"THAT'S ONE PAINTER LESS, ANYHOW!""THAT'S ONE PAINTER LESS, ANYHOW!"Shooting the mountain lion; a frequent incident in the daily life of a Ranger.Photograph by U. S. Forest Service.
"SMOKE! AND HOW AM I GOING TO GET THERE?""SMOKE! AND HOW AM I GOING TO GET THERE?"Ranger forced to make a breakneck dash through wild and unknown country to fight forest fire.Photograph by U. S. Forest Service.
A subdued but fiery inspiration, as of some monster breathing deeply in the darkness, gradually made itself heard above the voices of the night, and an eddying gust brought from the distance the sound of twigs and branches crackling as they burned. As yet the fire was not visible, save for the red-bronze glow seen through the trees reflected on the sky above. But before they reached the scene of the fire, Wilbur realized how different it was from the blaze he had left. Then it was a difficulty to be overcome: now, it was a peril to be faced.
"It has run about three miles since I left it," Wilbur said. "I hope we're not too late."
"It's never too late to try, son," replied the Ranger, "so long as there is a tree left unburned. There ain't anything in life that it ever gets too late to try over. If a thing's done, it ain't too late ever to try to do something else which will make up for the first, is it?"
"But I failed to stop it before," said Wilbur.
"Nary a fail. A fight ain't lost until it's over. An' when this little scrap is over the fire'll be out. You ain't had but one round with this fire so far."
"That's certainly some fire," rejoined the boy as they turned sharply from a glade to the edge of a hill that looked upon the forest just below. It was a sight of fear. Overhead, the clouds flying before the wind were alternately revealing and hiding the starlit and moonlit sky behind, the dark and ragged wisps of storm-scud seeming to fly in panic from what they saw below them. The wind moaned as though enchained and forced to blow by some tyrannic power, instead of swaying before the breeze, the needles of the pines seemed to tremble and shudder in the blast, and dominating the whole,—somber, red, and malevolent,—the fire engulfed the forest floor. In the distance, where some dead timber had been standing, the flames had crept up the trunks of the trees, and now fanned by the gusts of wind, were beginning to run amid the tops.
"Will it be a crown-fire, Rifle-Eye?" asked Wilbur, remembering what he had heard of the fearful devastation committed by a fire when once it secured a violent headway among the pines.
"It's in the tops now," said the old hunter, pointing with his finger, "but I don't reckon there's enough wind yet to hold it up there. The worst of it is that it's not long to morning now, an' we shall lose the advantage o' fightin' it at night. I reckon we'd better get down and see what we can do."
In a few minutes the hunter and Wilbur had fastened their horses and presently were beside the fire. To the boy's surprise the old hunter made no attack upon the fire itself, but, going in advance of it some hundred feet, with the boy's hoe, which he dragged after him like a plow, made a furrow in the earth almost as rapidly as a man could walk. This, Wilbur, with ax and shovel, widened. The old hunter never seemed to stop once, but, however curving and twisting his course might be, the boy noted that the furrow invariably occurred at the end of a stretch where few needles had fallen on the ground and the débris was very scant.
After about a mile of this, the hunter curved his furrow sharply in toward the burned-out portion, ending his line behind the line of fire. He then sent Wilbur back along the line he had just traversed to insure that none of the fire had crossed the guard thus made. Then, starting about twenty feet from the curve on the fire-guard, he took another wide curve in front of the floor-fire, favoring the place where the needles lay thinnest, until he came to a ridge. Following him, Wilbur noted that the old woodsman had made no attempt to stop the fire on the upward grade, but had apparently left it to the mercy of the fire, whereas, on the further side of the ridge, where the fire would have to burn down, the old hunter had made but a very scanty fire-guard. Then Wilbur remembered that he had been told it was easy to stop a fire when it was running down a hill, and he realized that if, in the beginning, instead of actually endeavoring to put out the fire, he had made a wide circuit around it, and by utilizing those ridges, he could have held the fire to the spot where it began. For a moment this nearly broke him all up, until he remembered that he had seen another fire, and that Rifle-Eye had told him of a third one yet.
