Tom Slade on the River

“Wait till I see how deep it is,” said Garry, wading in. He was soon beyond his depth and swimming. “If he fell in there we’ll never get him,” he said, emerging with black slime dripping from him.

“Maybe he caught in the branches of some of those trees,” suggested Connie.

It was the signal for several scouts to scramble up among the knotty branches of the trees in toward the precipice, but without result.

They scoured the whole treacherous ground for fifty yards or more in every direction, but no sign of the unfortunate boy’s body could they discover. They lashed together the two oars from the boat, making a length of perhaps twenty feet, and probed the pool but found nothing.

“I’m going to dive into that,” said Garry.

“I don’t think you’d better, my boy,” said Mr. Ellsworth.

But Garry had already dived and came up dripping with mud and slime.

“I couldn’t get to the bottom,” said he; “there isn’t any bottom.”

Tom Slade who, as usual, had pursued his own way, called to the others, “There’s a kind of a trail here—a pearl necklace,[2] I should think. It runs through this swamp and up around the side there. See?”

Roy and Mr. Ellsworth, who had come close to him, saw what he meant, though it is doubtful if even those good scouts would have recognized it as a trail.

“See?” said Tom, “you can get to the top without that climb. This runs up around where it isn’t so steep.”

Sure enough, there was a sort of zigzag trail, becoming plainer as it wound its way up, by which one might ascend by a longer though safer route. It followed a deep cleft in the rocks and led, as they surmised, to the easier slope on the landward side of the mountain.

“Why didn’t he take that path, do you suppose?” said the scoutmaster.

“Because he was a dare-devil,” said Roy.

Mr. Ellsworth stood silently as Tom and Roy started up the trail. It led them, as they had supposed it would, to a broader path by which the hill could be surmounted. Here were indistinct footprints at intervals. Why they were not regular Tom could not imagine.

“Why didn’t the fellow go this way, I wonder?” Roy said.

“You answered that yourself,” Tom answered.

They were now upon the summit and could look down and see the two boats side by side in the lake. It was a dizzy height. Behind them was a broad, flat plateau which became a gentle slope and fell away into the lower country beyond. The path crossed this and here the footprints were plainer and more regular. Then they verged from the path and were difficult to follow amid the sparse vegetation of the plateau.

A few yards and they ended abruptly at a point where there was a little disturbance of the earth and what Tom and Roy thought to be the imprints, very faint, of rubber tires.

“There must have been an auto here,” said Roy.

“It must have been one of those motor-cycle affairs with a kind of a baby carriage alongside it,” said Tom. “Those prints are too close together for a regular auto.”

“How could an auto or a motor-cycle get up here, anyway?” queried Roy.

From the spot where they happened to be, they could just manage to trace a second line of footprints coming from another direction.

Roy was very much sobered by this whole affair, but he could not refrain from his usual comment, “The plot grows thinner.”

“Come on, let’s follow those,” said Tom.

They did so until the prints ended abruptly upon the flat, rocky surface near the edge of the precipice.

“I don’t know what to make of the whole business,” said Roy. “Blamed if I do! It’s a puzzle.”

“My idea,” said Tom, as they started down again, “is this; the other fellow was down there below somewhere and was going to follow that fellow, when all of a sudden he fell. They must have chosen that way just for a stunt, I suppose. Didn’t you ever hear that red-headed fellows are reckless? It might possibly be,” he added, hesitatingly, “that the other fellow managed to get his—his body and drag it around up this way. That might account for the way that path looked back there; if someone had been dragged along it might sort of wipe out the footprints. I don’t see how he could have got so far ahead of us, though,” he added.

“But where could he have taken the—body?”

“I don’t know—unless he managed to carry it to that automobile or whatever it was back there. Maybe they’d left some kind of a car there to go out on the lake.”

“But all that wouldn’t account for those other footprints we saw out toward the edge,” said Roy, skeptically.

“No,” said Tom, “unless the other fellow went out there and tried to find out, maybe, how the dead fellow had happened to fall. Maybe a tree that he had hold of broke—or something.”

“Then there ought to be footprints back,” said Roy.

“Sure—there were.”

“I didn’t see any.”

“That isn’t saying they weren’t there,” said Tom.

“Tomasso, you’re a wonder.”

