Chapter 7

CHAPTER XXVIII

OUT OF A TIGHT CORNER

Randy was surprised and dazed by the treatment he received at the hands of the enraged purser and for the moment knew not what to do. He rose slowly to his feet.

"Don't you do that again!" he cried, a dangerous glitter coming into his eyes.

"I will do it—unless you give up that letter."

"You shall never have the letter, Peter Polk."

"Ha! so you admit at last that you have it!"

"I do."

"Then hand it over or I will call an officer and have you locked up."

"Call the officer, if you dare," and our hero shrugged his shoulders.

"You stole more than the clothing and the letter," went on the purser, craftily. "You took fifty dollars in money."

"I took absolutely nothing, and you know it."

"Then you want me to call in the officer?"

"Do as you please," said Randy, recklessly.

Peter Polk was nonplused. He did not want to call an officer. Yet he wanted to get the precious letter.

"You will save yourself a lot of trouble by giving up that letter, Thompson," he said, in a more subdued tone.

"Well, I don't intend to give it up."

"If I have you arrested I can send you to state's prison for five or ten years."

"I will risk it."

"What do you intend to do with that letter?" said the purser.

"That is my affair."

"Going to Mr. Shalley, eh?"

"Perhaps."

"It won't do you any good."

Again Randy was silent. He had stepped close to the door. On the instant Peter Polk did the same.

"You are not going just yet," cried the purser, meaningly.

Randy looked through the little window of the office. He heard footsteps approaching.

"Hullo there, Jones!" he called out.

"What's wanted?" came from the other deckhand.

"Come to the office, please."

In a moment Jones appeared. He was carrying a bucket of water and a deck swab.

"Now open that door," said Randy to Peter Polk. "No more nonsense, please."

"You are not wanted here, Jones!" cried the purser, angrily.

"You are wanted," said Randy. "Open the door. I want to get out."

Jones set down his pail and pulled on the door. Seeing resistance would be useless, Peter Polk allowed the door to come open. At once Randy stepped out into the gangway.

"I'll explain this to you some other time!" he called to the other deckhand, and then ran off before Peter Polk could stop him.

"Where are ye goin'?" called out Malloy, as he crossed the gang-plank.

"I'm off on business," answered our hero, and then paused for a moment. "Tell Jones to keep an eye on Mr. Polk, will you, please? It is very important."

"I will," was the reply.

In a minute more Randy was hurrying up the street. He knew where Andrew Shalley was stopping and took a car to the location.

The place was a well-known hotel and in the corridor he met the steamboat owner, just ready to go out.

"Oh, Mr. Shalley, I want to see you!" he cried.

"What is it, Randy?"

"It's quite a story and very important."

"Then come to my room," and the steamboat owner led the way to the elevator.

As soon as they were in the room our hero told his story in all of its details and then produced the letter he had found. Andrew Shalley listened closely to the story and pondered over the letter for some time.

"Randy, have you any idea who this person who signs himself G. A. G. can be?"

"I've been thinking that over, Mr. Shalley, and I have found out that there is a head clerk who works for Bann & Shadow, the wholesale grocers, whose name is George A. Gaffney. Gaffney used to come and see Polk once in a while."

"And we buy a great many things from Bann & Shadow," put in the steamboat owner.

"So we do."

"I will look this man Gaffney up at once."

With the steamboat owner to think was to act, and going below with our hero he consulted a directory and found that George A. Gaffney lived on West Twenty-sixth Street.

"I will call upon this fellow," said he. "You can go along."

They took a car on one of the avenues and got out at the corner of Twenty-sixth Street. They had to walk half a block. The neighborhood was not of the best, and Gaffney's residence proved to be a four-story apartment house. The man lived on the top floor with his wife and four small children.

George Gaffney was at home, sitting in his shirt sleeves by a front window, smoking a pipe. He was surprised to receive visitors at that hour.

"Is this Mr. George A. Gaffney?" questioned Andrew Shalley.