Wilbur was working doggedly, yet in a spiritless, tired fashion, beating out the fire with a wet gunnysack as it reached the fire-guard of the old hunter's making, and very carefully putting out any spark that the wind drove across it, working almost without thought. But as he topped the ridge and came within full view of the fire that had started among the tops, his listlessness fell from him. Against the glow he could see the outline of the figure of the hunter, and he ran up to him.
"It's all out, back there," he panted. "What shall we do here?"
For the first time the Ranger seemed to have no answer ready. Then he said slowly:
"I reckon we can hold this bit of it, up yonder on the mountain, but there's a line of fire runnin' around by the gully, and the wind's beginnin' a-howlin' through there. I don't reckon we can stop that. We may have to fall back beyond the river. We'll need axmen, now. You've got a good mare; ride down to Pete's mine and bring all hands. The government will pay them, an' they'll come. There's the dawn; it'll be light in half an hour. You'd better move, too."
Wilbur started off at a shambling run, half wondering, as he did so, how it was he was able to keep up at all. But as he looked back he saw the old hunter, ax on shoulder, going quietly up the hill into the very teeth of the fire to head it off on the mountain top, if he could. He reached Kit and climbed into the saddle. But he was not sleepy, though almost too weary to sit upright. One moment the forest would be light as a glare from the fire reached him, the next moment it would be all the darker for the contrast. For a mile he rode over the blackened and burned forest floor, some trees still ablaze and smoking. Every step he took, for all he knew, might be leading him on into a fire-encircled place from which he would have difficulty in escaping, but on he went. There was no trail, he only had a vague sense of direction, and on both sides of him was fire. Probably fire was also in front, and if so he was riding into it, but he had his orders and on he must go. The mine, he knew, was lower down on the gully, and so roughly he followed it. Twice he had to force Kit to cross, but it was growing light now, so the little mare took the water quietly and followed the further bank. Suddenly he heard horses' hoofs, evidently a party, and he shouted. An answering shout was the response, and the horses pulled up. He touched Kit and in a minute or two broke through to them.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Merritt," said the boy, "I was just wondering who it might be."
"The fire's over there," said the Supervisor. "What are you doing here?"
"Rifle-Eye sent me to get the men at Pete's mine," he said.
"They're here," replied the Forest Chief. "How's the fire?"
"Bad," said the boy. "Rifle-Eye said he thought we would have to fall back beyond the river."
"Don't want to," said Merritt, "there's a lot of good timber between here and the river."
"Nothin' to it," said one of the miners. "Unless the wind shifts, it's an easy gamble she goes over the river and don't notice it none."
The Supervisor put his horse to the gallop, followed by the party, all save one miner, who, familiar with the country, led the way, finding some trail utterly undistinguishable to the rest. Seeing the vantage point, as Rifle-Eye had done, he made for the crest of the hill.
"Any chances?" asked the Supervisor.
"I reckon not," said Rifle-Eye. "You can't hold it here; there's a blaze down over yonder and another below the hill."
"Who set that fire?" said Merritt suddenly. Wilbur jumped. It had not occurred to him that the fire could have started in any other manner than by accident, and indeed he had not thought of its cause at all.
The old Ranger looked quietly at his superior officer.
"It's allers mighty hard to tell where a fire started after it's once got a-going," he said, "and it's harder to tell who set it a-going."
"I want to stop it at the river."
The old woodsman shook his head.
"You ain't got much chance," he said; "I reckon at the ridge on the other side of the river you can hold her, but she's crept along the gully an' she'll just go a-whoopin' up the hill. I wouldn't waste any time at the river."
"But there's the mill!"
"We ain't no ways to blame because Peavey Jo built his mill in front of a fire. An', anyhow, the mill's in the middle of a clearing."
The Supervisor frowned.
"His mill is on National Forest land, and we ought to try and save it," he said.