“Only how did they ever get an automobile, or a motor baby carriage or whatever you call it, up to that place?”

“That’s what’s got me,” said Roy.

They found their companions still searching, but almost discouraged, and Mr. Ellsworth listened with keen interest to Roy’s report.

“Hmmm,” said he, soberly; “you say you saw wheel imprints? Were there no wheel tracks?”

“No,” said Tom, “but the land was grassy in places and it was pretty hard.”

“Hmmm?” was all that Mr. Ellsworth could say. “I think the most likely view is that the body is at the bottom of that bottomless pool,” he added. “I don’t see that we can do anything else, boys. It goes against me to go on without finding the poor fellow’s body, but—”

Scouts do not give up easily and they did not leave the spot until it was too dark to see. Then they went back to the boats, a muddy, dishevelled, scratched and discouraged band. They did not take kindly to defeat.

“The nearest town,” said Mr. Ellsworth, looking at their map, “is Boquet. Farther up, on the Vermont side, is Burlington. I suggest that we stop at both those places and notify the scouts and the authorities. With a grappling iron they could probably get the body.”

Tom listened with stolid indifference to this apparent repudiation of his own theory. Probably he did not think the matter worth discussing for in either case the freckled scout was dead.

There was no music on the cabin roof of the Good Turn that night and the Silver Foxes and Ravens who lolled about on the Honor Scout did not call for it, as they usually did. Mr. Ellsworth stood quietly at the wheel; the others sat or lay about, sober and silent.

“Why so quiet, Roy?” Garry asked.

“I don’t know,” said Roy, who squatted in his characteristic position. “I can’t seem to get that fellow out of my head—and—and the way he saluted us back there in Albany. Gee, I can almost hear him laughing now.”

“Guess that’s Burlington where the lights are,” said Mr. Ellsworth. “Throttle her down to half, Roy, and throw your lead to see how much water we’ve got.”

CHAPTER XIX
“SO LONG—SEE YOU LATER!”

It was the afternoon of the following day when the little flotilla, running past the island of Valcour, sighted a promontory straight ahead and a little later discovered it to be the embracing arm which forms the outer boundary of Cumberland Bay.

As they sailed into this spacious haven they could see, a little to the northwest, a large field dotted with innumerable tents, which on closer view they saw to be arranged with the utmost squareness and precision, in avenues.[3] Their first sight of the famous training camp made Temple Camp seem very insignificant indeed. Out in the lake was a bobbing buoy with a bulls-eye target upon it, and a group of khaki-clad rookies were pelting this with rifle shot. In an open part of the field several companies were drilling and the crisp orders of their officer could be plainly heard across the water.

“Hurrah for Preparedness!” shouted Roy, throwing his hat in the air.

They had been a rather sober party of voyagers during this last part of their trip and Roy’s accustomed spirit seemed to have gone from him, but it came back now with a rush and as usual it had a contagious effect on the others.

“Hurrah for Uncle Sam!” shouted Pee-wee, grabbing the naval flag from the stern and waving it frantically.

“They look like scouts, don’t they?” said Mr. Ellsworth.

“Oh, cracky,” enthused Pee-wee. “I’m glad we came!”

“Altogether!” called Mr. Ellsworth, looking over to the smaller boat. “Hoop it up, Tom! Hurrah for Preparedness!”

“We thought of it first,” called Connie. “Uncle Sam swiped it from us. Come on, let’s give ’em our own call!”

“Be prepared! Be prepared! Be prepared!”

And so, shouting lustily the motto of the scouts the boats came alongside the landing and were met by several smiling rookies, off duty.

“Are we pinched?” asked Mr. Ellsworth, laughing as he stepped ashore.

“No, indeed; you’re welcome,” said a bronzed rookie.

Pee-wee was not to be repressed by any formal greeting, however hospitable. He stood upon the Honor Scout’s cabin, waving the naval flag in one hand and his scout hat in the other, like some frantic, idiotic form of semaphoring.

“Hurrah for Uncle Sam!” he shrieked, hilariously. “Hurrah for Preparedness! Hurrah for Platts——”

He stopped short, gaping like an idiot. The flag fell from his hand unheeded.

“Look—look!,” he gasped.

“What is it, the Germans?” asked a rookie, looking around.

“Look—look!” he gasped.