"That's my name."

"Are you a clerk for Bann & Shadow, the wholesale grocers?"

"I am."

"I would like to see you privately, Mr. Gaffney."

"Who are you?"

"I am Andrew Shalley, the owner of the steamboatHelen Shalley."

"Oh!"

George Gaffney was taken aback and showed it plainly. His wife had come to a back doorway and was looking at the visitors curiously.

"Step in, sir," said the clerk, in a husky voice. "Mary, I will see this gentleman alone," he went on to his wife, who at once retired, closing the door after her.

Andrew Shalley was a good judge of character and he saw that George Gaffney was a family man of fairly good qualities. He was extremely nervous.

"I think I can get him to confess easily enough—if he has anything to tell," thought the steamboat owner.

"Please be seated," said the clerk, and Mr. Shalley and Randy sat down. Then there was a slight pause.

"Mr. Gaffney, I am afraid I have an unpleasant duty to perform," began Andrew Shalley, in a cold, hard voice.

"Why—er—what do you mean?" stammered the clerk.

"I refer to your dealings with my purser, Peter Polk."

"I—er—I haven't had anything to do with him—that is—we had some little business, but——" The clerk was unable to go on.

"You sent him a threatening letter the other day."

"Me? Who says so?"

"I have the letter in my possession."

The clerk winced and the steamboat owner saw that the shot struck home.

"This affair is a very serious one—you know that as well as I do," continued Andrew Shalley. "The fact of the matter is, it is a state's prison offense."

The mention of prison had the desired effect. George Gaffney broke down completely.

"Oh, sir,—I—I didn't mean to do any wrong—Polk said it would be all right. He got me to go into it—it was all his doings. All I ever got out of it was thirty-five dollars and that I will pay back. Mr. Shalley, I—er—I hope you won't prosecute me, for the sake of my wife and children!" And the clerk wrung his hands in despair.

"Didn't you get any more than thirty-five dollars?"

"No, sir, not a cent more, I swear it. And Polk said that was due to me legally."

"If that is true, I will not prosecute you,—but on one condition."

"Name it."

"That you tell me everything you know about Peter Polk's doings."

"I will do it, Mr. Shalley."

CHAPTER XXIX

GEORGE GAFFNEY'S STATEMENT

"I cannot tell you all Peter Polk has done," said George Gaffney, on beginning his story, "but I can tell you all so far as it concerns his purchase of goods from Bann & Shadow."

"That will be enough," answered Andrew Shalley, and brought out a book and a pencil, to take notes.

"He came to our firm three years ago and began to purchase various goods for theHelen Shalley. At first he met all bills promptly and never asked for any rebate or commission. That lasted for about three months."

"He must have been feeling his way."

"He was. At the end of six months he made a claim of a rebate on a bill for a hundred and fifty dollars and we allowed him ten dollars. Then he got ten dollars more on another bill, and after that he claimed a rebate of ten per cent. on everything he bought of us."

"You have all those bills on your books?"

"We have."

"Good. Go on."

"He gradually got bolder and wanted me to aid him in getting a commission elsewhere on regular steamboat supplies. I was willing to make a little extra money and introduced him to the firm of Leeson & Bronette. Leeson is an easy-going man and he promised Polk a big commission on all goods purchased. Polk bought hundreds of dollars' worth of goods from them, and got, I am pretty sure, from fifteen to twenty per cent. on every bill paid."

"Oh, what a rascal!" murmured Randy.

"Then I introduced him to another man, Aaron Denman, and he got goods from that man too and got his commission—how much I do not know. For introducing him to Denman I was promised that commission of twenty dollars. I saw Polk was making money hand over fist, and when he did not pay me I got mad and wrote the letter."

"And you are sure you never got a cent more out of him than thirty-five dollars?"