"I'm goin' clear to the ridge," remarked the Ranger, "an' I reckon you-all had better, too. I ain't achin' none to see the mill burn, but I'd as lieve it was Peavey Jo's as any one else."
"I'd like to know," Merritt repeated, "who set that fire."
The Ranger made no answer, but walked off to where his horse was tethered and rode away. The other party without a moment's delay struck off to the trail leading to the mill. The distance was not great, but Wilbur had lost all count of time. It seemed to him that he had either been fighting fire or riding at high speed through luridly lighted forest glades for years and years, and that it would never stop.
At the mill they found a wild turmoil of excitement. All the hands were at work, most of them wetting down the lumber, while other large piles which were close to the edge of the forest were being moved out of danger. The horses all had been taken from the stables, and the various sheds and buildings were being thoroughly soaked. The big mill engine was throbbing, lines of hose playing in every direction, for although the timber around the mill had been cleared as much as possible, negligence had been shown in permitting some undergrowth to spring up unchecked. Owing to the conformation of the land, too, the bottom on which the mill stood was smaller than customary.
In the early morning light the great form of Peavey Jo seemed to assume giant proportions. He was here, there, and everywhere at the moment, and his blustering voice could be heard bellowing out orders, which, to do him justice, were the best possible. As soon as the Supervisor and his party appeared he broke out into a violent tirade against them for not keeping a fit watch over the forest and allowing a fire to get such a headway on a night when in the evening there had been so little wind, whereas now a gale was rising fast. But Merritt did not waste breath in reply; he simply ordered his men to get in and do all they could to insure the safety of the mill.
Wilbur, who had been set at cutting out the underbrush, found that his strength was about played out. Once, indeed, he shouldered his ax and started to walk back to say that he could do no more, but before he reached the place where his chief was working his determination returned, and he decided to go back and work till he dropped right there. He had given up bothering about his hands and feet being so blistered and sore, for all such local pain was dulled by the utter collapse of nerve-sensation. He couldn't think clearly enough to think that he was feeling pain; he could not think at all. He had been told to cut brush and he did so as a machine, working automatically, but seeing nothing and hearing nothing of what was going on around him.
Presently an animal premonition of fear struck him as he became conscious of a terrific wave of heat, and he could hear in the distance the roar of the flames coming closer. Raging through the resinous pine branches the blaze had swept fiercely around the side of the hill. As the boy looked up he could see it suddenly break into greater vigor as the up-draft on the hill fanned it to a wilder fury and made a furnace of the place where he had been standing with Merritt and Rifle-Eye scarcely more than an hour before.
Meanwhile the wind drove the flames steadily onward toward the threatened mill. It was becoming too hot for any human being to stay where Wilbur was, but the boy seemed to have lost the power of thought. He chopped and chopped like a machine, not noticing, indeed, not being able to notice that he was toiling there alone. It grew hotter and hotter, his breath came in quick, short gasps, and each breath hurt his lungs cruelly as he breathed the heat into them, but he worked on as in a dream. Suddenly he felt his shoulder seized. It was the Supervisor, who twisted him round and, pointing to the little bridge across the river which spanned the stream just above the mill, he shouted:
"Run!"
But the boy's spirit was too exhausted to respond, though he got into a dog trot and started for the bridge. Perilous though every second's delay was, Merritt would not go ahead of the boy, though he could have outdistanced his shambling and footsore pace two to one, but kept beside him urging and threatening him alternately. The fire was on their heels, but they were in the clearing. On the bridge one of the miners was standing, riding the fastest horse in the party, holding, and with great difficulty holding, in hand the horse of the Supervisor and the boy's mare, Kit. Their very clothes were smoking as they reached the bridge.
Suddenly, a huge, twisted tree, full of sap, which stood on the edge of the clearing, exploded with a crash like a cannon, and a flaming branch, twenty feet in length, hurtled itself over their heads and fell full on the further side of the bridge, barring their way. Upon the narrow bridge the horses reared in a sudden panic and tried to bolt, but the miner was an old-time cowboy, and he held them in hand. Merritt helped the lad into the saddle before mounting himself. But even in that moment the bridge began to smoke, and in less than a minute the whole structure would be ablaze. The miner dug his heels, spurred, into the sides of his horse, and the animal in fear and desperation leaped over the hissing branch that lay upon the bridge. The Supervisor's horse and Kit followed suit. As they landed on the other side, however, the head of the forest reined in for a moment, and looking round, shouted suddenly:
"The mill!"