They looked, and there, sitting astride a piece of artillery not far from shore, his legs dangling and a merry smile upon his face, was the freckled scout!

No sign of scratch or bruise was there about him, and if he had been shot out of the mouth of the cannon he was straddling he could hardly have caused greater consternation. Plattsburg, preparedness, Uncle Sam, must be content with back seats, as this freckled youngster descended nimbly from the cannon and came smiling toward his brother scouts.

“Aren’t—you—dead?” ejaculated Pee-wee.

“Not so you’d notice it,” said the freckled boy with a surprised laugh.

“You don’t find many dead ones among the scouts, I guess,” said an officer, who had come down to confirm the rookies’ welcome.

“You said something,” said Roy.

“I remember you three fellows,” said the freckled scout. “Don’t you remember? I was in that store in Albany——”

“Sure, we got lost,” began Roy.

“Shhh,” interrupted Artie.

“We—we thought you were dead,” said Tom, startled somewhat out of his usual composure.

“Dead? No,” laughed the boy. “I haven’t been dead for quite a while. What’s the idea?”

“Have—have you got anything the matter with you?” stammered Pee-wee, staring blankly at him.

“I’ve got a wart on my left thumb,” said the freckled scout, “but that won’t stop me helping Uncle Sam if we have to scrap it out with Germany.”

“Haven’t you got anything else the matter with you?” Pee-wee asked imploringly. “Even if you’re alive, you ought to have something the matter with you—— Gee!”

The freckled scout began to laugh and then came his surprise, for he broke off as Garry came ashore, and grasped him by the hand.

“Hello, Everson,” said he. “Don’t you know me?”

“For the love of tripe!” said Garry. “You don’t live in Warrentown, do you? Down near Edgevale?”

“Sure, when I’m alive,” laughed the freckled scout. “But these fellows seem to think I ought to be dead. What’s the idea, anyway?”

“Well, what are you doing alive, I’d like to know,” said Garry. “Fellows, this is—Everett, I think your name is, isn’t it?”

“Warren Everett,” said the boy.

“I thought I recognized you,” said Garry. “I didn’t get a good enough squint at you down the lake yesterday—if that was you.”

“Sure it was me—I saw you fellows out there in the boats. I see I’ve got you all guessing.”

“Where’s the other fellow?”

“Oh, he’s knocking around somewhere in camp here. We just canoed up for a squint at the place. I’ve often seen you in Warrentown,” he added, turning again to Garry. “I heard you fellows over in Edgevale started a troop.”

“It fizzled out,” said Garry, resting his arm on Raymond’s shoulder. “We’re the last of our race. But, for goodness’ sakes, tell us how you come to be alive, anyway? We saw you fall down that cliff——”

Warren Everett laughed again. “You see it was this way,” said he. “On our way up the Hudson we ran into a moving picture bunch. They had a big launch and a hydro-aeroplane——”

“A what?” said Tom.

“They said we were just the fellows they wanted because there was a scene they were going to make where a scout climbs up a steep mountain and then slips and falls down. They wanted to take pictures of him climbing and then more of him falling. They had the hill all picked out and they wanted to know if I’d climb it.

“‘Believe me, that’s my middle name,’ I told them. ‘Let’s see the hill.’

“‘We haven’t got it with us,’ the man said, ‘but it’s a peach, all right—it looks harder than it is.’

“I asked him about the falling down part, and he said, ‘Don’t you worry about that. We’ve got a rag dummy to do the falling. All you’ve got to do is to climb till you get to the grove near the top and when you get inside of that you’ll find the rag dummy on a log. Just push it over and let it fall down the hill.’”

“Well—I’ll—be—jiggered!” said Roy.

“Good idea?” laughed Everett. “Of course, the rag dummy went all the way down to the bottom——”

“You bet it did,” said Connie.

“But in the picture it won’t be that way. You’ll see me climb up the hill and you’ll see the dummy start down, and then—zip, goes the fillum—and the next you see is a first-aid scout bandaging up another scout’s head.”

By this time Everett’s companions had joined the party and having properly presented him to the newcomers, the freckled boy resumed his original seat astride the cannon.

“You see,” said he, “we were down near Glens Falls when we picked up the movie men. They had a hydro and a big cabin boat. They gave us the money for a uniform for the rag dummy and we went back to Albany and bought it. When we got back they were waiting for us, and believe me, we had some fun dressing up that dummy. I took the new suit and gave him the old one. He didn’t care.”

“He should worry,” put in Roy.

The freckled scout continued his story, swinging his legs and greatly delighted at the astonishment of his listeners.

“This is a most remarkable thing,” said Mr. Ellsworth.

“Can you beat it! Well, we all started north with our canoe tagging behind. It was all right, wasn’t it, Frank, because we were going that way anyway. When we got into the lake the man in the hydro left the water and said he’d meet us on the top of the cliff. He told me just where he’d leave the dummy. Oh, gee, but he looked nice as he went sailing up in the air! We got out of the boat at Westport[4] and Frank and I helped them lug the camera and things to the mountain. We had it all fixed just what we’d do and when the man found a good place up the hill a ways, where they could get enough sunlight on the only original Boy Scout movie star—that’s me!—Frank and I went back to Westport, and paddled up in our canoe, just as if we were coming to the mountain for the first time. We got out under the cliff and I started up. Frank stayed down below so he could get the dummy! Believe me, that dummy has some busy life! They use it for a policeman and a soldier and a poor orphan child—gee, you ought to see the clothes that poor dummy’s got!

“Well, I guess you fellows know the rest. I got to the top all right, and take it from me, when I got my fists on that rag dummy, I gave it one—good—chuck—ker-bang! G-o-o-d-night!

“Then I trotted over to the big field on top of the cliff where the fellow with the aeroplane was waiting. Pretty soon along came Frank dragging the poor dummy after him by the leg. He came up the easy way. And goodnight, Mary Ann! I’m glad I wasn’t that poor dummy——”

“I’m glad you weren’t,” said Mr. Ellsworth, dryly, thinking of the harrowing hours they had spent searching for his dead body.

“Well, they said they had the picture all right and it would be a beaut’. So then the man told us to jump in the aero and he’d bring us up to Plattsburg. You see that red boat over there with Back to Nature Film Corporation on it? That’s ours—I mean, theirs. They’re going to take some pictures here if they can get permission. But we’re out of the movie business for good—aren’t we, Frank? And we’re going to ship our little old canoe down home and get the train tonight—— Hey, Everson,” he said, breaking off suddenly and turning to Garry; “why in the deuce don’t you be a good scout and come over to Warrentown and give us poor fellows a hand? Mr. Wentworth, our scoutmaster, is on the Mexican border and three of our fellows have gone out west to live—the Harris boys—maybe you know of them. Gee, a fellow like you could help us an awful lot. You could be a sort of scoutmaster till the Local Council scares one up. And you don’t live so far—going scout pace. What do you say? Will you?”

Would he!

“He will on one condition,” said Mr. Ellsworth. “You and your friend must join us on our homeward cruise. I’ve heard of the Warrentown Troop and Garry ought to be glad to get into it——”

“They ought to be glad to get him!” shouted Pee-wee.

“Sure, he’s a bargain,” put in Roy. “Now’s their chance.”

“Yes, I think myself it will be an honor both ways,” said Mr. Ellsworth, who had grown very fond of Garry. “He will bring you the Silver Cross——”

“And he’s no rag dummy,” interrupted Roy.

“Our plan,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “is to look about the camp here and set off again in the morning, for time is beginning to be precious. We shall leave Raymond at Temple Camp, in the Catskills, where he’s to stay for the balance of the summer. Then, if you like, we’ll drop you boys and Garry at Edgevale. Our larger boat and one of our members, to whom it belongs, we shall leave at Nyack. The rest of us live in Bridgeboro, New Jersey—we’re the First Bridgeboro B. S. A. Probably some of our boys will hike it home from Nyack while the rest of us cruise down into New York Bay and up our own small river.”

“It’s just a one-patrol river,” said Roy.

“Are you with us?” Connie asked.

“Sure, he’s with us!” cried Roy. “Who’s deciding this, Warrentown or Bridgeboro? We’ll drag both of them along by the legs the way they dragged the rag scout, hey?”

The party made a pleasant stay at the big training camp, walking through the straight, neat avenues of tents, visiting the commissary, watching the drill, and lingering, fascinated, about the rookies who were busy at rifle practice. They were made very welcome and it was not without a feeling of regret that they went aboard the two boats after the colors had been lowered. But Plattsburg, of which they were to hear so much later, had been merely the chosen point of destination for their rambling inland cruise, and as Mr. Ellsworth had remarked, time was beginning to be precious.

The hospitable Bridgeboro Troop, with its strangely acquired new member and its several guests, lolled upon the deck and cabin roof of the Honor Scout that night, as the two boats waited at their moorings for the dawn which would mean their departure on the speedier journey homeward.

As the moon rose over the wide bosom of the great lake and flickered the waters with its silvery brightness, Harry Stanton sat upon the cabin locker, strumming his ukulele, and those who were in the mood hummed the soft airs while the others listened. Often whole days would elapse in which Harry Stanton would be scarcely heard from, but in the quiet of those summer nights upon the water he contributed his full share to the pleasure of the party.

If you, to whom I am about to bid a short farewell, are a scout of the scouts, see to it that some one of your troop’s number learns to play a mandolin, a banjo, or guitar—even if you have to drag him by the leg, as young Frank dragged the unfortunate dummy.

After a little while some one discovered that Roy was not among them, and there was set up at once a hue and cry for him, for such an evening could be no more complete without Roy than a Buffalo Bill Show would be without Buffalo Bill or a circus without peanuts.

“Maybe he’s in the other boat,” said one.

“Maybe he’s on shore,” said another.

It was Pee-wee who dragged him forth from the forward end of the cabin, where he had been ensconced, knees up, “far from the madding crowd.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Artie Van Arlen.

Roy squatted in his customary attitude, holding a paper in his hand.

“I was thinking about all the crazy things that have happened,” said he, “and the fellows we’ve met on this trip, and believe me, it’s some hodge-podge. I was coming down from that big commissary tent, scout pace, when some poetry jumped into my noddle. Did you ever notice how poetry comes to you when you go scout pace?” he asked, turning to Mr. Ellsworth.

“No, I never did,” said the scoutmaster.

“Want to hear it? It’s a sort of—sort of a national anthem of the troop——”

“Troop anthem?”

“It isn’t fixed up yet because the kid interrupted me. Do you want to hear it?”

“I dare say I can stand it if the others can,” said the scoutmaster.

“Go ahead, shoot!” said Doc.

“Get the agony over with,” said Connie.

“All right, since you insist,” said Roy, taking Tom’s flashlight so he could read the immortal lines. “Here goes—one—two—three!

“What do you think of it?”

“Of, it’s great!” yelled Pee-wee.

“I think it’s superb,” said Mr. Ellsworth, “especially the complimentary reference to the scoutmaster.”

“The pleasure is mine,” said Roy, with an elaborate bow.

“But may I ask what a pote is?”

“Sure, a pote’s a scout that writes pomes.”

“I see. And a welk?”

“Well, you see it’s this way,” said Roy, undaunted. “The welkin is the sky, and welk’s short for welkin. Get me? I was just trying to dope out how to fit that in when Pee-wee grabbed me.”

“We shall have to make you poet laureate of the troop,” said Mr. Ellsworth.

“The Bridgeboro Bard,” laughed Garry.

“Do you think if I sent it to Boys’ Life they’d print it?” Roy asked.

“Sure, they would!” yelled Pee-wee.

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Ellsworth, cautiously. “I doubt it. You might try. They have printed worse things,” he added.

Roy glanced again at his masterpiece, folded it up, put it in his pocket, drew his knees up, clasped his hands about them, and grinned at the assemblage.

“I should worry,” he said.

THE END

Footnotes

This Isn’t All!

Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in this book?

Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author?

On the reverse side of the wrapper which comes with this book, you will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same store where you got this book.

Don’t throw away the Wrapper

Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. But in case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a complete catalog.

THE TOM SLADE BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of “Roy Blakeley,” “Pee-wee Harris,” “Westy
Martin,” Etc.

Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Colors.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

“Let your boy grow up with Tom Slade,” is a suggestion which thousands of parents have followed during the past, with the result that the TOM SLADE BOOKS are the most popular boys’ books published today. They take Tom Slade through a series of typical boy adventures through his tenderfoot days as a scout, through his gallant days as an American doughboy in France, back to his old patrol and the old camp ground at Black Lake, and so on.

TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT

TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP

TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER

TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS

TOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORT

TOM SLADE WITH THE BOYS OVER THERE

TOM SLADE, MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH BEARER

TOM SLADE WITH THE FLYING CORPS

TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE

TOM SLADE ON MYSTERY TRAIL

TOM SLADE’S DOUBLE DARE

TOM SLADE ON OVERLOOK MOUNTAIN

TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER

TOM SLADE AT BEAR MOUNTAIN

THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of “Tom Slade,” “Pee-wee Harris,” “Westy Martin,” Etc.

Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

In the character and adventures of Roy Blakeley are typified the very essence of Boy life. He is a real boy, as real as Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. He is the moving spirit of the troop of Scouts of which he is a member, and the average boy has to go only a little way in the first book before Roy is the best friend he ever had, and he is willing to part with his best treasure to get the next book in the series.

ROY BLAKELEY

ROY BLAKELEY’S ADVENTURES IN CAMP

ROY BLAKELEY, PATHFINDER

ROY BLAKELEY’S CAMP ON WHEELS

ROY BLAKELEY’S SILVER FOX PATROL

ROY BLAKELEY’S MOTOR CARAVAN

ROY BLAKELEY, LOST, STRAYED OR STOLEN

ROY BLAKELEY’S BEE-LINE HIKE

ROY BLAKELEY AT THE HAUNTED CAMP

ROY BLAKELEY’S FUNNY BONE HIKE

ROY BLAKELEY’S TANGLED TRAIL

ROY BLAKELEY ON THE MOHAWK TRAIL

THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS

By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH

Author of “Tom Slade,” “Roy Blakeley,” “Westy
Martin,” Etc.

Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

All readers of the Tom Slade and the Roy Blakeley books are acquainted with Pee-wee Harris. These stories record the true facts concerning his size (what there is of it) and his heroism (such as it is), his voice, his clothes, his appetite, his friends, his enemies, his victims. Together with the thrilling narrative of how he foiled, baffled, circumvented and triumphed over everything and everybody (except where he failed) and how even when he failed he succeeded. The whole recorded in a series of screams and told with neither muffler nor cut-out.

PEE-WEE HARRIS

PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL

PEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMP

PEE-WEE HARRIS IN LUCK

PEE-WEE HARRIS ADRIFT

PEE-WEE HARRIS F.O.B. BRIDGEBORO

PEE-WEE HARRIS FIXER

PEE-WEE HARRIS: AS GOOD AS HIS WORD

THE JERRY TODD SERIES

By LEO EDWARDS

Illustrated. Individual Colored Wrappers For Each Story
Every Volume Complete in Itself

Detective stories for boys! Jerry Todd and his trusty pals solve many a baffling mystery in their home town, much to the amusement of all who read of their adventures.

JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY

Having been duly appointed “Juvenile Jupiter Detectives” Jerry Todd and his trusty pals little realize how fast things are going to happen. First comes the amazing adventure in the museum in Tutter College. Did the mummy actually whisper? And did it later vanish of its own accord?

JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT

Cats by the dozens; cats by the hundreds; and most important of all, a mysterious five-hundred dollar rose-colored cat. Then comes the lamentable accident to Lady Victoria’s aristocratic tail; the operation; the over-dose of chloroform; the funeral. There is a laugh on every page.

JERRY TODD AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE

Jerry Todd and his pals set themselves up in the show business by transforming a disused clay scow of Mr. Todd’s into a floating theatre. And a very wonderful show it is! Certainly it leads the boys into exceptional adventures.

JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING HEN

That strange hen? Why does it waltz? And what is the secret of the prowling peril? Then, even as the Hindu had earlier died so quickly and mysteriously, the boys’ old friend disappears. Then comes the final ludicrous climax.

JERRY TODD AND THE TALKING FROG

Jerry Todd and his chums leagued together to help another boy save a peculiar invention of his father’s, a talking frog, from thieving hands,—wait breathlessly in the lonely brick house where the puzzle maker had met with such a strange death. Fun and mystery here!

Football and Baseball Stories

Durably Bound. Illustrated. Colored Wrappers.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

The Ralph Henry Barbour Books for Boys

In these up-to-the minute, spirited genuine stories of boy life there is something which will appeal to every boy with the love of manliness, cleanness and sportsmanship in his heart.