"Not a cent. Once in a while he treated me to a dinner and twice he sent me a box of cigars, and that is all. To tell the honest truth, I did not press him very hard, for I did not believe in what he was doing. I want to be an honest man, and I was led into this thing almost before I knew it," continued George Gaffney.

After that he went into a great many more details, to which Andrew Shalley and Randy listened with interest.

"I can get the actual figures for you from our books," said the clerk.

"What does your firm say to this?" asked the steamboat owner.

"Oh, they wanted the business, so they simply shut their eyes and didn't say anything."

"But that was dishonest."

"True—but such things are done every day," and the clerk shrugged his shoulders.

"If Peter Polk has been getting ten to fifteen per cent. on all goods he has been buying for me he has robbed me of thousands of dollars," said Andrew Shalley.

"It will be a hard matter to prove some of the transactions, Mr. Shalley. I guess he knew how to cover up his footprints pretty well."

"Well, if I can only prove some of them it will be enough for my purpose," answered the steamboat owner.

Before he left that night he drew up a long document containing the main facts of the case, and had George Gaffney sign it and had Randy put his name down as a witness.

"What do you want me to do, Mr. Shalley?" asked our hero, after they had left the clerk's house.

"You can go back to the steamboat. I am going to hire a first-class private detective to investigate this matter thoroughly. When I expose Polk I want all the evidence on hand with which to convict him."

"He will want to know what I did."

"That is true." Andrew Shalley mused for a moment. "Randy, you mind your own business," he said suddenly and sharply. Then he began to chuckle. "Now you can go back and tell Polk that I told you to mind your own business."

"I will, sir," and our hero grinned broadly.

"I will also give you a line to Captain Hadley," pursued the steamboat owner. "That will help to keep you out of further trouble."

The letter was penned, and a few minutes later our hero was on his way back to the boat. Andrew Shalley went in another direction, to hunt up a detective to work on the case.

It must be confessed that Randy felt much lighter in heart. He now knew exactly what kind of a rascal Peter Polk was, and felt that the purser could no longer drag him into trouble.

"He will soon come to the end of his rope, and that will be the last of him," said our hero to himself.

When he arrived at the boat it was very late and everybody but the watchman had gone to bed. He turned in without awakening any of the others and slept soundly until morning.

Much to his surprise Peter Polk did not come near him that morning, and our hero was kept so busy at one thing and another that he had little time to think about the purser and his nefarious doings. As soon as he got the chance he delivered the letter Mr. Shalley had given him to Captain Hadley.

The captain read the communication in silence. Then he uttered a low whistle and looked at Randy thoughtfully.

"I've been suspecting this," he said. "Randy, I believe you are to keep mum for the present."

"Yes, sir."

"I doubt if he troubles you any more."

"I'll be glad of it."

"Well, get to work, and some time we'll see what we will see," answered the captain; and there the talk was dropped.

It was a windy and cloudy day, and a majority of the passengers were glad enough to remain in the cabin during the trip up the river. About noon it began to thunder and the sky grew very black.

"We are up against a storm now," said Jones to Randy. "We'll have to take in some of the bunting."

The order was issued, and Randy set to work, with the other deckhands, to strip the decks. Soon it was raining furiously and all of the deckhands got pretty wet. All of the passengers had gone inside, so the decks were practically deserted.

Randy was folding up some bunting when he heard a quick step behind him. Turning, he saw himself confronted by Peter Polk. The purser's face was dark and full of hatred.

"Now, Thompson, I want to know what you did last night," snarled the man.

"I went ashore," answered our hero, as coolly as he could.

"To see Mr. Shalley?"

"Yes, if you must know."

"And you gave him that letter?"

"I did."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to mind my own business."

"What!" For the instant Peter Polk's face took on a pleased look. "So he really told you that?"

"Yes."

"Humph! I reckon you didn't expect such a reception."

To this remark our hero made no reply.

"Is the old man going to investigate?" went on Peter Polk.

"You had better go and ask him."

"You answer my question, Thompson!"

"I have nothing more to say."

At this the purser grew furious. There were many occasions when his temper got the better of him and this was one of them. He suddenly grabbed Randy by the throat, bending him backward over the rail.

"You little cur!" he hissed. "You are trying to get the best of me! But you shan't do it!"

"Le—let go!" gasped Randy. He could hardly speak.

"I'll let go—when I am through with you. But first I——"

What further Peter Polk had to say was drowned out by a violent crash of thunder. Then came a perfect deluge of rain, driven over the decks by a wind that blew almost with hurricane force.

Randy struggled harder than ever, but the purser continued to hold him. Then the steamboat, caught by the blast, careened to one side, and in a twinkling the youth was over the rail. Peter Polk released his hold, and down went poor Randy, until, with a splash, he sank beneath the waters of the Hudson River.

CHAPTER XXX

A SWIM FOR LIFE

The shock came so suddenly that for the moment poor Randy scarcely realized what was happening. He went down and down and swallowed not a little of the river water.

When he came up, blowing and spluttering, he could see but little around him. Fortunately, he had gone off to the rear of the steamboat, thus escaping the danger of being struck by a paddle-wheel. All was so dark and the rain was so thick he could not make out the shore line.

"I've got to swim for it," he reasoned and struck out bravely.

It was no easy matter to keep afloat with so much clothing on. He listened, thinking he might hear the steamboat, but the roaring of the wind and rain drowned out every other sound.

Presently came another flash of lightning and then he saw the boat far ahead of him. No one but Peter Polk had witnessed his fall from the deck and nobody appeared to be coming to his assistance.

He kept his head well above water and at the next flash of lightning caught a glimpse of one of the river banks. Without further hesitation he struck out in that direction.

It was a long and exhausting swim and poor Randy thought he would never reach the shore. The current carried him far down the river, to where there was a small cove, lined with rocks on one side and bushes and trees on the other. He caught at some of the bushes desperately and at last pulled himself to a place of temporary safety.

For the time being our hero did nothing but try to get back his breath and his strength. In a general way he had an idea that he was some distance below the town of Catskill. What to do next he hardly knew.

"The first thing to do is to get out of this storm, I suppose," he told himself. "But that won't do a great deal of good, since I can't get any wetter than I already am."

Feeling a little bit rested, he presently got up and walked around the edge of the cove. Then he began to climb the river bank proper. It was hard work, but soon he came out on a river roadway and saw at a distance a hotel and half a dozen fashionable cottages.

"This looks familiar," he told himself. "Well, I declare, that place yonder must be the house at which Bob Bangs and his mother are stopping!"

Back of the house was a big barn and further to the rear was another building, used as a summerhouse and a place where oars and other things for small boats might be stored.

The summer storm was now letting up a bit. It was still raining, but the thunder and lightning had ceased and the wind had gone down. To get out of the rain and rest, Randy took himself to the summerhouse.

He was busy emptying the water from his shoes, when he heard somebody utter an exclamation and turning saw Bob Bangs standing near, umbrella in hand. The rich youth was staring at him in astonishment.

"Where did you come from?" he demanded, as he entered the summerhouse.

"From the river."

"You look pretty wet."

"I have been in the water quite some time."

"Oh! Did you fall overboard from the steamboat?"

"I did."

"You must be pretty careless," went on Bob, with a sneer.

"I certainly didn't fall overboard because I wanted to," answered Randy as lightly as he could.

"Say, I understand you are trying to get my father into trouble," pursued the rich boy, throwing himself on a bench.

"Who told you that?"

"Never mind. You are hand-in-glove with the Bartlett crowd."

"Well, why shouldn't I be, Bob Bangs? Jack is my dearest friend."

"Humph! I shouldn't care for him for a friend."

"And he wouldn't pick you for a chum," added Jack, quickly.

"I consider myself better than Jack Bartlett."

To this our hero did not answer.

"My dad is going to make it hot for old Bartlett," went on Bob. "He is going to sue him for defamation of character."

"When?"

"Oh, before a great while. Bartlett had no right to search our house and break open the safe."

"He had the law on his side."

"No, he didn't. Just you wait till my dad brings suit. It will ruin the Bartletts."

"I hope not."

"How do you like being a steamboat deckhand?" went on the rich youth, to change the subject.

"Very well."

"It must be a dirty job," and Bob Bangs tilted his nose in the air.

"It might be worse."

"When I leave school I am going to be a lawyer."

"I hope you make a success of it."

"I shall—I am going to be one of the greatest lawyers in this country," added the rich boy, boastfully.

"Are your folks here?"

"My mother is. Dad is at the iron works."

"They tell me he isn't doing very well there," said Randy.

"He is doing fine. He discharged some of the good-for-nothing hands, that's all. Bartlett used to hire a lot of sticks."

"I don't believe it. Mr. Bartlett knows his business."

"Humph!"

The rain was letting up and Randy prepared to walk to Catskill. As wet as he was, he resolved not to ask any favor at the hands of Bob Banks.

"Going, eh?" said the rich youth.

"Yes."

"Humph!" murmured Bob Bangs, and that was all he said.

Despite the steady rain, Randy walked rapidly to the town—doing this that he might not take cold. Once at the town he hurried to the steamboat landing.

"Hullo, where did you come from?" exclaimed the dock master, who knew him well.

"From a bath," answered Randy with a laugh, and then said he had fallen overboard from theHelen Shalleyjust before the landing at Catskill was made.

"Nobody said anything about it," said the dock master.

"I guess they didn't know it," answered our hero.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Telegraph to Captain Hadley and then stay in town until the boat comes back to-morrow."

"Better get dried off first. You can come to my house if you wish. It is not far off."

"Thank you, Mr. Ball."

Randy's telegram was a short one. It ran as follows:

"Fell overboard. Am safe at Catskill. Join boat to-morrow."

The telegram sent, our hero went with Mr. Ball to the latter's house. Here he was loaned some dry clothing and Mrs. Ball treated him to a late but satisfying supper. After the meal was over, and as it was now clear, he decided to take a walk around the town before retiring. Had he known of what that walk was to reveal he would have been very much surprised.

CHAPTER XXXI

NEWS OF IMPORTANCE

As was natural, our hero drifted down to the long steamboat landing. While he was standing around, he saw a ferryboat coming across the river, filled with passengers from the railroad station on the opposite shore.

As the passengers alighted he recognized Amos Bangs in the crowd. The rich manufacturer looked around anxiously, and presently caught sight of Mrs. Bangs, who had come to meet him in a carriage. Randy slipped out of sight.

"Well?" demanded Amos Bangs, as soon as he and his wife were together.

"Oh, Amos!" the woman cried, and could not go on.

"Is that all you can say, Viola?" demanded the husband, harshly.

"I can do nothing with the girl."

"And she knows where the papers are?"

"She does."

"How did it happen?"

"When Mr. Tuller called upon me she played the eavesdropper. She saw us open the safe and take out the papers, and when I went and hid the papers she followed me."

"But you said you were sure nobody knew where the papers were."

"I thought so at the time, but I was mistaken."

"How did it come out?"

"The girl did not sweep and dust the parlor to suit me, and I took her to task about it. She threw down her broom and said she would take no words from me. Then I told her to pack her trunk and leave the house. She grew more impertinent than ever, and said she would go, but I would have to pay her her wages regularly anyway. I asked what she meant. Then she told me to go and look for the papers I had hidden."

"And they were gone?"

"Yes. I was so overcome I nearly fainted," and Mrs. Bangs's face showed her deep concern.

"What next?"

"I went back to the girl and told her she must give the papers up or I would have her arrested. She laughed in my face. Oh, Amos, think of that horrid creature doing that!"

"She knew she had you," growled the rich manufacturer. "What did you do then?"

"Why—I—broke down, I couldn't help it. I asked her what she wanted for the papers. She wouldn't tell, and I said I would give her five dollars. Then she laughed in my face again. I wanted to drive her from the house, but I didn't dare."

"Did she say what she was going to do?"

"At last she said she would make a bargain—think of it—a bargain with a servant girl! She wants me to pay her wages regularly and also twelve dollars a month for her board."

"Will she work for you?"

"No, indeed, she says she will go and live with her married sister."

"Humph! Let me see, her name is Jackson, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mamie Jackson. Her sister lives over in Oakdale."

"Did she go to Oakdale?"

"I suppose she did."

"She must have the papers with her."

"No, I think she hid them, for she said we wouldn't find the papers even if we searched her and her trunk."

"I will have to go to Oakdale and see her," said Amos Bangs, after a pause in which he rubbed his chin reflectively.

The rich manufacturer and his wife had withdrawn to a corner of the dock while talking. Randy had kept nearby, behind some boxes and barrels, and had heard every word that was spoken. That he was immensely interested goes without saying.

"On the track of Mr. Bartlett's papers at last," he told himself. "Now, what had I best do about it?"

His one thought was to outwit Amos Bangs, and with this in mind he left the dock and walked rapidly toward the telegraph office.

"I wish to send another telegram," said he as he drew the pad of forms toward him.

"Must be your night for sending messages," answered the clerk, by way of a joke.

"I want this rushed through—it is highly important."

"All right, hand it over."

Randy hardly knew what to say, but soon wrote down the following, addressed to Mr. Bartlett:

"Papers taken from Mrs. Bangs by Mamie Jackson, a servant, now at sister's in Oakdale. Hurry if you want to get them. Address me at Catskill."

Having sent the message, there seemed nothing for Randy to do but to retire. This he did, and was awakened two hours later by a message from Mr. Bartlett, which was in these words:

"Coming down first morning train. Meet me at Catskill Station, Hudson River Railroad."

Having received this message Randy consulted a time table and found that the first Albany train would arrive at the station across the river at about seven o'clock. He arranged to be on hand, and then tried to go to sleep again. But the most he could do was to take a few fitful naps.

As soon as the train rolled in Philip Bartlett alighted. Randy rushed towards him.

"Are you going to Oakdale?" he asked, quickly.

"Do you think it worth while, Randy?"

"I do."

"Then I will go. You must come along."

"I will," answered our hero, and then Mr. Bartlett got back on the train and Randy followed him.

"I left word with Mr. Ball, so Captain Hadley won't worry about me," Randy explained when seated.

"Now tell me what this means?" asked Philip Bartlett, impatiently. "I have been on the anxious seat ever since I received your telegram."

"I want you to get in ahead of Mr. Bangs," said our hero, and then told all he had overheard.

"I will make that servant girl give me those papers," said Mr. Bartlett, with decision.

"Perhaps you can scare her just as Mr. Shalley scared a fellow who was aiding another man to rob him," answered our hero. "I will tell you about that another time. I am pledged not to say anything just at present."

CHAPTER XXXII

BROUGHT TO TERMS—CONCLUSION

They had to make one change of cars and then take a stage running to Oakdale, which was but a small village four miles from Riverport. When they arrived it was close on to midday.

Fortunately for them, one of the storekeepers of the village knew Mamie Jackson's married sister and also knew Mamie, and he told them where to go. It was a dilapidated cottage on the outskirts, surrounded by a garden filled mostly with weeds.

"Not very thrifty people, that is certain," was Mr. Bartlett's comment.

"I think I shall know the servant if I see her," said Randy.

They paused at the gate and saw the two sisters near the side porch. One was on a bench shelling peas and the other was lolling in a hammock. Each looked very untidy and both wore wrappers that were full of holes.

"That is the servant," said Randy, pointing to the person in the hammock. "And see, she has some papers in her hands!"

"Step behind the wellhouse," said Mr. Bartlett, and this both of them quickly did.

"Well, go ahead and read the papers, Mamie," said the woman on the bench.

"Ain't no use, Sarah, I can't make head nor tail of 'em," answered Mamie Jackson.

"What do you suppose makes 'em so valuable?"

"I don't know. But I do know the Bangses don't want that Mr. Bartlett to get hold of 'em."

"I think you made a good bargain with the Bangses—that is, if they pay up."

"I'll make 'em pay. Oh, Mrs. Bangs was scart, I could see it." Mamie Jackson laughed shrilly. "And to think she was going to discharge me!"

"Well, I guess you gave her a piece of your mind."

"So I did. She is too stuck-up to live," went on the former servant girl. "When I get my money I'm going to have a fine dress too—and I'll buy you one, Sarah."

"Oh, Mamie, will you? I want a blue silk so!"

"I'm going to have a green silk, and a parasol to match, and then—Oh, dear! look at them bees!" And with a shriek Mamie Jackson threw up her arms and sprang out of the hammock.

For the moment the papers were forgotten, and quick to take advantage of the situation, Randy darted forward and secured them. Then he turned the documents over to Philip Bartlett.

"Who are you?" demanded the woman of the cottage, rising in alarm.

"It's that Mr. Bartlett himself!" shrieked Mamie Jackson, forgetting all about the two bees that had disturbed her, and which had now flown away. "Oh, how did you get here?" she faltered.

"I came after my papers—and I got them sooner than I anticipated," answered Mr. Bartlett, and there was a tone of triumph in his voice.

"Are those your papers?" asked the girl, trying to appear innocent.

"You know they are."

"I do not. I—I found them."

"I know better. You took them from where Mrs. Bangs hid them."

"Well, she didn't have any right to them."

"I know that well enough."

"I—I was going to send them to you," faltered the girl. She scarcely knew what to say.

"Really," returned Philip Bartlett, dryly. "Well, I will save you the trouble."

"It's a shame to suspect an innocent girl like me," said Mamie Jackson, bursting into tears.

"My sister never did anything wrong," put in the other woman.

"As I have my papers I won't argue with you," returned Mr. Bartlett. "But when the proper time comes you may have to explain how you happened to get the papers."

"Are you going to haul Mr. Bangs into court?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, I will tell what I know about them, if it will do any good. Mrs. Bangs and a man named Tuller plotted to keep the papers out of your reach. They opened the safe and took the papers out just before you came with that constable."

After that Mamie Jackson seemed anxious enough to confess and told her whole story, omitting to state how she had asked Mrs. Bangs to pay so much a month to her for keeping silent.

"We may as well go back to the town, and take the stage for Riverport," said Mr. Bartlett to Randy. "I will then telegraph to Mr. Robinson to come on, and we will settle with Bangs, Tuller & Company in short order."

"Will you make him give up the control of the iron company?"

"Either that or have him arrested for fraud."

The journey to Riverport was quickly made, and the telegram sent to Mr. Robinson. The bank official sent word back that he would be on in the morning. Then Mr. Bartlett went to a hotel and Randy hurried home.

"Why, Randy, is it really you!" cried his mother as she kissed him. "This is certainly a surprise."

"I didn't expect to come home," said he. "How are you and how is father?"

"I am real well as you see, and your father is doing splendidly. He says he feels better now than for three years back."

"That is good news."

"But what brings you?"

"I will tell you," said Randy, and sitting down he told his story, just as I have related it here. In the midst of the recital Mr. Thompson came in, and he listened also to what our hero had to say.

"I hope Mr. Bartlett gets what is coming to him," said Mr. Thompson. "And I hope Mr. Shalley brings that Peter Polk to terms also."

The next morning Randy received word to come to the iron works. He went and there witnessed a stormy meeting between Amos Bangs on one side and Mr. Bartlett and Mr. Robinson on the other. Randy was called in as a witness, and what he had to say made Amos Bangs gasp for breath and sink into a chair.

"You are going to expose me—to ruin me!" gasped Amos Bangs, at last, addressing the two men who had accused him.

"We shall expose you unless you give up the control here and do as we think is fair," said Philip Bartlett. "As for ruining you, I think you have about ruined yourself."

"But my wife, and my son——"

"Mrs. Bangs does not deserve my sympathy after what she has done. As for your son, he can go to work, as my son has done."

"Bob! What can he do?"

"Work may make a man of him. He will never amount to anything if you bring him up in idleness."

"It is hard!" groaned Amos Bangs. "I—I shall have to go to work myself!"

"That is what I was forced to do," answered Philip Bartlett, dryly. "But you will not be so badly off, Mr. Bangs. Your stock is worth at least four or five thousand dollars."

"Humph! That is not much. Well, I suppose I am cornered and must do as you say," and he gave a deep sigh. Secretly, however, he was glad to escape arrest.

A lawyer was called in, and the best part of the day was spent in drawing up and signing various legal documents. The iron works were thereby placed in the control of Mr. Bartlett, Mr. Robinson, and a stockholder named Wells, and Philip Bartlett was made the general manager of the company. All of the books and accounts were placed in charge of an expert accountant, and in the end Amos Bangs had to make good a deficiency of cash. The former rich man had to give up his elegant mansion, and soon after he and his family moved to the West without leaving their new address behind them.

When Randy went back to the steamboat, two days later, a surprise awaited him. An accountant, assisted by a detective, had gone over Peter Polk's affairs and discovered that the purser had robbed Andrew Shalley of between eight and ten thousand dollars. Polk had taken time by the forelock and fled. He tried to get to Canada, but telegrams were sent out, and he was caught just as he was trying to cross the Suspension Bridge at Niagara Falls. Later on he was brought back and tried, and received three years in prison for his crimes. He had nearly six thousand dollars of the stolen money in the bank, and this was turned over to Andrew Shalley. Two hundred and fifty dollars went to Mrs. Clare as part of her husband's estate.

"Bringing Peter Polk to justice is due to you, Randy," said the steamboat owner, after the affair was a thing of the past. "I feel I must reward you for what you did."

"I don't ask any reward, Mr. Shalley. I am glad that I cleared my own name."

"Here is something for you, nevertheless," said Andrew Shalley, and handed a big document to our hero.

"What is it?"

"It is the deed to the farm on which your folks are living. It is made out in your name. I bought the place from Peter Thompson, your uncle. Now you have something that you can really call your own," and Mr. Shalley laughed pleasantly.

"Mr. Shalley, you are more than kind," cried Randy, warmly. "Do my parents know of this?"

"No. You can go home over Sunday and surprise them."

"I will, and I thank you very much, sir."

Randy went home, and there was a general rejoicing over the good news. But more was to follow.

"I met Mr. Bartlett to-day," said Mr. Thompson. "He says they want a first-class carpenter at the iron works to take charge of the repairs He offered me the place at a dollar a day more than I am getting."

"Good enough, father!" cried Randy. "That is just like Mr. Bartlett."

"He said he wanted to do something for us on your account. And he sent you this," added Mr. Thompson, and brought out a neat silver watch and chain. It was a nice present and pleased Randy greatly.

Not long after that the season on the river closed and Randy came home for the winter. As his father now had a steady place at good wages, the youth went to school, in company with Jack Bartlett, who had moved back to Riverport with the rest of his family. Randy was a good scholar and made rapid progress.

"I want you to get a good education," wrote Andrew Shalley to our hero. "Then, later on, you can enter my office if you wish, or take a better place on the steamboat."

Six years have passed since that time and Randy has finished his education. He is now the general manager for the steamboat company, and rumor has it that he is soon to marry Rose Clare, who still lives with the Shalleys. He is prosperous, but come what may, will never forget the time when he was only a deckhand.

THE END

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