The Young Oarsmen of Lakeview

The horses now demanded all of Harry’s attention. One of them was bound to run away, and the youth had all he could do to hold the animal in check. But the lad knew what he was doing and presently held them under complete control.

Then our hero staggered out of the bushes with his hand on his neck, where a big lump was rising.

“Where are they?”

“Gone! Did they rob you, Jerry?”

“No.”

“Then you are in luck.”

“What do you mean, Harry?”

“Crosby took my gold watch and chain.”

“Never!”

“He did. Jerry, those two chaps have turned nothing but common thieves,” went on Harry, bitterly.

“It certainly looks so, Harry. What shall we do now?”

“Jump in and we’ll go after them.”

Jerry was soon beside Harry, and they turned up the side road taken by the fugitives. The moon was out full, making the way as light as day, yet nothing was to be seen of the rascally pair.

This was not to be wondered at, for after running along the road but a few hundred feet, Si Peters and Wash Crosby had taken to an open field. Crossing this, they came out upon a railroad track. A freight train was coming along slowly, around the bend of the lake, and they had had small trouble in boarding this. Inside of an hour they were many miles away from the vicinity.

Jerry and Harry searched for the pair until midnight, and then gave up the hunt and returned to Lakeview. Once again the authorities were notified, and the detectives started on a fresh hunt for the evil-doers. Yet it was destined to be a long time before Si Peters and Wash Crosby were heard of again.

About this time the Lakeview boat club was organizing another series of rowing races, and both Harry and Jerry were easily persuaded to enter a contest, which was to take place between a number of local oarsmen.

A prize of a fine bicycle had been put up, also several other articles of more or less value, and Jerry and Harry immediately went into training, with a firm determination to win.

There were seven entries, all by young fellows of Jerry’s age, and as the youth looked at his opponents he felt that the race would be no easy one.

Saturday afternoon, the time appointed for the contest, came, bright and clear, and it found the lake front crowded to its utmost capacity. Many came over from Rockpoint, but it was noticed that those who had belonged to Si Peters’ crowd were absent.

The race was to be two miles long, up the lake and back again. The boats were all drawn up in a line, and everything was made ready for a start. Jerry was at one end of the line, with Harry at the other, and the remaining five contestants between them.

Bang! went the gun on the judges’ boat, and away shot the seven rowers like one man; and the race was begun.

For over half a mile the seven contestants kept almost side by side. Then three of them were seen to drop behind.

“Gravling is ahead!”

“Harry Parker is second.”

“Phil Raymond is a close third!”

“Jerry Upton is crawling up!”

So the shouting went on, as the four leaders swept past. When the turning point was reached, Harry led, Raymond came second, Gravling third, and Jerry fourth. The remaining three felt they were out of the race, and rowed back to the boathouse.

“Good for you, Harry!”

“What’s the matter, Jerry? You’re not doing as good as the day you beat Si Peters!”

“Hurry up, Gravling!”

“Pull for all you know how, Raymond!”

On and on came the four, their long blades flashing brightly in the sunshine. They were making fast time, and, no matter who won, the lake record was likely to be broken.

Half way down the homestretch, Harry still led, with Gravling but half a length behind him. A length further back came Raymond and Jerry, side by side.

But the terrific speed was now beginning to tell upon Raymond, and slowly but surely he fell behind, despite the urgings of his friends. Then Jerry set to work to overtake Gravling.

“See Jerry Upton crawling up!”

“Oh, but isn’t that a beautiful stroke!”

“Gravling can’t shake him off!”

“They are a tie!”

The last cry was true. When still a dozen lengths from the finish Jerry had overtaken Gravling. But they did not remain tie long. Half a dozen strokes and Jerry shot ahead and the bow of his craft overlapped Harry’s stern. “Jerry Upton is second!”

“He’s going to shake up Harry Parker for first place!”

On came the two friends, but now it was noticed that Jerry, although he still rowed his best, seemed to be losing his interest in the race.

“It will be no fun to beat Harry,” was the thought which ran through his head; and then, with a yell from three thousand throats, Harry crossed the line a winner, with our hero not quite half a boat length behind.

“Hurrah for Harry Parker!”

“Hurrah for Jerry Upton!”

Cheer after cheer rent the air, and both lads were immediately surrounded by their friends. Jerry was one of the first to shake his chum’s hand.

“You won it fairly, Harry,” he said. “What kind of time did we make?”

He was greatly pleased to learn that the lake record for two miles had been lowered by forty-three seconds, and that he had helped lower it by forty-two seconds.

That evening the club held a meeting, and Harry was presented with the bicycle, something he had been wishing for for some time. Jerry’s prize was a silver watch and chain.

“This just suits me,” he said. “Now, when I’m away from home, I’ll be able to tell what time it is.”

The celebration was at its height, when a message came for Jerry from his home, stating that his father had been kicked by one of the horses and was badly injured.

This news shocked the youth a good deal, and bidding his friends a hasty good-night, the young oarsman set off for the farm on a run.

He found his father lying on a couch in the dining-room. A doctor had just arrived, and he was doing all that he could for the sufferer.

“Where did the horse kick him, mother?” he questioned, hurriedly.

“In the side, right under the heart,” replied Mrs. Upton. “Oh, I do trust it is not serious!”

“So do I. What can I do?”

“I don’t know. We must see what the doctor says.”

The medical man, after a long examination, declared that several ribs had been fractured, and that Mr. Upton was suffering from shock. Some medicine was administered, and the patient was carefully carried upstairs and placed upon a bed.

No one in the farmhouse slept that night. Mrs. Upton sat by her husband’s side, and Jerry came and went, ready to do anything that might be asked of him.

Two days later the doctor pronounced the wounded man out of danger. But his injuries were severe, and it would be a long while before Mr. Upton would be able to go around as before.

His enforced idleness made the farmer fret a good deal. It was true that the harvest work on the farm was over, but he had wished to do much more.

“And I reckon that trip to New York is now out of the question,” Jerry heard him say to Mrs. Upton.

“Why, father, were you going to New York?” asked the boy, in much curiosity.

“I had an idea that way, son,” returned Mr. Upton, slowly. “I was going on business,” he added, after a pause.

At this Jerry was more curious than ever. New York was over two hundred miles from Lakeview, and he had never heard of his parent having business in the metropolis.

“You see it’s this way, Jerry,” said Mr. Upton, noticing his look. “When your uncle Charley died he left all his property to me. Some time ago I was cleaning out one of his old trunks and I ran across some deeds to property in California. From what I can make out the land must be nigh to the city of Sacramento.”

“And the property belongs to you?” cried Jerry.

“No, I can’t say that exactly. As near as I can figure it, your uncle Charley owned an interest in it. The property was in the hands of a land boomer named Alexander Slocum, and there was a letter in the trunk from this Alexander Slocum which was dated from New York. I think this boomer holds other papers relating to the land, and I was thinking of making a trip to New York and hunting him up, if he is still there.”

“Why not let me go to New York in your place,” suggested Jerry, quickly. It had always been the ambition of his life to pay a visit to the great metropolis.

“Well, I was kind of thinking of that, son,” returned the sick man, slowly. “I’ll see about it in a day or two.”

Now that the matter had once been talked over, the young oarsman was very anxious to know all about the property in California, and his mother brought forth the deeds and other papers found in the old trunk.

The boy studied the documents with care. He knew but little of the law, yet he felt that if the land mentioned in the papers was valuable his father’s share, as heir to his uncle, must be considerable.

“I would like to ask Mr. Parker about this,” he said to his folks, but Mr. Upton shook his head. He was a very retired man and never brought his affairs to the ears of any outsider.

“The whole thing might prove worthless,” he said, “and then we would be laughed at by our neighbors.”

“I’d risk it,” said Jerry, but his father only shook his head again.

Nevertheless Mr. Upton appeared to be favorably impressed with the idea of Jerry’s going to New York to hunt up Alexander Slocum.

“It won’t do any harm,” he said to his wife. “I have money for the fare in the house, and it will give Jerry a chance to see a bit of the world.”

Mrs. Upton was doubtful, but when Jerry begged to go she finally consented. Long talks about the western land and Alexander Slocum followed, and the youth prevailed upon his folks to let him take the deeds and papers with him, promising that he would take the best of care of them.

“And while I’m in New York I’m going to look around for a situation, and earn a little money,” said Jerry. “Who knows but what I may strike even a better opening than that Mr. Parker has promised me at his shoe factory.”

“It’s not likely a lad off the farm can strike much,” smiled his mother, yet she was pleased at Jerry’s earnestness.

Three days later Jerry was off, valise in hand. He had bid good-bye to Harry and Blumpo, telling them he was going to New York on some private business for his father. His mother saw him to the train and kissed him affectionately.

“Take good care of yourself, Jerry,” she said. “And remember, New York is an entirely different place from Lakeview or Rockpoint, and you must have your eyes and ears open to avoid trouble.”

“I’ll take care of myself, don’t worry mother,” and two minutes later the train came along and he was off.

Yet it must be confessed that our hero felt just a bit strange as he settled back in the cushioned seat, with his valise beside him. He was going over two hundred miles from home and among total strangers.

“I suppose it will be different from knocking around Lakeview, Rockpoint or even Long Lake,” he mused. “I’ll have to brace up and watch myself, or they’ll take me for a regular greeny.”

As the train moved on, Jerry revolved the situation in his mind. He knew he would arrive in the metropolis late in the afternoon, and determined to seek a boarding-house first of all, knowing it would be useless to hunt for any trace of Alexander Slocum after office hours.

At last the run through green fields and small towns and cities came to an end, and the train ran into the Grand Central Depot at Forty-second Street, and Jerry alighted in a crowd and made his way to the street.

“Cab! coupe! This way for the Central Hotel! Evening paper! Sun or World!”

A hundred cries seemed to start up all in an instant, making Jerry’s ears ring. The rattle of the carts and trucks on the pavement was also new, and for the moment, the Lakeview boy did not know which way to turn.

“Carry yer baggage?” queried a bare-foot boy, and almost caught his valise from his hand. But the young oarsman pulled it back and shook his head, and got out of the crowd as quickly as he could, starting eastward for he had heard that the cheaper boarding houses lay in that direction.

It was not long before the boy came to several places which displayed the sign, Boarding. But the first two were too elegant, and Jerry passed them without stopping. Then came a third, and ascending the steps Jerry rang the bell.

An elderly lady answered the summons, a sharp-faced woman with powdered hair.

“You take boarders here?” queried Jerry.

“We do, young man,” she answered, in a voice that made our hero far from comfortable.

“I expect to stay in New York a week or two, and I—”

“We don’t take transients,” she snapped. “Only regular boarders with first-class references,” and she shut the door in Jerry’s face.

He was glad enough to escape to the pavement, feeling satisfied that he would not have cared to have boarded there, even had she been willing to take him in.

A block further on was another place, a modest brick residence, set back behind a small plot of green. Thinking this looked inviting, and not reasoning that the spot of green was as valuable as a brown-stone building would have been, Jerry entered the garden and made known his wants to the servant who was dusting the piazza chairs.

She called the lady of the house, who on hearing what Jerry had to say, smiled in a motherly way.

“I hardly think I can take you in, my boy,” she said. “Do you know how much I charge a week?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Twelve to fifteen dollars for a single room and not less than ten otherwise.”

Jerry almost gasped for breath.

“That is twice what I can afford to pay,” he returned. “Gracious! I had no idea rates were so high.”

“That is not high, here in New York. But perhaps I can direct you to a place that will suit. I have a friend three blocks over. Here is her card,” and she handed it over.

Thanking her, the young oarsman got out without delay. He was glad she had directed him, for now he was certain he would at least strike a place that would fit his pocket-book.

Jerry went on until he came to an avenue down which the elevated cars were running. They were a great novelty and he paused on the corner to watch several of the trains rattle along overhead.

As Jerry was about to move on, he heard a wild cry of alarm from the second story window of a house opposite. Looking in the direction, he saw a girl pointing up the street to where a baby-carriage had rolled from the pavement to the gutter, overturning itself and spilling a little child into the street.

The youth ran in the direction with the idea of picking the child up. As he did this an ice-wagon came along at a furious speed, the driver on the seat trying in vain to stop his horse.

The ice-wagon was heading directly for the child and unless something was done the little one would be run over and most likely killed. With his heart in his throat our hero threw down his valise and leaped to the rescue. In another instant the runaway horse was fairly on top of the lad.

Jerry’s heart was in his throat when he sprang to the rescue of the little child in the street. He saw that the horse attached to the ice-wagon could not be stopped and realized only too well what it meant should he be struck down.

Yet the sight of that innocent face nerved him on, and in less time than it takes to write it he had the child in his arms. Clinging to the little one, he flung himself backward, and like a flash the horse sprang past, dragging the ice-wagon so close that the wheels scraped his leg.

A shout went up from the crowd, but Jerry did not hear what was said. Staggering up, he ran back to the sidewalk, leaving the baby-carriage a wreck behind him.

In another moment the girl who had given the first cry of alarm was at Jerry’s side.

“Is he hurt? Is little Tommy hurt?” she cried, as she snatched the youngster from Jerry’s arms.

“Me fell in the dirt,” lisped the little one. “Me ain’t hurt, but me awful dirty.”

“Never mind the dirt, dear,” cried the girl. “I am thankful you escaped. Mary, why didn’t you take better care of him?”

The last words were addressed to an Irish girl who had just sauntered up.

“I went to get a hoky-poky at the corner,” replied the girl. “I don’t care to mind yer brother any more anyway,” she added, and darted out of sight into the crowd.

Seeing the little boy was uninjured, the crowd moved on, and presently the young oarsman found himself alone with the girl, who appeared to be several years older than himself.

“You are a brave boy,” she said, warmly. “I would like to reward you, but I am poor.”

“I don’t want any reward,” replied Jerry, stoutly. “It was a close shave, though.”

“You look like a stranger around here.”

“I am—I just arrived in New York and I am looking for a boarding-house. Can you tell me where this one is?” and Jerry showed her the card the lady had given him.

“Oh, yes; it is one block over to your left—a real nice house, too. May I ask your name?”

“Jerry Upton.”

“Mine is Nellie Ardell, and this is my brother Tommy. We are alone here.”

“Haven’t you any folks?”

“No. Mother was with us up to last winter, but she had consumption and died.”

The tears stood in Nellie Ardell’s eyes as she spoke. Jerry saw at once that she had had a hard struggle of it.

“What do you do for a living?” he ventured to ask.

“I do sewing and mending for my neighbors—principally mending for the girls who work in the stores.”

“And can you make much that way?”

“Not a great deal. But I try to make enough to pay the rent and store bills. May I ask what you are going to do in New York?”

“I came to find a real estate dealer named Alexander Slocum. I want to see him about some property left by my uncle to my father. Have you ever heard of him?”

“Heard of him?” she cried in surprise. “He is my landlord.”

Jerry was dumfounded by this unexpected bit of information.

“You are certain?”

“Why, of course I am. He was around to see me only day before yesterday about the rent. I am a bit behind, and I had to put him off.”

“And what kind of a man is he?”

“I think he is very hard-hearted. But then, that may be because I am behind in my payment. He threatened to put me out of my rooms if I didn’t pay when he called again.”

“How many rooms have you?”

“Only two, and I pay six dollars a month for them.”

“And how far behind are you?”

“I only owe for the month.”

“And he won’t trust you even that long? He certainly must be mean,” Jerry rejoined warmly.

“You said something about property belonging to your father,” said Nellie Ardell. “Has Mr. Slocum an interest in it?”

“He has and he hasn’t,” the boy replied, and he told his story in a few words as they walked along to the entrance of the house in which she lived.

“Well, I trust you get your right, Jerry Upton,” said the girl. “Come and see me some time.”

“I will,” and after Jerry had procured Alexander Slocum’s office address from her, the pair separated.

Jerry was very thoughtful as he proceeded on his way. By a turn of fortune he had gotten on Slocum’s track much quicker than expected. The question was, how should he best approach the man?

“I’ll settle that after I have procured a boarding place,” he thought, and hurried to the address given him.

Mrs. Price, the landlady, was a very nice old person. She had a top room in the back she said she would let with board, for five dollars a week, and Jerry closed with her without delay, paying for one week in advance.

This finished, our hero found he was hungry, and after a washing-up, ate supper with a relish. He could not help but notice that the vegetables and milk served were not as fresh as those at home, but remembered he was now in the city and not on a farm, and did not complain.

Mrs. Price had taken in another new boarder that day, a tall, slim man, possibly thirty years of age. He was introduced as Mr. Wakefield Smith, and he did all he could to make himself popular. Jerry felt that a good bit of his pleasantry was forced, but as there was no use in finding fault, he became quite friendly with the man.

“Supposing we take a walk out together this evening?” Wakefield Smith suggested. “No doubt you would like to see the sights.”

“I’ll go out for an hour or so,” answered the young oarsman, and they started while it was yet light.

Mr. Wakefield Smith knew the metropolis from end to end, and as the pair covered block after block, he pointed out various buildings. He smoked constantly, and several times invited Jerry to have a cigar, but the youth declined.

“Supposing we have a drink, then?” he urged.

Again Jerry declined, which made the man frown. He insisted Jerry should at least have some soda water with him, and at last the boy accepted, and they entered rather a modest looking drug store on a side street.

“Hullo! what’s that crowd on the street?” exclaimed Mr. Wakefield Smith, as the glasses were set out, and as Jerry looked out of the doorway he fancied the man shoved up close to where his glass was standing and made a movement as if to throw something into it.

Jerry saw nothing unusual in the street, and the man’s manner made him suspicious, so that he hesitated about drinking the soda. He swallowed a small portion of it and threw the remainder in a corner.

“What’s the matter, don’t you like it?” demanded Wakefield Smith, almost roughly.

“No, it’s bitter.”

“Humph!” He growled something under his breath. “I’ll not treat you again,” he went on, as they came out on the street.

What Jerry had taken of the soda had made his head ache, and this caused the young oarsman to grow more suspicious than ever. He had read in a daily paper about folks being drugged by friendly strangers, and resolved to be on guard.

The pair passed on the distance of a block, and then Jerry announced his intention of returning home to the boarding-house.

“Oh, don’t go yet,” urged Mr. Wakefield Smith. “Come on across the way. There are some beautiful pictures in an art store window I want to show you. One of the pictures is worth ten thousand dollars.”

He caught our hero by the arm and hurried him over the way and into the crowd. Jerry was jostled to the right and left, and it was fully a minute before he squeezed himself out to a clear spot. Then he looked around for Mr. Wakefield Smith, but the man was gone.

Like a flash Jerry felt something had gone wrong. He put his hand in his pocket. His money was missing!

“Less than half a day in New York and robbed! Oh, what a greeny I have been!”

Thus Jerry groaned to himself as he searched first one pocket and then another. It was all to no purpose, the money was gone and he was left absolutely penniless.

The young oarsman was certain that Mr. Wakefield Smith had robbed him. He had been wary of the man from the start, and now blamed himself greatly for having given the rascal the chance to take the pocket-book.

Without loss of time Jerry darted into the crowd again, looking in every direction for the thief. He was so eager, he ran plump into an old gentleman, knocking his silk hat to the pavement.

“Hi! hi! stop, you young rascal!” puffed the man, as Jerry stooped and restored the tile to him. “What do you mean by running into me in this fashion?”

“Excuse me, but I have been robbed! I want to catch the thief.”

“Robbed?”

“Yes, sir.”

The gentleman nervously felt to see if his money and watch were safe. Several others heard the words, and they gathered around Jerry.

“Who robbed you?”

“How much did you have?”

“Why didn’t you hold the thief?”

Before Jerry could answer any of the questions a policeman came forward and touched him on the shoulder.

“Are you the boy said he was robbed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What were you robbed of?”

“A pocket-book containing nearly thirty dollars.”

“Did you see the thief?”

“I believe it was a man I was walking with. He called himself Wakefield Smith.”

The policeman questioned Jerry closely, and then took a good look around for the individual. Later on, boy and officer walked to Mrs. Price’s boarding-house.

Here it was learned that Mr. Wakefield Smith had not paid any board money, giving as an excuse that he had nothing less than a one-hundred-dollar bill and that he would pay in the morning. It also came to light that he had walked out with Mrs. Price’s silver-handled umbrella, worth eight dollars.

“The villain!” she cried. “I hope the police catch him!”

“You don’t wish it more than I do,” returned the young oarsman, dolefully. “He took my last dollar.”

Acting on the policeman’s advice, Jerry walked around to the nearest precinct station and made a complaint, giving the best description of Mr. Wakefield Smith he could.

“We will do our best to capture him,” said the captain in charge, and with this promise the youth had to be content.

My readers can imagine our hero did not spend a restful night. He lay awake for several hours speculating on the turn affairs had taken. His board was paid for a week, but that was all. He did not even have money to pay car fare back to Lakeview.

“I wonder what mother and father would say if they knew?” he thought. “I won’t let them know until there’s nothing else to do.”

Jerry arose early the next day and got breakfast before any of the other boarders.

“I must find something to do without delay,” he explained to Mrs Price. “A fellow without a dollar in his pocket can’t afford to remain idle.”

“You have a week’s board coming to you,” she said, with a faint smile.

“Yes, but I haven’t even the price of a car fare in my pocket.”

“Well, Mr. Upton, I like your looks, and if you’ll accept it I’ll loan you a couple of dollars. I suppose it was partly my fault that Smith robbed you. But don’t blame me, I’ve suffered, too.”

“I will accept the loan gladly, Mrs. Price. I don’t like to go around without a cent. I will pay you back as soon as I can.”

“I know you will. I may have been deceived in that Smith, but I am certain I am not in you,” added the landlady.

With the two dollars tucked away in a safe place, Jerry left the house. He knew it would be useless to go to Alexander Slocum’s office at such an early hour, and determined to look around in the hope of striking something whereby he might earn at least enough money to last him while stopping in New York.

“I won’t write home unless I have to,” he muttered to himself. “My time is my own and I’ll make the most of it while I’m here.”

Getting one of the dollar bills changed, Jerry bought a morning paper and looked over the Help Wanted—Males—column, and noted several addresses.

“I’ll try them and lose no time,” he thought, and hurried to the nearest store where a boy was wanted.

He was surprised to find a dozen applicants ahead of him. Worse than that, a boy had already been hired; so all of the others were forced to leave.

Jerry next tried a florist’s establishment. But here a boy was wanted who understood the city thoroughly, and he was quickly told he would not do.

Jerry walked from one place to another for three hours without success. Somewhat disheartened, he strolled into a park close to Broadway and sat down.

The situation was certainly a serious one, and the young oarsman was decidedly sober in mind as he sat there, staring vacantly at the hurrying throng.

“Well, young man, how did you make out last night?”

The question came from a bench just behind Jerry. Looking around, he saw sitting there the gentleman he had run into while trying to find Wakefield Smith.

“I didn’t make out at all, sir.”

“Couldn’t find him, eh?”

“No, sir.”

“Those pickpockets are slick chaps, and no mistake,” went on the gentleman.

“Did you lose much?”

“All I had—nearly thirty dollars.”

“Phew! that is too bad. Well, I wouldn’t sit down to mope about it. You might as well get to work and earn the amount over again.”

“The trouble is, I can’t find any work,” answered the boy, earnestly. “I would work fast enough if I could only find it to do.”

“You are out of a situation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Since when?”

“Since I came to New York,” answered Jerry.

“You are about as bad off as I was some forty years ago,” said the man, with a broad smile. “At that time I found myself in this city, with just twenty-five cents in my pocket. But I struck employment, and rose from one place to another until now I am my own master, with a bookbinding-shop where I employ nearly fifty hands.”

As he spoke he gazed at Jerry curiously.

“You were going to ask me for a job, weren’t you?” he went on, and Jerry nodded. “What can you do?”

“I’m not used to any such work, sir. But you’ll find me willing and strong—and honest. I would like to earn a little before I went back to my home.”

“Well, those three qualities you mention are sure to win, my boy. Perhaps I can find an opening for you. Here comes a friend I have been waiting for. I am going out of town with him. Call at my shop to-morrow morning, if you don’t strike anything in the meantime.”

And, handing out his card, Mr. Islen walked rapidly away.

Fifteen minutes later found Jerry on the way to Alexander Slocum’s office. In an inner pocket he carried the papers his father had unearthed from the trunk in the garret at home.

Jerry felt that his mission to the real estate man was a delicate one. What would he have to say when he learned who the youth was and what he had come for?

The boy resolved to be on guard. He might be from the country and green, but no one should catch him napping, as had Mr. Wakefield Smith.

The distance to the address furnished by Nellie Ardell was nearly a dozen blocks, but Jerry was used to walking and made the journey on foot.

The young oarsman found Alexander Slocum’s set of offices located on the top floor of an old-fashioned four-story office building. There was an elevator, however, and this Jerry used and soon found himself in front of a ground-glass door, which bore the sign:

There was a hum of voices from within, but the hum ceased as Jerry knocked.

“Come in,” was the short invitation, and the boy entered, to find a large apartment, comfortably furnished with desks, stuffed chairs and other things which went to show that the man he had come to interview was doing well.

Near an open window sat two gentlemen dressed in black. One was much older than the other, and Jerry rightfully guessed that he was an office assistant.

The other man was well preserved, with a waxed mustache and piercing black eyes. He held a silk hat in his hand, as if he had been on the point of leaving.

“Well, young man, what can I do for you?” questioned the office assistant, as he regarded Jerry indifferently.

“I came to see Mr. Alexander Slocum,” replied our hero.

“I am Mr. Slocum,” put in the other man. “What is it you want?”

“I came to see you on a bit of private business, sir.”

“Yes. Well, Mr. Casey here knows all about my affairs; so you need have no hesitation in speaking in front of him,” laughed the real estate man somewhat harshly.

“I am Jerry Upton, and I came from Lakeview. My uncle, Charles Upton, who is now dead, was once interested in a colonization land scheme that you started.”

Jerry watch Mr. Slocum narrowly as he spoke, and saw that the man was greatly astonished. He started back, and for an instant the assuring look his face wore faded.

“Jerry Upton from Lakeview,” he murmured slowly. Then he cleared his throat. “I—I did not expect to see you.”

“I suppose not, sir.”

“What is it you want?”

“I want to find out how matters stand in regard to the land in California. My father heard you had gone to Europe.”

“I did go to Europe, but not to escape inquiry,” added Slocum, hastily. “You see, that scheme failed utterly,” he went on slowly. “Why, I lost nearly every dollar I possessed in it. What your uncle lost was nothing in comparison.”

“It was to him, Mr. Slocum. To whom does the land belong?”

“Why, it—er—it reverted to its original owners, some mine speculators of Denver.”

“Where is the land located?”

“Not far from the city of Sacramento.”

“Can’t you give me the precise location?”

At this Alexander Slocum glared at our hero savagely.

“It would do you no good to spend money on hunting the matter up,” he answered. “That affair was settled long ago. The money was lost, and that is all there is to it.”

“Not if I know it, Mr. Slocum. I intend to sift the matter to the bottom. I am convinced that all was not carried out as it should have been.”

“You appear to be a very foolish boy.”

“That may be your opinion, but it won’t alter my intention. I have my uncle’s papers with me, and, unless you will give me some particulars of how the scheme fell through, I shall place the matter in the hands of a lawyer.”

Alexander Slocum winced at this, and Jerry fancied he was hard struck. He made a movement as if to clutch the youth by the arm, then drew back.

“You have your uncle’s papers?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes. My father is his sole heir.”

“I should like to see them. Perhaps I spoke hastily; but really you are mistaken in thinking it can be of any use to bring that old deal up again. The money was lost, and there is no chance of getting it back again.”

“But, either you are responsible for the amount, or else my uncle’s interest in the land still holds good,” said Jerry.

“Let me see the papers.”

Mr. Slocum made a movement as if to take them. But Jerry drew back and shook his head.

“I prefer not to let them go out of my possession.”

“Do you mean to say you won’t trust me?”

“You can put it that way, if you wish, Mr. Slocum.”

The real estate man bit his lip. Then he made a movement to his assistant, who at once slid behind Jerry, towards the door.

“What are you going to do?” the young oarsman asked, in alarm.

Without replying, the assistant locked the door and slipped the key into his pocket.

“Don’t grow excited,” said Alexander Slocum, coldly. “I want to see those papers, that’s all. Show them to me at once!”

Like a flash Jerry realized he was trapped by the enemy.