Wilbur pulled in Kit. So far as could be seen, none of the forest fire had reached the mill; the sparks which had fallen upon the roof had gone out harmlessly, so thoroughly had the place been soaked, yet through the door of the mill the flames could be seen on the inside. At first Wilbur thought it must be some kind of a reflection. But as they watched, Peavey Jo rode up. He had crossed the bridge earlier, and was on the safe side of the river watching his mill.
Suddenly, from out the door of the mill, outlined clearly against the fire within, came an ungainly, shambling figure. The features could not be seen, but the gait was unmistakable. He came running in an odd, loose-jointed fashion toward the bridge. But just before he reached it the now blazing timbers burned through and the bridge crashed into the stream.
"It's Ben," muttered Wilbur confusedly; "I guess I've got to go back," and he headed Kit for the trail.
But the Supervisor leaned over and almost crushed the bones of the boy's hand in his restraining grip.
"No need," he said, "he's all right now."
For as he spoke Wilbur saw Ben leap from the bank on the portion of the burned bridge which had collapsed on his side of the stream. A few quick strokes with the ax the boy was carrying and the timbers were free, and crouched down upon them the boy was being carried down the stream. His peril was extreme, for below as well as above the fire was sweeping down on either side of the mill, and it was a question of minutes, almost of seconds, whether the bridge-raft would pass down the river before the fire struck or whether it would be caught.
"If the wind would only lull!" ejaculated the boy.
"I'll stay here till I see him burn," replied Peavey Jo grimly.
But Wilbur's wish met its fulfillment, for just for the space that one could count ten the wind slackened, and every second meant a few yards of safety to the half-witted lad. Though they were risking their lives by staying, the three men waited, waited as still as they could for the fear of their horses, until the boy disappeared round a curve of the river. A muttered execration from Peavey Jo announced the lad's safety. It angered the usually calm Supervisor.
"That ends you," he said. "You're licked, and you know it. Your mill's gone, your timber's gone, and your credit's gone. Don't let me see you on this forest again."
"You think I do no more, eh? Me, I forget? Non! By and by you remember Peavey Jo. Now I ride down river. That boy, you see him? He see the sun rise this morning. He no see the sun set. No. Nor ever any more. I follow the river trail. I do not say good-by, like the old song," he added, scowling his fury; "you wish yes! Non! I sayau revoir, and perhaps sooner than you t'ink."
He wheeled and turned down the river. The Supervisor turned to the miner.
"It's not my business to stop him," he said, "and the boy's got the start. He can't reach there before the fire does, now."
Then, as though regretting the lull, the wind shrieked with a new and more vindictive fury, as though it saw its vengeance before it. Almost at a breath it seemed the whole body of flame appeared to lift itself to the skies and then fall like a devouring fury upon the forest on the hither side of the river below, whither Peavey Jo had ridden.
In the distance the two men heard a horse scream, and they knew. But Wilbur did not hear.
They had waited almost too long, for the wind, rising to its greatest height, had carried the fire above them almost to the edge of the river, and now there was no question about its crossing. Further delay meant to be hemmed in by a ring of fire. With a shout the miner slackened the reins and his horse leaped into a gallop, after him Merritt, and the boy close behind. Wilbur had ridden fast before, but never had he known such speed as now. The trail was clear before them to the top of the ridge, the fire was behind, and the wind was hurling masses of flames about them on every side. The horses fled with the speed of fear, and the Supervisor drew a breath of relief as they crossed a small ridge below the greater ridge whither they were bound.
Once a curl of flame licked clear over their heads and ignited a tree in front of them, but they were past it again before it caught fair hold. The boy could feel Kit's flanks heaving as she drew her breath hard, and with the last instinct of safety he threw away everything that he carried, even the fire-fighting tools being released. Only another mile, but the grade was fearfully steep, the steeper the harder for the horses but the better for the fire. Kit stumbled. A little less than a mile left! He knew she could not do it. The mare had been kept astretch all night, and her heart was breaking under the strain. Any second she might fall.
The trail curved. And round the curve, with three horses saddled and waiting, sat the old Ranger, facing the onrush of the fire as imperturbably as though his own life were in no way involved. The miner's horse was freshest and he reached the group first. As he did so, he swung out of his saddle, was on one of the three and off. The riderless horse, freed from the burden, followed up the trail. Merritt and Wilbur reached almost at the same time.
"I reckon," drawled Rifle-Eye, "that's a pretty close call."
"He's done," said the Supervisor, ignoring the remark. "Toss him up."
With a speed that seemed almost incredible to any one accustomed to his leisurely movements, the old Ranger dismounted, picked Wilbur bodily out of the saddle, set him on one of the fresh animals, freed Kit, mounted himself, and was off in less than thirty seconds. For the first half mile it was touch and go, for the trail was steep and even the three fresh horses found the pace terrific. But little by little the timber thinned and the fire gained less hold. Then, with a burst they came into a clearing along the top of the ridge. The crest was black with workers, over two hundred men were there, and on every side was to be heard the sound of trees crashing to the ground, most of them by dynamite.
Where the head of the trail reached the crest stood the doctor and his wife, the "little white lady" trembling with excitement as she watched the fearful race from the jaws of a fiery death. The doctor plucked Wilbur from his saddle as the horse rushed by him. The boy's senses were reeling, but before he sank into insensibility from fatigue he heard Merritt say:
"Loyle, when you're a Ranger next year, I want you on my forest."
"KEEP IT FROM SPREADING BOYS!""KEEP IT FROM SPREADING BOYS!"Photography by U. S. Forest Service.
"GET BUSY NOW, WHEN IT BREAKS INTO THE OPEN!""GET BUSY NOW, WHEN IT BREAKS INTO THE OPEN!"Photography by U. S. Forest Service.
Many illustrations from photographs taken in work for U. S. Government Large 12mo Cloth $1.50 per volume
This story describes the thrilling adventures of members of the U. S. Geological Survey, graphically woven into a stirring narrative that both pleases and instructs. The author enjoys an intimate acquaintance with the chiefs of the various bureaus in Washington, and is able to obtain at first hand the material for his books.
"There is abundant charm and vigor in the narrative which is sure to please the boy readers and will do much toward stimulating their patriotism."—Chicago News.
"There is abundant charm and vigor in the narrative which is sure to please the boy readers and will do much toward stimulating their patriotism."—Chicago News.
This life of a typical boy is followed in all its adventurous detail—the mighty representative of our country's government, though young in years—a youthful monarch in a vast domain of forest. Replete with information, alive with adventure, and inciting patriotism at every step.
"It is a fascinating romance of real life in our country, and will prove a great pleasure and inspiration to the boys who read it."—The Continent, Chicago.
"It is a fascinating romance of real life in our country, and will prove a great pleasure and inspiration to the boys who read it."—The Continent, Chicago.
The taking of the census frequently involves hardship and peril, requiring arduous journeys by dog-team in the frozen north and by launch in the snake-haunted and alligator-filled Everglades of Florida, while the enumerator whose work lies among the dangerous criminal classes of the greater cities must take his life in his own hands.
"Every young man should read this story, thereby getting a clear conception of conditions as they exist to-day, for such knowledge will have a clean, invigorating and healthy influence on the young growing and thinking mind."—Boston Globe.
"Every young man should read this story, thereby getting a clear conception of conditions as they exist to-day, for such knowledge will have a clean, invigorating and healthy influence on the young growing and thinking mind."—Boston Globe.
The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries
The book does not lack thrilling scenes. The far Aleutian Islands have witnessed more desperate sea-fighting than has occurred elsewhere since the days of the Spanish Buccaneers, and pirate craft, which the U. S. Fisheries must watch, rifle in hand, are prowling in the Behring Sea to-day. The fish-farms of the United States are as interesting as they are immense in their scope.
"One of the best books for boys of all ages, so attractively written and illustrated as to fascinate the reader into staying up until all hours to finish it."—Philadelphia Despatch.
"One of the best books for boys of all ages, so attractively written and illustrated as to fascinate the reader into staying up until all hours to finish it."—Philadelphia Despatch.
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
Practical Plans for Work and Play with Many Ideas for Earning Money
Author of "The Boy Craftsman"
With Nearly 600 Illustrations and Working-drawings by the Author and Norman P. Hall 8vo Cloth Net, $2.00 Postpaid, $2.25
Handi-Craft for Handy Boys
This book is intended for boys who want the latest ideas for making things, practical plans for earning money, up-to-date suggestions for games and sports, and novelties for home and school entertainments.
The author has planned the suggestions on an economical basis, providing for the use of the things at hand, and many of the things which can be bought cheaply. Mr. Hall's books have won the confidence of parents, who realize that in giving them to their boys they are providing wholesome occupations which will encourage self-reliance and resourcefulness, and discourage tendencies to be extravagant.
Outdoor and indoor pastimes have been given equal attention, and much of the work is closely allied to the studies of the modern grammar and high schools, as will be seen by a glance at the following list of subjects, which are only a few among those discussed in the 500 pages of text:
MANUAL TRAINING; EASILY-MADE FURNITURE; FITTING UP A BOY'S ROOM; HOME-MADE GYMNASIUM APPARATUS; A BOY'S WIRELESS TELEGRAPH OUTFIT; COASTERS AND BOB-SLEDS; MODEL AEROPLANES; PUSHMOBILES AND OTHER HOME-MADE WAGONS; A CASTLE CLUBHOUSE AND HOME-MADE ARMOR.
MANUAL TRAINING; EASILY-MADE FURNITURE; FITTING UP A BOY'S ROOM; HOME-MADE GYMNASIUM APPARATUS; A BOY'S WIRELESS TELEGRAPH OUTFIT; COASTERS AND BOB-SLEDS; MODEL AEROPLANES; PUSHMOBILES AND OTHER HOME-MADE WAGONS; A CASTLE CLUBHOUSE AND HOME-MADE ARMOR.
Modern ingenious work such as the above cannot fail to develop mechanical ability in a boy, and this book will get right next to his heart.
"The book is a treasure house for boys who like to work with tools and have a purpose in their working."—Springfield Union."It is a capital book for boys since it encourages them in wholesome, useful occupation, encourages self-reliance and resourcefulness and at the same time discourages extravagance."—Brooklyn Times."It is all in this book, and if anything has got away from the author we do not know what it is."—Buffalo News.
"The book is a treasure house for boys who like to work with tools and have a purpose in their working."—Springfield Union.
"It is a capital book for boys since it encourages them in wholesome, useful occupation, encourages self-reliance and resourcefulness and at the same time discourages extravagance."—Brooklyn Times.
"It is all in this book, and if anything has got away from the author we do not know what it is."—Buffalo News.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of postpaid price by the publishers
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Practical and Profitable Ideas for a Boy's Leisure Hours
The Boy Craftsman
Illustrated with over 400 diagrams and working drawings 8vo Price, net, $1.60 Postpaid, $1.82
Every real boy wishes to design and make things, but the questions of materials and tools are often hard to get around. Nearly all books on the subject call for a greater outlay of money than is within the means of many boys, or their parents wish to expend in such ways. In this book a number of chapters give suggestions for carrying on a small business that will bring a boy in money with which to buy tools and materials necessary for making apparatus and articles described in other chapters, while the ideas are so practical that many an industrious boy can learn what he is best fitted for in his life work. No work of its class is so completely up-to-date or so worthy in point of thoroughness and avoidance of danger. The drawings are profuse and excellent, and every feature of the book is first-class. It tells how to make a boy's workshop, how to handle tools, and what can be made with them; how to start a printing shop and conduct an amateur newspaper, how to make photographs, build a log cabin, a canvas canoe, a gymnasium, a miniature theatre, and many other things dear to the soul of youth.
We cannot imagine a more delightful present for a boy than this book.—Churchman, N.Y.Every boy should have this book. It's a practical book—it gets right next to the boy's heart and stays there. He will have it near him all the time, and on every page there is a lesson or something that will stand the boy in good need. Beyond a doubt in its line this is one of the cleverest books on the market.—Providence News.If a boy has any sort of a mechanical turn of mind, his parents should see that he has this book.—Boston Journal.This is a book that will do boys good.—Buffalo Express.The boy who will not find this book a mine of joy and profit must be queerly constituted.—Pittsburgh Gazette.Will be a delight to the boy mechanic.—Watchman, Boston.An admirable book to give a boy.—Newark News.This Book is the best yet offered for its large number of practical and profitable ideas.—Milwaukee Free Press.Parents ought to know of this book.—New York Globe.
We cannot imagine a more delightful present for a boy than this book.—Churchman, N.Y.
Every boy should have this book. It's a practical book—it gets right next to the boy's heart and stays there. He will have it near him all the time, and on every page there is a lesson or something that will stand the boy in good need. Beyond a doubt in its line this is one of the cleverest books on the market.—Providence News.
If a boy has any sort of a mechanical turn of mind, his parents should see that he has this book.—Boston Journal.
This is a book that will do boys good.—Buffalo Express.
The boy who will not find this book a mine of joy and profit must be queerly constituted.—Pittsburgh Gazette.
Will be a delight to the boy mechanic.—Watchman, Boston.
An admirable book to give a boy.—Newark News.
This Book is the best yet offered for its large number of practical and profitable ideas.—Milwaukee Free Press.
Parents ought to know of this book.—New York Globe.
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How Bobby and Joe Achieved Success in Business
First Volume of "Business Boys Series"
12mo Cloth Illustrated Price, Net, $1.00 Postpaid, $1.10
Mr. Responsibility, Partner
This is frankly a book with a purpose, and its purpose is to teach boys the fundamental business customs of every-day life, and at the same time encourage the sound traits of character essential to commercial success and good citizenship. This is done by a good and interesting story of some live boys, whose experiences will hold the attention of every one. The leading spirit is pictured with a healthy boy's human qualities to be trained, and impulses to be overcome. A companionable and sensible father aids him judiciously, and leaves success to be worked out on natural lines. All the stage effects of the cheaper kinds of boys' books are blissfully absent; there are no villains plotting against the upright, no nations saved by the precocious intelligence of youth, and no impossible adventure or accomplishment—just the problems before average boys, and that can be solved as these boys solve them if "Mr. Responsibility" is recognized as a partner in all undertakings, and one learns to see and grasp his opportunities. A book that any boy would like, and that every boy ought to have.
"It is an inspiring book to any boy who wants to learn to be a good business man."—Buffalo News."Entertaining, instructive, and just such a book as boys will love."—Portland, Me., Press."For the boys still young enough to revel in "juvenile stories" MR. RESPONSIBILITY is about as good as is to be found."—San Francisco Town Talk."The story is one that boys will enjoy and that parents can safely put in their hands."—Lowell Courier Citizen."A wholesome, informative, worth-while boy's book."—N. Y. Press.
"It is an inspiring book to any boy who wants to learn to be a good business man."—Buffalo News.
"Entertaining, instructive, and just such a book as boys will love."—Portland, Me., Press.
"For the boys still young enough to revel in "juvenile stories" MR. RESPONSIBILITY is about as good as is to be found."—San Francisco Town Talk.
"The story is one that boys will enjoy and that parents can safely put in their hands."—Lowell Courier Citizen.
"A wholesome, informative, worth-while boy's book."—N. Y. Press.
For sale by all booksellers or sent on receipt of postpaid price by the publishers
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON