away forever! I can not bear the disgrace!” and she moaned pitifully in her bitter anguish.
“But, Tavia, you really meant nothing wrong,” said Dorothy taking the trembling hands in her own which were scarcely less agitated.
“No, I never meant to do wrong,” spoke Tavia, lifting her head with her old, proud bearing. “I broke my promise to you—I listened to that girl in Rochester—she gave me a letter to a theatrical manager in Buffalo. I only wanted to make a name for myself—to gratify my ambition—I wanted to earn money to get back to school—you know we had no more—”
“You poor darling!” whispered Dorothy. “Was that it? Don’t worry so. No one will ever know. I have not told even Nat, and we will keep it a secret between us forever. Do come with me, dear,” as Tavia appeared to look brighter. “I must get to North Birchland to-night—Oh, if you ever knew the time I had getting away from the boys!” And she went on hurriedly for several minutes.
“And did you come all the way alone, Dorothy Dale? You have saved me in spite of myself!” declared Tavia, almost tragically. “Yes, I will go back. I can look them all in the face, for I only tried to work and I did not mean to deceive any one longer than would be necessary for me to get a start. But now, Dorothy, I have had enough of it. Where do you want me to go?”
“So it wasn’t as nice as you thought it would be?” asked Dorothy, anxious to hear some of Tavia’s experiences.
“Nice?” There was no concealing the disgust in Tavia’s voice. “It was awful, Dorothy! It was a regular barn-storming company! Playing one-night stands! We never had good houses. They said it was because it was the summer season, but I guess it was because the play was so poor. We did not get all our salaries and half the time didn’t have enough to eat. Then the show ‘busted’!”
“Did you have a good—part I believe they call it?”
“A good part? Say, Doro,” and Tavia actually seemed her old self again. “I had an idea I was to be Lady Rossmore, or at least one of the family.”
“Weren’t you?”
“I should say not! I was Lucy, the parlor maid, and the only time I was on the stage was when I was dusting the make-believe furniture. And as for my lines—well, I had a very heavy and strong thinking part.”
“Oh, Tavia!”
“That’s my theatrical experience,” answered Tavia. “Oh, Doro, I’m very miserable,” she wailed again.
“Never mind, dear. Dry your eyes now, you’re all right. I’m—Oh, I’m so happy that I have found you again. Come back to the station with me. I have some one else to bring home, too. Urania, the Gypsy girl—you remember her at Glenwood, I guess—she has been trying to see the world and she caught too big a glimpse of it. Poor girl, she is quite sick and miserable.”
Then, as they hurried from the park, Dorothy told Tavia of the trouble she had to get Urania on the train. A happy thought came to Tavia, and, with a bright smile she said:
“I have it! In this little hand bag—all the baggage I have left by the way—I have a very quiet suit. I used it in the play, for sometimes I had to take two or three parts if one of the other girls was ill, but they never amounted to much—the parts I mean. We can put this suit on Urania.”
Being thus able to help some one else worse off than herself seemed to do Tavia good for her kind heart always prompted her to acts of this sort. It was a step back into the old life.
At the station they found Urania all excitement.
“The young men were here!” she exclaimed to Dorothy, “and they have gone off to look for you. I didn’t dare speak to them, but I peeked out and I heard the station man tell them where he had seen you go to, and they flew off again in their dust-wagon like mad. Oh, Miss, I wish they had found you, and they looked so tired and hardly spoke like I’ve always heard ’em, so polite and nice.”
“Ned and Nat here in Rockdale!” exclaimed Dorothy, overjoyed at the news. “Here, Urania, you go in that little room and put these things on you’ll find in this bag,” and she handed the Gypsy Tavia’s little valise.
“I’ll help her,” volunteered Tavia, glad to be of service to Dorothy.
“Now remember, Tavia,” said Dorothy in a low tone, “whoever we meet now I’m to do all the talking. This is my big secret and you must let me take care of it. Have you any baggage—Oh, I forgot, all the baggage of the company is held for debts, I believe.”
“Not mine,” replied Tavia promptly. “All I have is in my valise. It was so small they let me keep it. They only wanted trunks and I didn’t have any. I travel light.”
“Well, hurry now and get Urania ready,” said Dorothy. She walked over toward the door of the ladies’ waiting room. Suddenly she fancied she heard—yes—sure enough that was the toot of the Fire Bird’s horn!
“Oh, Tavia!” she called. “Here they come! Hurry! Hurry Urania! Tavia! We must all be out there together when they come up.”
At that the automobile swept up to the station in a cloud of dust. Out on the platform hurried Dorothy, Tavia and Urania, the latter smiling broadly in her new outfit.
“Well, I give up!” exclaimed Nat, the first to alight from the panting car. “If you haven’t given us a merry chase, Dorothy! We got worried after you left us and we traced you from place to place. Thought sure we’d lost you here. Oh, it was a merry chase.”
“Glad it was merry,” exclaimed Tavia, forgetting that Dorothy was to do all the talking.
“Yes, I should say it was,” put in Ned, “and she skipped off to meet you without giving us a hint—”
“Now, Ned, don’t be cross,” said Dorothy sweetly. “See what a large party you have to take home. And you must not scold the girls, for we have as much right as you boys have to take little trips together.”
The boys were too well pleased to argue or be angry. In fact, they had had a very miserable time of it since Dorothy “escaped,” as they called it. Now, they wanted nothing better than to get into the machine with the girls and make all speed for home.
“Have you room for Urania?” asked Dorothy. “Can she stand up between the seats?”
“Why, of course,” assented Ned. “Plenty of room. Get aboard everybody.”
“Let me get under the seat,” protested the Gypsy girl. “That was the way I came out.”
“So it was!” said Nat. “I’d almost forgotten about you, young lady. She’s the girl,” he went on, turning to the others, “who stole a ride with me the day I went into Dalton, Dorothy. She actually rode under the back seat where she’d hidden in the night. She made the noise we thought was a burglar, you know. She gave me the slip, though, when I went to take her back, so now she must ride in the open, where I can keep my eye on her.”
“Oh, Urania! You said—” began Dorothy, thinking of what the Gypsy girl had said about Nat taking her away.
“Oh, please don’t be hard on me,” pleaded Urania. “I was so miserable I didn’t know what I was saying. It’s true, just as he says, and it’s all my fault. I ran away. He didn’t take me.”
Dorothy climbed in beside Ned. Tavia was in her usual seat with Nat. Then Urania squatted down, in true Gypsy fashion, on the floor of the car at their feet.
“I guess we’ll just about make it after all,” commented Ned, as he turned on the power more fully and threw in the clutch. “We’re due home about seven, but we’ll have to speed it up a bit to do it. Lucky it’s nearly level all the way.”
“And when we do get home,” put in Nat, “you girls will just have to own up and tell the whole story. No serial for ours. We want it complete in one number.”
“Indeed, we’ll do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Dorothy. “We’re not going to tell you a single word. We’ll get home about on time, according to agreement, and you have no reason to find a single bit of fault. Tavia will come to North Birchland just as she promised to early in the season. She’s been too busy to come before,” and Dorothy smiled. “And if we do have our own affairs to talk about you must not expect to know everything. Girls have to have secrets, or they wouldn’t be girls, and we have now got ours.”
“Yes,” agreed Tavia in a low voice with a loving look at her chum, “It’s Dorothy’s great secret and I guess I’ll help her keep it.”
And here, as they are speeding toward North Birchland, we will take leave of Dorothy, Tavia and the boys for a while. Dorothy kept the secret, as did Tavia, and no one ever knew the real meaning of Tavia’s absence, nor why Dorothy was so anxious to find her. The theatrical venture was never disclosed, thanks to Dorothy’s tact and abilities, for she showed that she could manage some things even better than could her cousins.
“Well, it was a glorious trip to Buffalo after all,” was Nat’s comment, as they neared North Birchland.
“So it was,” agreed Dorothy. Then she fell to wondering if she would ever again have so many adventures. Little did she dream of what the future held in store, as will be related in another story, which I shall call, “Dorothy Dale and Her Chums.”
“Running some, aren’t we?” said Ned, as the Fire Bird whizzed over the country road.
“I—I don’t mind it,” faltered Tavia. Then she turned to whisper to Dorothy. “I am so thankful to leave the—that behind!”
Dorothy only smiled, but that smile showed that she understood perfectly.
THE END.
By MARGARET PENROSEAuthor of “The Motor Girls Series”12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 75 cents, postpaid.
Dorothy Dale is the daughter of an old Civil War veteran who is running a weekly newspaper in a small Eastern town. Her sunny disposition, her fun-loving ways and her trials and triumphs make clean, interesting and fascinating reading. The Dorothy Dale Series is one of the most popular series of books for girls ever published.
CUPPLES & LEON CO., Publishers,NEW YORK
By MARGARET PENROSEAuthor of the highly successful “Dorothy Dale Series”12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 75 cents, postpaid.
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Joan Mason, an enthusiastic motor girl, and Valerie Warde, a society debutante, meet at an automobile show. Next day they go together to the Motor Corps headquarters and in due time are accepted and become members of the Corps, in the service of the United States. The two girl drivers find motoring for Uncle Sam a most exciting business. Incidentally they are instrumental in rendering valuable service to the United States government by discovering and running down a secret organization of its enemies.
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As a result of their splendid work in the Motor Corps, the Khaki Girls receive the honor of an opportunity to drive with the Ambulance Corps in France. After a most eventful and hazardous crossing of the Atlantic, they arrive in France and are assigned to a station behind the lines. Constantly within range of enemy shrapnel, out in all kinds of weather, tearing over shell-torn roads and dodging Boche patrols, all go to make up the day’s work, and bring them many exciting adventures.
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12mo. Illustrated. Beautiful cloth binding, stamped in gold with cover inlay and jacket in colors.
Price Per Volume $1.25 Net.
This fascinating series is permeated with the vibrant atmosphere of the great outdoors. The vacations spent by Patsy Carroll and her chums, the girl Wayfarers, in the north, east, south and west of the wonderland of our country, comprise a succession of tales unsurpassed in plot and action.
PATSY CARROLL AT WILDERNESS LODGE
Patsy Carroll succeeds in coaxing her father to lease one of the luxurious camps at Lake Placid, in the Adirondack Mountains, for the summer. Once established at Wilderness Lodge, the Wayfarers, as they have decided to call themselves, find they are the center of a mystery which revolves about a missing will. How the girls solve the mystery makes a splendid story.
PATSY CARROLL UNDER SOUTHERN SKIES (New)
Patsy Carroll and her three chums spend their Easter vacation in an old mansion in Florida, where an exciting mystery develops, which is solved by a very curious acrostic found by Patsy, and which leads to very exciting and satisfactory results, making a capital story.
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CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
By ALICE B. EMERSON
12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 50 cents, postpaid.
Ruth Fielding was an orphan and came to live with her miserly uncle. Her adventures and travels make stories that will hold the interest of every reader.
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CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, PublishersNew York
By CAPT. GORDON BATES
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full color.
Price per volume, 50 cents, postpaid.
All who love the experiences and adventures of our American boys, fighting for the freedom of democracy in the world, will be delighted with these vivid and true-to-life stories of the camp and field in the great war.
THE KHAKI BOYS AT CAMP STERLINGor Training for the Big Fight in France
Two zealous young patriots volunteer and begin their military training. On the train going to camp they meet two rookies with whom they become chums. Together they get into a baffling camp mystery that develops into an extraordinary spy-plot. They defeat the enemies of their country and incidentally help one another to promotion both in friendship and service.
THE KHAKI BOYS ON THE WAYor Doing Their Bit on Sea and Land
Our soldier boys having completed their training at Camp Sterling are transferred to a Southern cantonment from which they are finally sent aboard a troop-ship for France. On the trip their ship is sunk by a U-boat and their adventures are realistic descriptions of the tragedies of the sea.
THE KHAKI BOYS AT THE FRONTor Shoulder to Shoulder in the Trenches
The Khaki Boys reach France, and, after some intensive training in sound of the battle front, are sent into the trenches. In the raids across No-Man’s land, they have numerous tragic adventures that show what great work is being performed by our soldiers. It shows what makes heroes.
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CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, PublishersNew York
By CLARENCE YOUNG
12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 75c, postpaid.
By CLARENCE YOUNG
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, PublishersNew York
By LESTER CHADWICK
12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 75 cents, postpaid.
Joe is an everyday country boy who loves to play baseball and particularly to pitch.
Joe’s great ambition was to go to boarding school and play on the school team.
Joe goes to Yale University. In his second year he becomes a varsity pitcher and pitches in several big games.
In this volume the scene of action is shifted from Yale college to a baseball league of our central states.
From the Central League Joe is drafted into the St. Louis Nationals. A corking baseball story all fans will enjoy.
How Joe was traded to the Giants and became their mainstay in the box makes an interesting baseball story.
The rivalry was of course of the keenest, and what Joe did to win the series is told in a manner to thrill the most jaded reader.
The Giants and the All-Americans tour the world, playing in many foreign countries.
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CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full color.Price, per volume, 50 cents, postpaid.
THE SADDLE BOYS SERIESBy CAPT. JAMES CARSON
THE DAVE DASHAWAY SERIESBy ROY ROCKWOOD
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS SERIESBy ROY ROCKWOOD
THE TOM FAIRFIELD SERIESBy ALLEN CHAPMAN
THE FRED FENTON ATHLETIC SERIESBy ALLEN CHAPMAN
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CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, PublishersNew York
ByHOWARD R. GARISAuthor of the famous “Bedtime Animal Stories”
12mo. Cloth. Beautifully Illustrated. Jacket in full color.Price per volume, 50 cents, net
Splendid stories for the little girls and boys, told by one who is a past master in the art of entertaining young people.
A tale of happy vacation days on a farm. The Curlytops have many exciting adventures.
The Curlytops were delighted when grandpa took them to camp on Star Island. There they had great fun and also helped to solve a real mystery.
Winter was a jolly time for the Curlytops, with their skates and sleds, but when later they were snowed in they found many new ways to enjoy themselves.
Out West on their uncle’s ranch they have a wonderful time among the cowboys and on pony back.
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CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, PublishersNew York
By ALFRED RAYMOND
12mo. Cloth. Handsomely Illustrated. Beautiful jacketsprinted in colors. 75 Cents Per Volume, Postpaid.
The trials and triumphs of Harry Harding and Teddy Burke, two wide-awake boys who make a humble beginning on the messenger force of a great department store, with the firm resolve to become successful business men, form a series of narratives calculated to please the alert, progressive boys of today.
HARRY HARDING—Messenger “45”
When Harry Harding bravely decided to leave school in order to help his mother in the fight against poverty, he took his first long step towards successful manhood. How Harry chanced to meet mischievous, red-haired Teddy Burke who preferred work to school, how Teddy and Harry became messengers in Martin Brothers’ Department store and what happened to them there, is a story that never flags in interest.
HARRY HARDING’S YEAR OF PROMISE
After a blissful two weeks’ vacation, spent together, Harry Harding and Teddy Burke again take up their work in Martin Brothers’ store. Their “year of promise” brings them many new experiences, pleasant and unpleasant, but more determined than ever to reach the goal they have set for themselves, they pass courageously and hopefully over the rough places, meeting with many surprises and exciting incidents which advance them far on the road to success.
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CUPPLES & LEON CO.Publishers New York