LEFT END EDWARDS

LEFT TACKLE THAYER

LEFT GUARD GILBERT

CENTER RUSH ROWLAND

FULLBACK FOSTER

LEFT HALF HARMON

RIGHT END EMERSON

RIGHT GUARD GRANT

The Christy Mathewson Books for Boys

Every boy wants to know how to play ball in the fairest and squarest way. These books about boys and baseball are full of wholesome and manly interest and information. Every young American who has ever tried to stop a grounder or put one over to first will enjoy them and want to own them all.

PITCHER POLLOCK

CATCHER CRAIG

FIRST BASE FAULKNER

SECOND BASE SLOAN

PITCHING IN A PINCH

THIRD BASE THATCHER, By Everett Scott

THE TOM SWIFT SERIES

By VICTOR APPLETON

Uniform Style of Binding. Individual Colored Wrappers.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

Every boy possesses some form of inventive genius. Tom Swift is a bright, ingenious boy and his inventions and adventures make the most interesting kind of reading.

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE

TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS

TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE

TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER

TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON

TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP

TOM SWIFT AND HIS BIG TUNNEL

TOM SWIFT IN THE LAND OF WONDERS

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WAR TANK

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR SCOUT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS UNDERSEA SEARCH

TOM SWIFT AMONG THE FIRE FIGHTERS

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC LOCOMOTIVE

TOM SWIFT AND HIS FLYING BOAT

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT OIL GUSHER

TOM SWIFT AND HIS CHEST OF SECRETS

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRLINE EXPRESS

THE DON STURDY SERIES

By VICTOR APPLETON

Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations by
WALTER S. ROGERS
Every Volume Complete in Itself

In company with his uncles, one a mighty hunter and the other a noted scientist, Don Sturdy travels far and wide, gaining much useful knowledge and meeting many thrilling adventures.

DON STURDY ON THE DESERT OF MYSTERY;

Or, Autoing in the Land of the Caravans.

An engrossing tale of the Sahara Desert, of encounters with wild animals and crafty Arabs.

DON STURDY WITH THE BIG SNAKE HUNTERS;

Or, Lost in the Jungles of the Amazon.

Don’s uncle, the hunter, took an order for some of the biggest snakes to be found in South America—to be delivered alive! The filling of that order brought keen excitement to the boy.

DON STURDY IN THE TOMBS OF GOLD;

Or, The Old Egyptian’s Great Secret.

A fascinating tale of exploration and adventure in the Valley of Kings in Egypt. Once the whole party became lost in the maze of cavelike tombs far underground.

DON STURDY ACROSS THE NORTH POLE;

Or, Cast Away in the Land of Ice.

Don and his uncles joined an expedition bound by air across the north pole. A great polar blizzard nearly wrecks the airship.

DON STURDY IN THE LAND OF VOLCANOES;

Or, The Trail of the Ten Thousand Smokes.

An absorbing tale of adventures among the volcanoes of Alaska in a territory but recently explored. A story that will make Don dearer to his readers than ever.

THE RADIO BOYS SERIES

(Trademark Registered)

By ALLEN CHAPMAN
Author of the “Railroad Series,” Etc.

Individual Colored Wrappers. Illustrated.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

A new series for boys giving full details of radio work, both in sending and receiving—telling how small and large amateur sets can be made and operated, and how some boys got a lot of fun and adventure out of what they did. Each volume from first to last is so thoroughly fascinating, so strictly up-to-date and accurate, we feel sure all lads will peruse them with great delight.

Each volume has a Foreword by Jack Binns, the well-known radio expert.

THE RADIO BOYS’ FIRST WIRELESS;

Or, Winning the Ferberton Prize.

THE RADIO BOYS AT OCEAN POINT;

Or, The Message That Saved the Ship.

THE RADIO BOYS AT THE SENDING STATION;

Or, Making Good in the Wireless Room.

THE RADIO BOYS AT MOUNTAIN PASS;

Or, The Midnight Call for Assistance.

THE RADIO BOYS TRAILING A VOICE;

Or, Solving a Wireless Mystery.

THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE FOREST RANGERS;

Or, The Great Fire on Spruce Mountain.

THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE ICEBERG PATROL;

Or, Making Safe the Ocean Lanes.

RADIO BOYS WITH THE FLOOD FIGHTERS;

Or, Saving the City in the Valley.

THE RAILROAD SERIES

By ALLEN CHAPMAN
Author of the “Radio Boys,” Etc.

Uniform Style of Binding. Illustrated.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

In this line of books there is revealed the whole workings of a great American railroad system. There are adventures in abundance—railroad wrecks, dashes through forest fires, the pursuit of a “wildcat” locomotive, the disappearance of a pay car with a large sum of money on board—but there is much more than this—the intense rivalry among railroads and railroad men, the working out of running schedules, the getting through “on time” in spite of all obstacles, and the manipulation of railroad securities by evil men who wish to rule or ruin.

RALPH OF THE ROUND HOUSE;

Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man.

RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER;

Or, Clearing the Track.

RALPH ON THE ENGINE;

Or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail.

RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS;

Or, The Trials and Triumphs of a Young Engineer.

RALPH, THE TRAIN DISPATCHER;

Or, the Mystery of the Pay Car.

RALPH ON THE ARMY TRAIN;

Or, The Young Railroader’s Most Daring Exploit.

RALPH ON THE MIDNIGHT FLYER;

Or, The Wreck at Shadow Valley.

RALPH AND THE MISSING MAIL POUCH;

Or, The Stolen Government Bonds.

THE RIDDLE CLUB BOOKS

By ALICE DALE HARDY

Individual Colored Wrappers. Attractively Illustrated.
Every Volume Complete in Itself.

Here is as ingenious a series of books for little folks as has ever appeared since “Alice in Wonderland.” The idea of the Riddle books is a little group of children—three girls and three boys decide to form a riddle club. Each book is full of the adventures and doings of these six youngsters, but as an added attraction each book is filled with a lot of the best riddles you ever heard.

THE RIDDLE CLUB AT HOME

An absorbing tale that all boys and girls will enjoy reading. How the members of the club fixed up a clubroom in the Larue barn, and how they, later on, helped solve a most mysterious happening, and how one of the members won a valuable prize, is told in a manner to please every young reader.

THE RIDDLE CLUB IN CAMP

The club members went into camp on the edge of a beautiful lake. Here they had rousing good times swimming, boating and around the campfire. They fell in with a mysterious old man known as The Hermit of Triangle Island. Nobody knew his real name or where he came from until the propounding of a riddle solved these perplexing questions.

THE RIDDLE CLUB THROUGH THE HOLIDAYS

This volume takes in a great number of winter sports, including skating and sledding and the building of a huge snowman. It also gives the particulars of how the club treasurer lost the dues entrusted to his care and what the melting of the great snowman revealed.

THE RIDDLE CLUB AT SUNRISE BEACH

This volume tells how the club journeyed to the seashore and how they not only kept up their riddles but likewise had good times on the sand and on the water. Once they got lost in a fog and are marooned on an island. Here they made a discovery that greatly pleased the folks at home.

THE HONEY BUNCH BOOKS

By HELEN LOUISE THORNDYKE

Individual Colored Wrappers and Text Illustrations Drawn by
WALTER S. ROGERS

A new line of fascinating tales for little girls. Honey Bunch is a dainty, thoughtful little girl, and to know her is to take her to your heart at once.

HONEY BUNCH: JUST A LITTLE GIRL

Happy days at home, helping mamma and the washerlady. And Honey Bunch helped the house painters too—or thought she did.

HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST VISIT TO THE CITY

What wonderful sights Honey Bunch saw when she went to visit her cousins in New York! And she got lost in a big hotel and wandered into a men’s convention!

HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST DAYS ON THE FARM

Can you remember how the farm looked the first time you visited it? How big the cows and horses were, and what a roomy place to play in the barn proved to be?

HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST VISIT TO THE SEASHORE

Honey Bunch soon got used to the big waves and thought playing in the sand great fun. And she visited a merry-go-round, and took part in a sea-side pageant.

HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST LITTLE GARDEN

It was great sport to dig and to plant with one’s own little garden tools. But best of all was when Honey Bunch won a prize at the flower show.

HONEY BUNCH: HER FIRST DAYS IN CAMP

It was a great adventure for Honey Bunch when she journeyed to Camp Snapdragon. It was wonderful to watch the men erect the tent, and more wonderful to live in it and have good times on the shore and in the water.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK