ONE EVENING IN THE WEEK THE JUNIORS WERE ALLOWED THE FREEDOM OF THE GYMNASIUM.
The Y. M. C. A. Boys of Cliffwood Page [124]

The
Y. M. C. A. Boys
of Cliffwood

Or
The Struggle for the Holwell Prize

BY
BROOKS HENDERLEY
Author of “The Y. M. C. A.
Boys on Bass Island” Etc.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

BOOKS FOR BOYS

BY

BROOKS HENDERLEY

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.

THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS SERIES

THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS OF CLIFFWOOD;
or The Struggle for the Holwell Prize
THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS ON BASS ISLAND;
or The Mystery of Russabaga Camp

(Other volumes in preparation)

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
Publishers New York

Copyright, 1916, by
Cupples & Leon Company

The Y. M. C. A. Boys of Cliffwood

CONTENTS

THE Y. M. C. A. BOYS
OF CLIFFWOOD

CHAPTER I
OUT WITH THE BOYS ON HALLOWE’EN

“How’s that, fellows?”

“Everything’s lovely, and the gate hangs high, not the goose!”

“Mr. Philpot is going to have some climb, believe me, before he gets it down out of that big oak, as sure as my name’s Dan Fenwick!”

“And say, wouldn’t you like to see Farmer Hasty in the morning when he rubs his eyes and stares up at his wagon, all taken apart, and strung along the ridge-pole of his barn roof?”

“That was a cracking good idea of yours, Dick, and no mistake!”

“Hurrah for Hallowe’en, and all its fun!”

“What’s next on the programme, boys? We’re out for a good time tonight, you know.”

“It isn’t much after eleven at that. Who’s got another clever joke laid out?”

“I have; and when you hear what the game is you’ll all say it’s the boss scheme of the lot, barring none.”

“Listen to Nat, will you? I wondered why he was lugging that bundle around with him all the evening. I guess it’s got something to do with his grand Hallowe’en prank.”

“It has, and a whole lot, Peg Fosdick,” proudly admitted the boy upon whom all eyes were eagerly centered just then.

“Who’s the victim, Nat?” demanded one fellow, the same who had owned to the name of Dan Fenwick.

“Who but that crusty old storekeeper, Jed Nocker,” said the big, overgrown boy with a chuckle of delight. “Everybody else seems to have just gone and clean forgotten all about him tonight.”

At mention of this name all sorts of groans and catcalls arose from the group of seven lads standing on a corner in a quiet, residential part of the usually bustling mill town of Cliffwood.

“The meanest old codger in our town!” exclaimed one fellow, in sheer disgust.

“And he hates all boys worse than he does snakes!”

“Cuffed my ears more’n once, let me tell you, for some little thing I did in meeting.”

“Oh! my mother says Deacon Nocker believes every boy is as chock full of original sin as an egg is of meat; and that the only way to get it out is to keep on whaling the boy.”

“His pet saying is ‘spare the rod and spoil the child,’ I’ve heard people say.”

“Huh! all the same that kind of tactics didn’t keep the Deacon’s only boy from being wild,” chuckled Dan Fenwick, wickedly, as though it gave him considerable pleasure to remember that in this particular case guidance didn’t begin at home.

“Oh! they say Amos always was a bad egg, and that the old deacon wrestled with him day after day. Then something came up, and Amos ran away. The deacon scratched his name off his books, and refused to send along a dollar, even when he heard Amos was married, and had a little boy of his own.”

“Well, it was an oversight for us to let Jed Nocker off this Hallowe’en, when we always had him on our list,” admitted the boy the others had called Dick, and who, despite the fact that his clothes looked well worn, seemed to be something of a leader among his mates.

“Then you agree to listen to my big scheme for giving him the scare of his life, do you, Dick Horner?” demanded Nat, eagerly.

He very well knew that once Dick had stamped the idea O. K. the others would hasten to follow suit, because they had great faith in Dick’s ability as a pilot, whether in baseball, on the gridiron, or in such rough-and-tumble sports as all town boys pursue so strenuously.

“I want to hear it first,” replied Dick, cautiously, showing that he had a streak of discretion in his nature for all he was such a madcap. “Suppose we adjourn to the sand lot up the street. It’s more retired than this corner, and we can talk it over without any one running across us.”

“A bright idea, Dick!” exclaimed another boy who had not as yet broken into the conversation. Leslie Capes was known as a fellow of few words, preferring to listen until he had mastered all the points of a discussion before giving his particular views.

“Come along then, fellows,” urged the big, broad-shouldered Nat, eagerly, leading the way along the street; “and ten to one you’ll say my scheme is just the boss way to pay old Nocker back for all he’s done to the boys of Cliffwood.”

While they are hurrying along toward the open sand lot spoken of, a few explanations regarding the fun-loving lads may not come in amiss, since these boys and others of the rising generation of Cliffwood are destined to figure largely in our story.

Dick Horner was a clever young chap, though inclined to be headstrong and wild. He lived in an humble cottage home with his little sister Sue, his mother, a widow, and old “Grandpop” Horner, a Civil War veteran, who had long been a striking figure in Cliffwood. The old soldier with his white locks down almost to his shoulders lived pretty much in the days of the dead and gone past, and could rarely talk without bringing up the times when he had fought so well.

Pretty much all the Horners had to live upon consisted of the pension a generous government paid the veteran yearly in installments, and a small yearly sum from a meager investment in some industrial stocks, so that Dick seldom saw anything like new clothes unless he earned the money himself.

Dan Fenwick and Leslie Capes were Dick’s two most intimate chums. The former was as full of the spirit of mischief as Dick himself, but when it came down to a question of leadership, both of them readily yielded the palm to Dick, whose will seemed to bend theirs.

Leslie’s folks were comfortably well off. In addition to this there was an old indulgent uncle living with them, who could be prevailed upon to keep Leslie well supplied with funds, though the money always came accompanied with good advice. Uncle Henry believed in boys.

Peg Fosdick had once broken his leg, and ever since had walked with a slight limp. At home and in school he was called Oscar, but the temptation to dub him “Peg” had proved so strong that long ago he had yielded to the inclination of his companions and readily answered to that nickname.

The other boys were Andy Hale and Elmer Jones, both of them just ordinary chaps without any remarkable traits of character. Both were good-natured fellows, ready for fun, or even a little row for a change, the type of boy you can always run across by the dozen in any American town.

Cliffwood was something of a manufacturing town, by virtue of the output of several mills that depended on the water power yielded by the little Sweetwater River. Half a mile above the town lay the rapids, with a fall of some fifteen feet or more. This natural advantage in power had caused the erection of the big Bartlett Paper Mills, and several other manufacturing establishments.

Cliffwood, on this account, had more than its share of workers, who, as a rule, received fair wages, and were seemingly contented.

Dick Horner looked forward to the time when he would be big enough to start to work and earn enough money to supply his dear mother with more of the comforts of life. He hated to be so poor, and this desire to do something for his mother was really one of the best things in the boy’s nature.

Dick did not have so bad a reputation in the town as the big bully, Nat Silmore, but all the same the stories that drifted to the ears of his anxious mother often caused her gentle heart pain. Dick, upon being appealed to, always promised to turn over a new leaf, and then in the end his natural overflow of wild spirits led him into some new mischief, for which in turn he would be sorry.

The vacant lot which Dick had in view was not far distant, so the seven boys out for Hallowe’en sport soon arrived there. Eager to hear what Nat had to say, the others clustered around the big fellow. As a rule the others rather preferred Nat’s room to his company.

“Here we are waiting for you to give us the particulars of your grand stunt, Nat,” remarked Dan, impatiently tugging at the other’s sleeve.

“Yes,” added Peg, “and the sooner you open up the quicker we can get busy; that is, of course, if we think it’s a good idea.”

“Oh! I ain’t worrying myself about you backing out,” said Nat, with fine scorn. “I’ve done some big things in my time, and if I do say it myself this takes the cake for boldness. We’ll pay the crusty old skinflint back for all the snappy things he’s done to the boys of Cliffwood.”

“Get busy, Nat,” said Dick, shortly.

Somehow these few words seemed to have more effect on Nat than all the urging of the other fellows. He knew Dick could veto the scheme if he felt inclined, and since his own cronies were debarred from keeping him company on this one wild night of the year, by reason of sickness, and absence from town, Nat had to depend on Dick’s crowd for assistance in carrying out his plan.

“All right, Dick, here goes then,” he hastened to say, as he started to unwrap the bundle he had been carrying around with him. “You can see just what I’ve toted along so as to be ready for business when the right time came.”

“Why, it looks like a small drygoods store, I declare!” exclaimed Peg.

“Old sheets, fellows,” announced Nat, triumphantly. “D’ye know what they can be used for? Any of you ever play ghost in your lives? Well, I have, and a sheet is always needed in the game.”

“Go on and tell us what you aim to do with the old sheets, Nat!” urged Andy.

“Just this,” then replied the other eagerly. “We can creep through the grounds of the empty Brandon place that lies next door to Jed’s property. We’ll find some way to get inside his house, and just when the town clock is striking midnight, we’ll start to groaning to beat the band, and show up before the old chap. Dick here, who can throw his voice so well, will do the talking, and tell him we’ve come from the land of spirits to take him back with us. There, what d’ye think of my scheme, fellows? Ain’t it a dandy?”

CHAPTER II
A SCHEME THAT WENT WRONG

For a brief interval after Nat had so triumphantly announced his grand scheme for frightening Old Deacon Nocker the other boys were still. Apparently, every one was digesting the idea, and coming to some sort of a mental decision. Dan Fenwick was the first to voice his views.

“It strikes me as a cracking good prank, Nat!” he exclaimed, “and I’m voting to help you carry the same out.”

“Count me in for one of your old sheets, Nat!” cried Peg, enthusiastically.

“Dick, what do you say?” asked Leslie Capes, a little anxiously, as though he rather hoped the other would veto the whole business by declaring it was too silly, or too full of danger.

If this was Leslie’s expectation, he was doomed to disappointment, for Dick immediately came out with a full endorsement of Nat’s proposal.

“I go you, Nat,” he said, presently; “the scheme is worth trying out. Of course, if any fellow chooses to stand back and miss the fun, he’s at liberty to do it; but I’ll borrow one of your old sheets; and I’ll do my level best to throw my voice so as to make it sound like it came up from the grave.”

“Then we’re all in on the game, if you say so, Dick,” declared Andy Hale.

“Ditto here!” echoed Elmer, feeling that the die was now cast; and no one had ever called him a quitter.

“How about you, Leslie?” asked Nat, sneeringly, for he had noticed that the other seemed uneasy when the great scheme was first broached.

“Who, me?” replied the Capes boy, scornfully. “Did any one ever know me to back down when my chums were in for a lark? I speak for another of the sheets, Nat.”

“There, the clock struck the half hour,” interrupted Dick, “and if we want to be on deck at exactly midnight, we’d better get a hustle on.”

“Come along fellows, we’ll chase out along the road here to the Brandon place, and climb the fence there. Say, I prowled around today and got my bearings all right.”

It was not a great distance to the vacant Brandon place, and the seven mischief-loving boys scrambled over the old fence with the greatest of ease. Nat did not seem really to need any lantern to show him the way, so well had he stamped the lay of the grounds on his memory.

Arriving at the dividing fence he showed the others where he had taken pains to pull off some boards, allowing a free passage to the adjoining grounds of the rich old storekeeper, who seemed to have such a poor opinion of all boys after his complete failure to bring his own son up by strict methods.

“Look there, I can see lights in his house!” whispered Elmer.

“Oh! that’s nothing unusual!” declared Dick; “they say the old man is awake all hours of the night, making up his accounts and reading. He puts on a bold front, but I reckon when he heard that his boy died away out West it hit him harder than he’ll ever own up.”

“Still he’s as hard as nails,” grunted Dan. “My folks say he had a letter from the girl his son Amos married, telling him that she and her little boy were awful poor; and the old skinflint had the nerve to get Lawyer Bodgkin here to write that if she sent the kid on he’d agree to stand for his education, but that he’d never set eyes on the woman who’d married Amos, thinking she’d fall into all the old man’s money.”

“But she never did send the child, you notice,” said Leslie. “Which proves that she cared more for him than Old Jed’s miser gold.”

“Stop jabbering there, you fellers,” muttered Nat, with a touch of his ordinary bullying authority, for he was used to lording it over Dit Hennesy and several other boys.

“Yes,” Dick went on to say, “let’s creep up close to the house, and find out if we can get in through some window he’s forgotten to fasten. Quiet now, everybody.”

They wriggled their way through the new leafless undergrowth with considerable skill, and soon reached the side of the large building. Then a hasty search was made, which resulted in the discovery that one window fastening had been overlooked by Old Jed when going his rounds earlier in the evening.

Dick soon had the window raised without making any noise. Perhaps the hearts of several of those boys beat faster than customary as they crawled in through the aperture. They knew they were doing something that bordered on the lawless, for to break in and enter a house, even in pursuit of Hallowe’en fun, was an act that no court would sanction or forgive, no matter how lenient the judge might be.

What made it seem more realistic was the fact that Nat had come prepared to show them the way, for he carried a small electric flashlight, which, by constantly keeping in action, he could use to advantage.

“Whee! this makes me feel queer,” whispered Andy in the ear of Elmer, as they started to pick their way across the room, avoiding such obstacles as chairs and tables.

“Wonder if this is the way a burglar always feels,” the other answered, in such a low tone that it could not have been heard three feet away.

Dick turned on them, and shook his head as if to intimate that even such communications were out of order. Then he started to get his sheet fixed, Nat having previously torn places in each covering so that they could be used for peep holes.

By the time four of them had rigged themselves out in these ridiculous costumes, the parlor of Deacon Nocker’s big house looked as though it might be the assembling place for the whole ghost tribe.

After glancing about to make sure all was ready, Nat gave Dick the signal agreed upon. From that time forward he wanted Dick to take the lead, since it was up to the other to do what speaking was required.

They could see that there was a light in the library, for a line under the connecting door betrayed this fact. The window being open, every one plainly heard the not far-distant town clock begin to strike the witching hour of midnight.

Hardly had the last solemn clang died away when a deep groan arose, Dick being the one to start the ball rolling. He waited to ascertain what the effect might be before repeating the performance.

Evidently, Deacon Nocker had heard the groan, for they caught the sound of his chair falling over in his haste to jump to his feet. The question now was whether he would be afraid to look in on them as they hoped. But all doubt on that score was quickly dissipated, for the old man suddenly threw the door wide open, and then started back at sight of what he saw beyond.

The four who were covered with the sheets all pointed straight at the owner of the house, just as they had read supposed-to-be ghosts always did. Elmer, Dan and Andy, not possessing any ghostly apparel, had hidden themselves behind sundry articles of bulky furniture, whence they peered out as best they might in the endeavor to see all the “fun.”

At first sight it appeared as though Deacon Nocker was a badly frightened man, especially when a mysterious and solemn voice sounding very creepy, and coming from overhead, was heard.

“Be warned, rash mortal,” it said. “We have come from the land of spirits to tell you to mend your ways before it is too late. Love your neighbors, and do good. If they smite you on one cheek turn the other. Help the poor and needy when the cold winds of winter begin to blow. Your time on earth is short, and you will have no other chance. Listen, ponder, and act!”

Considering that Dick had such a short time in which to think up what he ought to say when pointing his hand at the old deacon this was not so bad. Some of his companions considered it highly entertaining; indeed, Elmer, or was it Andy, safe in his place of concealment, even ventured to chuckle. This sound may have given the alarmed old man the first suspicion that his ghostly visitors were something more than they seemed to be in that half-darkened room.

They heard him utter a snarl. Then he reached in with one hand, there was a sudden “click” and the parlor was flooded with light, for the deacon had turned the electric switch!

Of course in that dazzling glow the nature of the precious “fake” was readily exposed. The boys saw the deacon stare angrily at them, and then whirling around rush back into his library as though for something with which to assail these unbidden guests.

“Cut for it, fellows; he’s gone for his gun!” exclaimed Nat, excitedly, at the same moment throwing his sheet aside and heading directly for the open window, through which he plunged headlong.

The others, seized with a panic after the collapse of Nat’s grand scheme, also jumped for the only exit. Some went through about as speedily as Nat had done, while others attempted climbing down a little more carefully.

By great good luck every one managed to get outside the house before Old Jed appeared in the open window of the lighted parlor, carrying a rusty double-barrel shotgun in his hands. He was very angry it seemed, because of the fright to which he had been subjected, for without hesitation, he fired both barrels of his weapon, though aiming a bit high.

Seven panic-stricken boys plunged through a wilderness of bushes, colliding with sundry trees which they failed to notice, and reaching the fence by the road at various angles. Here there were exhibited all sorts of speedy “high and lofty vaulting,” as the circus posters term it, some of the fellows even landing on all fours in the dust of the road.

A short time afterwards a number of them collected on the sand lot to compare experiences. Several were nursing bumps they had received from a too close and intimate acquaintance with the trees in Deacon Nocker’s front yard. Dan was holding his handkerchief to his nose, and the sanguinary hue of the aforementioned article would indicate that he had come to grief in his mad flight.

Still they would not have been real boys if they had not seen the humorous side of their late adventure. Even Dan chuckled between dips with his handkerchief, though Dick made him throw his head back, and breathe evenly so as to try to stop the flow of blood.

“Where’s Nat?” demanded Leslie, half angrily.

“Oh! you won’t see Nat around again,” asserted Andy, confidently. “I know him too well to expect that. He’s about home by this time, for his kind always runs away, to let others shoulder the blame.”

“What’s bothering me,” admitted Elmer, ruefully, “is whether Old Jed recognized any of us. When he flashed that light he must have seen me staring out at him from behind that sofa.”

“And I’m afraid I dropped my cap somewhere,” said Dick, uneasily. “The worst thing about it is I was silly enough to write my name inside.”

“Whew! that may mean a whole lot of trouble for the crowd, Dick!” exclaimed Leslie. “But just remember that what happens to one must concern all. We’re every bit as guilty as you are; and if Old Jed starts to give you any trouble we’ll all own up and take the penalty.”

“That’s mighty good of you to say that, Leslie,” declared Dick. “But perhaps after all the deacon will remember it was Hallowe’en. He must have been a boy himself once, and ought to forgive such pranks. But let’s get home now, fellows, and forget our troubles. Come on, Dan, if you’re through shedding your gore. So-long all the rest of you.”

CHAPTER III
THE MAN WHO HAD FAITH

“Good morning, Mr. Holwell!”

“Glad to see you, Harry. I suppose you are on your way to the mills, for since you decided to act as assistant to your good father, instead of going another two years to college, you’ve been sticking pretty close to your work.”

Mr. Thomas Holwell, the best-loved pastor in Cliffwood, shook hands most heartily with the fine looking young fellow whom he had met on the main street of the town about eight o’clock in the morning of that first day of November.

Harry Bartlett was the only son of the head of the big paper mills. He had always been a credit to the town, and won many honors for his school both with regard to scholarships and in athletics. Two years in college had seen him getting along famously, when a change in his father’s health caused him to alter all his plans, bringing him back home to assume some of the business cares.

“Oh! I find plenty of time to be doing some other things that I care for, in spite of the heavy work at the mills,” replied young Bartlett, cheerily.

“Yes, I know you are taking a deep interest in the work at our local Y. M. C. A.,” the older gentleman went on to say, still gripping Harry’s hand warmly in his. “It was largely through the benevolence of your good father that we were able to hire that building, and establish a home for our many young men, where they could be kept off the street nights, and enjoy themselves in clean sport.”

The boys and young men in Cliffwood had no better friend in all that region than the Rev. Thomas Holwell. It had been largely through his hearty labors that the idea of having a local Y. M. C. A. finally assumed definite shape, and leading men of the town had subscribed enough money to put the project through.

“I fancy the younger element in town must have been pretty busy last night,” Harry remarked, partly to change the subject, for he was very modest, and never liked to hear his own praises sung, even by the minister whom he loved so well.

“Oh! as to that,” the older gentleman observed, “we always expect something along the line of innocent pranks to happen on that one boys’ night of the year. Wise people take in their doormats and clothes-poles. Some I know even make it a point to hide all gates that are removable, ash barrels, and such things. We mustn’t forget that we were boys ourselves once upon a time.”

Harry laughed as though some memories connected with sundry doings along those same lines haunted him.

“They seem to be getting bolder every year, I’m afraid,” he continued. “I was out for a tramp as a sort of bracer, after daylight this morning, and wondered what on earth old Farmer Hasty could be doing up on the roof of his big barn. It seems some boys had taken one of his wagons all apart, and fastened the wheels along the ridge-pole. He was pretty mad about it too.”

Mr. Holwell sighed and shook his head.

“Some of those boys are getting to be pretty wild, I’m afraid, Harry,” he went on to remark, reflectively. “They pursue their desire for fun too far. I’ve been doing more or less hard thinking lately about them, and mean to have a serious talk with you soon, to see if something can be done to lead that love for a frolic in the right channel.”

“Here comes Mr. Nocker, and looking more severe than I ever knew him to be,” remarked Harry Bartlett. “I wonder if any of the boys have been playing practical jokes on the deacon. I can remember doing that same thing, and once got a good drenching in the bargain from a bucket of water at his hands.”

“Good morning, Deacon Nocker,” said Mr. Holwell, as the richest storekeeper in Cliffwood reached them. “Harry here was saying you looked worried this fine morning. I hope you have not had anything more happen to trouble you?”

The crabbed old man shook his head as he hastened to reply to this question.

“I’m on my way straight to the office of the Chief of Police, to swear out warrants against three boys of this town, who entered my house late last night, forcing a window just like ordinary burglars. It’s high time the perverted natures of our boys were checked. I’ll see to it these three are put under bonds to behave themselves. I’ve stood enough, and this outrage is the last straw that breaks the patient camel’s back.”

“Who are the three lads, Deacon Nocker?” asked Mr. Holwell, with deep anxiety in his voice, for he loved all boys, and believed in them.

“I found this cap on my floor after I’d frightened the lot off, and it’s marked Dick Horner,” the old man hastened to say, triumphantly flourishing the head gear as he spoke. “Then I recognized two other young scamps as Elmer Jones and Daniel Fenwick. I’m going to have the law on them for breaking in. The rest of the crowd had some silly sort of white gowns like sheets on, so I didn’t see their faces. But the police will find out who they were, never fear.”

“They must have been trying to play ghost, thinking to frighten you, Mr. Nocker!” exclaimed Harry, trying hard to repress the smile he felt creeping over his face, for possibly he may have been guilty of some such prank in his younger days.

“No matter what they meant to do,” retorted the old man, angrily. “It was next door to a crime to break into a private house as they did. And trying to frighten any one through such outrageous means might end in serious results, in case the victim were afflicted with heart trouble, as I am. I shall see that Dick Horner and his companions are made to suffer for their escapade.”

He was about to move on when Mr. Holwell caught his arm.

“Please wait a minute, Deacon Nocker,” said the minister, seriously. “You might in your calmer moments regret having caused the Widow Horner additional sorrow. We all know she has seen enough, as it is. If you will listen to my advice it may not be necessary for you to proceed to such extreme measures as to cause the arrest of those good-hearted, but reckless, lads.”

“Boys should be taken in hand and treated severely if you want them to amount to anything, Mr. Holwell,” protested the storekeeper, who, nevertheless, entertained considerable respect for his pastor, and consequently did not break away from his gentle, detaining grasp.

“I know that has always been your policy, Deacon,” said the other. “But some of us believe boys are more sinned against than sinning. I myself fancy there is some good in every boy, if only you can find it. The trouble is we go about it the wrong way. It is a case of the fierce wind failing to tear the traveler’s cloak off, when the warm, genial sunshine soon caused him to shed it.”

“But the Good Book tells us not to refrain from using the rod,” urged the storekeeper. “I have heard you read that passage more than a few times, Mr. Holwell.”

“Yes, but use it in moderation,” explained the minister, “and then only in love. If I had a boy of my own I would never whip or punish him for heedless things he may have done without a heart-to-heart talk with him afterwards, and a reconciliation. Harsh actions do not profit one in the case of boys. I really believe it only serves to make them think they are being imposed upon, and their liberties destroyed, which leads to open rebellion.”

“Well, since you ask it as a favor, Mr. Holwell,” the deacon went on to say, reluctantly, “I will promise to forego my threat this time. But it is the last opportunity for those three young jackanapes. If they ever attempt to bait me again, I will surely bring them to book, no matter what ill feeling it causes.”

“Thank you, Deacon,” said the minister, shaking the old man’s hand, which was put in his rather reluctantly it must be confessed. “On my part, I promise you that something is soon going to be done to curb the reckless habit our boys have of seeking excitement, and what they call fun. I think we shall be able to make a considerable difference in their habits, once we get started.”

At that prophecy the crabbed old man snorted.

“I imagine that will happen, Mr. Holwell,” he said, sneeringly, “when the heavens fall, or water starts to run uphill. Kind words never yet controlled youthful spirits. It’s strap-oil that is needed to make decent men of them.”

“Ah! yes, but even that stern method often fails, Deacon,” the minister gently reminded him, and the old man’s face went whiter than usual, while speech failed him utterly; for like a stab there must have come to him the remembrance of the bright-faced young fellow he had sent away from home years ago, and whom he never saw again in life.

He broke away from the hand of the minister, and muttering to himself, stamped off; but both of them saw that at least he was now headed for his store, and not in the direction of police headquarters.

Mr. Holwell and Harry Bartlett stood there looking after him. The young fellow appeared somewhat amused, but his companion was very grave, and the lines on his forehead told that serious thoughts were gripping him.

“Things are getting worse all the while, it seems, Harry,” remarked the minister, finally. “Our boys are constantly becoming more reckless, it strikes me, in their desire to have what they call fun. The times are changing, and we must change with them. What answered in my younger days will not fill the bill in these times.”

“I’m afraid you’re about right there, sir,” Harry admitted. “Even I can notice that boys are getting out of hand very fast. They hesitate at nothing when out for a good time. And I run across a great many boys loitering on the street corners as late as ten o’clock at night.”

“Mostly because their homes have not been made attractive enough for them,” the observant minister went on to say. “But I’ve tried in vain to get the co-operation of their parents. Something else must be done, some way found whereby we can obtain and hold the interest of these half-grown lads. And Harry, a brilliant idea flashed into my mind last night while I sat alone brooding in my study.”

“I should like to hear what it is, then.”

“First of all I want to tell you, Harry, that I shall surely need your hearty backing if the plan I have in view is going to meet with a shadow of success.”

“Before I hear a word of your scheme, sir, I can promise you that much,” said the younger member of the newly reorganized firm of Bartlett & Company, with hearty emphasis.

“I felt sure I could count on your whole-souled assistance, Harry!” Mr. Holwell exclaimed, joyously. “Like myself you believe in boys to the utmost.”

“Then tell me what it is you have been considering, sir,” urged Harry.

“A radical step in our service for young men and boys,” said the minister, with flashing eyes, and enthusiasm beaming from every feature of his rosy, healthy face. “It is nothing more or less than to start a junior organization in the Y. M. C. A., giving younger lads a chance to form a club, granting them the privileges of the gymnasium, the reading rooms, and admission to the lecture course as well. What do you say to that, Harry?”

“A splendid scheme, Mr. Holwell, and I’ll go into it with all my heart and soul.”

“Come over to the parsonage tonight, then, Harry, and fetch your father along. I’ll have a few other people, ladies as well, present, and we’ll talk over the project; but I tell you now once for all we must push it through; no halfway measure will do. Call it eight this evening, Harry. And here’s wishing great luck to the Boys’ Department of the Y. M. C. A.!”

CHAPTER IV
SOME WONDERFUL NEWS

Two days after the Hallowe’en episode, Dick Horner, walking along the main street of Cliffwood, stopped to look in at the window of the sporting goods establishment. The display of guns, fishing tackle, football and hockey requirements, as well as many games for home and club entertainment, always possessed a peculiar fascination for Dick.

He sighed now as he surveyed these tempting things, for money being always a scarce commodity at the little Horner cottage, poor Dick could not afford to squander much on luxuries.

A hearty slap on the back awakened him from his little day dream. Turning quickly he found that his chum, Leslie Capes, was standing beside him, with a broad smile on his face.

“Made up your mind which gun you want, old fellow?” the newcomer asked, jauntily. “Or perhaps now it was some of that football stuff you were mapping out to buy?”

Dick laughed to hide the spasm that shot through his heart; for he realized that he needed a new suit of clothes more than he did any of those fine articles so temptingly displayed.

“Well, I haven’t decided just yet, Leslie,” he said, lightly enough, considering what his feelings had been a moment before. “I’m glad you came along, for I was just on the point of going over to your house to see you.”

“I’ll wager a cookey I can guess what your errand was,” remarked the other.

“Give a try then,” Dick went on to say. “I don’t believe you’ll come within a thousand yards of it.”

“Well, this is Friday afternoon, isn’t it, and we got out early from school,” the other boy started to explain. “That makes tomorrow Saturday, and it seems that four of us fellows have a date to get off with our horse and wagon in the morning to visit that hickory grove about seven miles up the Sweetwater, where we’ve heard the nuts were mighty thick this fall, and plenty still on the ground.”

Leslie finished with an expectant smile, as though he really believed he must have struck the bull’s-eye the first shot. He was surprised to see Dick shake his head in the negative.

“Better try again,” the other told him.

“Oh! if it’s as deep as all that I’ll have to throw up the sponge, and own myself beaten,” admitted Leslie. “That’s about the only thing I can think of; unless you’ve got something to tell me about that Deacon Nocker scrape the other night. Did he drop over and see your mother, Dick, after sending your cap to you by one of his store boys?”

“Not a word has been said,” replied Dick, “and I was beginning to wonder what had come over Mr. Nocker, because he’s usually so bitter toward boys. But the mystery has all been made clear since I met Mr. Holwell, the minister, about half an hour ago.”

“Did he coax the old deacon to go easy with us, Dick? It would be just like Mr. Holwell, for he’s the best friend the boys of Cliffwood ever had.”

“Yes, it happened that Mr. Holwell and Harry Bartlett were talking on the morning after Hallowe’en when they saw the deacon heading for police headquarters. He told them what had happened, and how he knew who three of the boys were who had dared to enter his house at midnight and tried to give him a terrible fright.”

“Whew! is that a fact, Dick? I can guess what Mr. Holwell and Harry did then.”

“Yes, they were worried for fear of what the consequences might be, and finally managed to talk the deacon into giving up his idea of having us arrested for trespass and breaking into his house. Then the two got to talking over matters, and the result was a secret meeting held that night at the parsonage.”

“Why, my Uncle Henry was out that night, and I couldn’t get him to tell me where he’d been!” exclaimed Leslie. “He looked mighty mysterious too, and told me to just hold my horses, and in good time I might hear something drop.”

“Well,” continued Dick, impressively, “at that meeting, so Mr. Holwell has just informed me, for it isn’t going to be kept a secret any longer, they decided to form a Junior Department of the Y. M. C. A. so as to keep the younger boys of the town off the streets nights, by supplying them with all sorts of entertainments in the headquarters building of the association.”

Despite the fact that many people were passing in both directions on that November afternoon, since they stood on the main street of bustling Cliffwood, Leslie Capes snatched off his cap and waved it wildly above his head several times.

“Bully for that!” he exclaimed. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to Cliffwood since the day the old town was first started. Oh, I can see what a big help that’s going to be for all the decent boys. And in the good old summer time we can have all sorts of hikes and camping trips. That is a great surprise you’ve rung in on me, Dick!”

“Hold on!” remarked Dick. “It isn’t only the decent fellows that are going to have a chance to join the club. Mr. Holwell believes in giving every one a show, even Nat Silmore, Dit Hennesy, and their crowd. And any of the boys who work in the mills can be members if they agree to the rules of the organization.”

“Whew! I wonder how that will work?” said Leslie, frowning. “I mean about Nat and Dit, for they’re always such trouble-makers, you know.”

“Well, Mr. Holwell is willing to give them all the chances he can to make good, but you know that he isn’t going to stand too much nonsense,” Dick continued. “If Nat starts a racket he’ll find himself outside the door in a hurry, unless I miss my guess.”

“We’ll soon be rid of him then,” laughed the other boy, “because it’s just as natural for Nat to make himself disagreeable as it is for water to run down hill. But this is great news you’ve been telling me, Dick. Queer that I didn’t guess it must have had some connection with Mr. Holwell, because he’s always thinking how he can help the boys along.”

“It’s going to be the beginning of a new era in Cliffwood, he says,” Dick continued. “He thinks things are getting pretty near the breaking point, because for a fact the boys here have been going it strong of late. I can see that we’ll have jolly times this winter in that gymnasium and the club rooms.”

“As like as not Mr. Holwell will get up a whole lot of entertainments for us, such as moving pictures of an educational nature,” suggested Leslie.

“He spoke of that,” Dick volunteered, “and also told me we would have something of our own to do, though I don’t believe he’s made up his mind yet what it will be. But once I heard him tell my mother that years ago he used to belong to a traveling minstrel show, and had gone through a pack of interesting adventures while on the road. So it maybe something along that order.”

“That would be simply immense!” exclaimed the delighted Leslie. “And they could make you an end man, Dick. With that ventriloquist voice of yours I can see how you’d bring down the house.”

“We won’t cross any bridges till we come to them,” laughed Dick. “I’m willing to do my part, no matter where they put me. You see, Mr. Holwell had a little talk with me about a whole lot of things, and I sort of made him a promise—never mind what it was about.”

Leslie looked at his chum seriously and then went on to say:

“Mebbe I can give a pretty good guess what he said, Dick; but some other time you may take a notion to tell me. Mr. Holwell is a fine man, and if anybody can control the boys of Cliffwood, he ought to. But I’ve got an errand in town, so I’ll have to break away from you, expecting to see you at the house at eight sharp tomorrow morning. Then ho! for the shellbarks by the bushel, enough for a whole winter’s supply.”

“Don’t be in such a big hurry, Leslie,” urged Dick.

“What! have you got another dark secret to tell me?” demanded the other, laughingly.

Dick looked cautiously around him. Then he nodded his head.

“It’s a sure enough secret this time,” he observed, in a lowered voice. “Wait up a minute, because there’s Deacon Nocker coming along the street, and of all the people in Cliffwood he’s the last I’d want to have overhear what I’m going to tell you.”

Of course, this excited the curiosity of Leslie more than ever. He managed to hold his feelings in check while the grim old storekeeper walked past. Deacon Nocker gave the two boys one malicious look, and with a sneer on his thin face said:

“Hatching up some more of your tricks, I expect. But I give you plain warning that these scandalous goings-on are not to be tolerated any longer in a respectable town like Cliffwood. Better be going home and doing your chores. Loafing on street corners never gave any boy a lift in life; but it has helped many a lad to start to the penitentiary.”

Then the worthy deacon walked on with his head lifted proudly, as though he really believed he had fulfilled his duty as a Christian in warning the boys of the rocks upon which they were drifting, even though he had not stretched out a helping hand to assist them.

“The old curmudgeon!” muttered Leslie. “How he does hate all boys! No wonder his own son ran away from home years ago. Say, that big house must have seemed like a cold storage plant to that boy, for there couldn’t have been anything like warmth and happiness inside of it, with Old Jed Nocker present. I’m glad he isn’t any relation to me, that’s all I can say.”

“Listen, Leslie,” Dick continued, lowering his voice still more. “You’ll think it queer, I know, but all the same it’s about that same boy, Amos Nocker, that I’m going to say something right now.”

“But look here, Dick, didn’t we hear some time ago that Amos had married, and later on died far away out West somewhere?”

“It was true too, Leslie. He married a sweet little girl, and for a time managed to support her in comfort, because Amos had turned over a new leaf, you see. Then he came down with tuberculosis, and trouble stepped in.”

“Whew! that was rough,” said the other, his boyish heart touched with genuine sympathy. “And just after Amos was getting a fair start, too. But why didn’t he write to his rich father and get help?”

“He did, but his letter was returned unopened,” Dick explained. “In the end poor Amos Nocker died, just as we heard.”

“Leaving a widow and a child.”

“Just what it was, Leslie—the sweetest little woman you ever knew, and the boy is a darling if ever there was one. You see she wrote to the old man telling him about Amos’ sad death, and that she and the boy were almost penniless.”

“Did that touch the heart of Jed Nocker?”

“He answered her letter, and what do you think he said?” continued Dick, between his set teeth. “That as for her, he vowed never to set eyes on the face of the woman who had married his boy, thinking to come into some of his father’s hard-earned money; but that if she chose to send the child on to him he would care for it. But she must never darken his doors with her presence.”

“The cold-blooded old wretch!” burst out Leslie, indignantly. “But see here, Dick, how do you happen to know all this?”

“For the simple reason that Amos Nocker’s young widow, and the child, little Billy, are over at our house right now!” came the astonishing answer that staggered the listener, and caused him to gasp as he stared at Dick.

CHAPTER V
SETTING THE FOX TRAP

“That’s a queer thing you’re telling me, Dick!” was what Leslie Capes finally observed, scanning the face of his chum closely.

“After all it isn’t so very strange,” explained the other. “My mother once knew a Matilda Smith, and corresponded with her for some years. She married and was Tilly’s mother, it turned out, and Tilly is the girl Amos Nocker married. So among her mother’s letters Tilly found the address of our folks, and seeing it was Cliffwood, where her unforgiving father-in-law lived, she wrote on.”

“Oh! Then your mother had her come here and to her house, did she, Dick?”

“Just what happened, though I didn’t get wind of the secret till she arrived today,” Dick hastened to explain.

“But what’s the game?” questioned Leslie, eagerly. “Your mother and Grandpop Horner must have something up their sleeves.”

“Just what they have,” admitted Frank, with flashing eyes. “And say, after seeing what a dandy little darling that Billy is I reckon it might have a ghost of a chance of succeeding; though lots of people would laugh at the idea of a child breaking through into the flinty old heart of Jed Nocker.”

“Go on and tell me what’s up,” urged Leslie, almost consumed with curiosity.

“Listen, then,” Dick continued, mysteriously. “My mother hasn’t made up her mind that Mr. Nocker is hopeless. She really believes that in secret he has suffered a whole lot for his hardness to poor Amos.”

“Huh! I guess she’s about the only person in town then that believes so,” grumbled Leslie. “Everybody else thinks he’s got no heart at all, but a frozen turnip in its place. What makes your mother believe that, Dick?”

“Well,” said the other, “for one thing, she had occasion to go into his private office a week or so ago. She thought he called out ‘come in’ when she knocked, but when she opened the door Jed was standing there looking at a picture of poor Amos that he had on top of his rolltop desk; and he blew his nose a whole lot when he saw her. Mother says she felt sure his eyes looked watery.”

Leslie gave a mocking laugh at that.

“It never could have happened, Dick, believe me!” he exclaimed. “Chances were he only had a bad cold in the head; lots of it around town at this time of the year, and among older people especially. But you hinted at some sort of a plan that our folks had been making up.”

“My mother has a strong notion, which has become a positive conviction since seeing the fine little chap, that if Old Jed could become interested in Billy, not knowing that it was his own grandchild he was beginning to care for, he might in the end consent to accepting Tilly as his daughter, and provide for them.”

“H’m! sounds pretty nice, but knowing Mr. Nocker as well as I do I’m pretty shaky about the scheme working. But how could we go about it, Dick?”

“We’d have to get somebody interested who could afford to put a little money in the plan,” explained Dick, hesitatingly.

“How about my Uncle Henry?” demanded the other, instantly. “He’s just the one to plunge into anything of that kind, recklessly.”

“I’m sure he would be glad of the chance to help,” Dick went on to say, “after he had met Tilly and little Billy. And Leslie, you know the old saying, ‘speak of an angel and you’ll hear his wings?’ Well, there comes your uncle right now.”

“I’ll hold him up, Dick, and you can explain the whole thing to him. Then, if you say the word, we’ll all go to your house and meet Tilly Nocker and Billy. Hello! Uncle Henry, we were just talking about you. Are you in a big hurry, or could you spare a little time to listen to something my chum Dick here wants to say?”

The gentleman spoken to was a middle-aged, pleasant-faced man, and Leslie had for years come to look upon him as his good fairy. He supplied the lad with funds, perhaps too generously, but Uncle Henry’s faith in boys was deep-rooted, so that he believed they would come through all right. He looked upon them as certain to exhibit a certain number of prank-loving propensities, even as they caught the measles.

“It happens that I’ve got plenty of time on my hands just now, boys,” he told them. “What is the trouble at present? Been getting in some farmer’s orchard, and he threatens to make trouble for you if you don’t pay for the damage done?”

Leslie laughed at hearing this.

“A bad guess that time, Uncle Henry,” he told the gentleman, much to his relief. “We’re going to cut out most of that sort of business, now that Mr. Holwell has started to organize a Boys’ Department of the Y. M. C. A. Dick here wants to enlist your co-operation in a little scheme that his mother is engineering; and Uncle, I’ve as good as said I knew you’d jump at the chance to help.”

“Thanks for your good opinion, Nephew,” laughed the other. “But suppose you tell me what it’s all about before I make any promises.”

“Of course you know all about Amos Nocker, sir,” began Dick; “and how when he died away out West, his widow wrote asking the old deacon for help, which he refused to give unless she handed over her little son to him, with a promise never to even try to see him?”

“Yes,” replied Uncle Henry, gruffly, “I’ve heard about that, and thought it just about as mean and cold-blooded a proposition as ever was made. To think of making the poor young widow give up her child unless she wanted to starve! But then what more could you expect from Old Jed Nocker, the Icicle of Cliffwood?”

“Well, both Tilly and her child, little Billy, are over at our house right now,” continued Dick, eagerly. “Of course, it’s a dead secret, and you two are the only ones who know it. She’s meaning to go under the name of Mrs. Smith, you see.”

Uncle Henry looked decidedly interested.

“Tell me what’s in the wind, Dick, for I believe you said your mother had some sort of scheme.”

“It’s just this way, sir,” explained Dick. “You know the Brandon place next door to the deacon’s is empty, and for rent, furnished or empty. My mother thought that if Tilly took that house, and just by accident, you see, little Billy managed to creep through a hole in the fence between the places, and Mr. Nocker happened to run across him, he might become interested in the child.”

“Whew! that’s the game, is it?” exclaimed Leslie.

Uncle Henry seemed to ponder over it for a full minute or so.

“There’s a chance it might work,” he finally admitted; “though a whole lot would depend on the lad himself, as well as the state Old Jed has reached. Some profess to believe he’s beginning to break under the strain. For myself I must confess I’ve seen no signs of it so far; he’s just as hard as ever.”

“Well, it might turn out that he’s trying to keep up a brave face even when he’s near breaking down,” said Dick, quickly. “My mother surprised him looking at a picture of Amos one day, and she is sure his eyes were wet. And as far as little Billy is concerned, sir, if you come over to our house and meet him, I think you’ll say he can turn the trick, if anything can.”

“Is he such a darling, then?” asked Uncle Henry, who, although an old bachelor himself, had a fondness for children.

“Wait till you see him, and then tell me, sir,” replied Dick, confidently.

“All right, we’ll go over with you now if you say so, Dick,” the generous gentleman hastened to say.

“And after you’ve met Tilly and her little boy, sir,” continued Dick, anxious to strike while the iron was hot, “if you think well of the scheme will you go and secure the Brandon house for a month, so they can move in tomorrow?”

“I’ll be only too glad to do that, my boy,” replied Uncle Henry, laying a hand affectionately on a shoulder of each of the chums, while he beamed down upon the flushed face of Dick through his glasses. “It would be well worth a month’s rent to me, or ten months for that matter, if I could have a hand in breaking up that iron will of Old Jed Nocker, and making him a little bit human.”

“How about your errand, Leslie, can it wait?” asked Dick.

“Shucks! It’ll have to,” laughed the other; “because you see I was only going to have a haircut, and what are a few stray locks between friends. Come on, let’s get a move on. I’m wild to see that little Billy and his mother.”

They were not long in reaching the white cottage near the bank of the murmuring river where Dick, his small sister Sue, his mother, and the old pensioner lived.

When Dick threw open the door and ushered his two companions into the room they stood there and stared. A handsome little curly-haired boy of about three was playing horse with a chair which he straddled like a trooper. Leslie thought he had never set eyes on a more winning little chap, and stock in Dick’s plan immediately sprang up far above par in his mind.

Tilly Nocker jumped to her feet as they entered. She was a pretty young woman, perhaps too sad for one of her tender years. Uncle Henry became interested in her immediately, for he saw that she had suffered.

Dick’s mother and grandfather were also present. The former was worthy of any boy’s love, for her whole disposition was that of a gentle, trusting woman. As for the veteran of the Civil War, with his shock of white hair coming down almost to his shoulders, and his clean-cut features, he made a striking picture.

“Mother, I’ve brought Leslie and Uncle Henry over to meet them!” burst out Dick. “They know what we plan to do, and Uncle Henry seems to be pretty much in favor of it already.”

“Without saying another word,” remarked the gentleman, quickly, “I want to tell you I think it well worth trying. If Mr. Nocker can resist that winsome little chap then he’s got a lump of ice in place of a heart. I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Nocker, and let me tell you that in all Cliffwood you couldn’t have found a better haven of rest than right here in Mrs. Horner’s cottage.”

He shook hands with Tilly, and then hurried over to make the acquaintance of little Billy. While Uncle Henry had always been deeply interested in children, he could not remember the time he had ever been so drawn to a bright-faced little chap as he was now.

Deep down in his heart he was saying something like this:

“If the old skinflint doesn’t come to time I’ve got a good notion to adopt them both myself, and perhaps I will yet. One thing sure, they must never come to want. Why, it would be worth all it cost just to have that manly little chap around all the time.”

Before Dick and his uncle were ready to go it had all been settled.

“I’ll take a short lease on the Brandon place inside of half an hour,” announced Uncle Henry, positively, which showed that he was a man who never allowed the grass to grow under his feet when he had an object in view. “You can get settled tomorrow. We’ll keep the secret sacredly, and the town will only know you as Mrs. Smith. Then some time next week start the machinery moving.”

After Uncle Henry had hurried away to fulfill his part in the contract, Dick and Leslie stood outside the door to exchange a few words ere the latter walked off.

“The trap is set,” Leslie said, “and now we’ll see if the cunning old fox can be tempted to take the bait.”

CHAPTER VI
TAKING THE BAIT

When the great news concerning the boys of Cliffwood had circulated around town during the next few days it created no end of talk. Everywhere it caused the most intense excitement among the rising generation. Parents in particular commended the plan of Mr. Holwell as a means for gripping the restless activities of the town boys, and turning them into some more useful channel than loitering about the streets at night and playing all sorts of practical jokes.

At school it was the subject of talk wherever two or three fellows came together on the campus, or while in the classrooms during intermission.

Nearly every boy was in favor of the scheme. They talked it over and saw all manner of splendid possibilities looming up, for not only the long evenings of the coming winter but even during the spring and summer months.

“I’ve handed in my application,” announced Phil Harkness, as with several other fellows he stood in the school basement keeping warm near the furnace, while he munched some lunch purchased at the counter. “I hope nothing blocks me in joining the Juniors, because I expect they’re going to have great times.”

“Mighty few fellows try to throw cold water on the idea,” ventured Dan Fenwick; “unless it’s Nat Silmore and Dit Hennesy, who’ve gone around sneering, and saying it’s all a bunk game on the part of Mr. Holwell and Harry Bartlett to keep boys from having good times playing tricks.”

“Yes, but even they’re talking of applying for admission,” spoke up Clint Babbett; “and it wouldn’t surprise me if we had a heap of trouble with that crowd. If they get in to the first meeting which has been called for tomorrow night, look out for squalls, that’s all.”

“Mr. Holwell thinks they are not as black as they’re painted,” suggested Peg Fosdick. “But that’s because he’s got such a big heart he just can’t decide that any sort of boy is beyond redemption.”

“If they come in,” asserted Dan, vigorously, “there’ll be a rumpus, as sure as you’re born. I wish there were going to be some of the Seniors present, but I understand that it’s an off night for them, and that only Mr. Holwell, with perhaps Harry Bartlett, can be present at the first meeting.”

“Oh! well, where do we all come in?” demanded Peg, puffing out his chest in a vainglorious fashion. “We’ll chase that crowd out in a hurry if they get too gay. Besides, police headquarters is close by, and Mr. Holwell could call them up on the ’phone if it got too smoky.”

“I understand that nearly two dozen applications are already in,” remarked Phil, “so there ought to be something of a crowd out at the meeting. I’m wild to know just what the plans are.”

“First of all,” said Peg, “there’s going to be a small initiation fee, and monthly dues, just to help pay expenses, and make the boys feel it isn’t a charity. That’s Mr. Holwell’s idea; he doesn’t believe boys like to be given everything. And one of the rules is going to be that they must earn the amount of their entering fee and dues.”

“Wow! I see my finish then,” groaned Andy Hale; “because this morning my dad tempted me with an offer to saw and split a cord or two of wood that’s piled up in our back yard. Now I’ll just have to agree, if he’ll advance the pay to me.”

“Some of the boys,” explained Phil, “are going to be given a chance to do certain things about the Y. M. C. A. building, such as taking care of the furnace, cleaning windows at odd hours, and the like.”

“A good idea, too,” admitted Peg, “because some of the fellows who work in the mills would want to join us, you see, and they couldn’t afford to stand for the admittance fee.”

“Uncle Henry Capes has let it be known that he stands ready to assist any worthy boy he thinks is in dead earnest, and who can’t afford the price,” announced Leslie.

“Bully for your uncle, Leslie; he’s all right!” cried Peg, enthusiastically.

“Here’s another thing, fellows, I’m meaning to bring up the first chance I get after the Boys’ Department is well started,” said Phil. “You know all of us have been a whole lot annoyed by Mr. Loft, the librarian, who believes all boys’ books should be thrown out of our Public Library, and only volumes along educational lines kept there.”

“That’s right,” broke in Dan, eagerly. “I never call for a book that I’ve wanted to read but that he tried to show me the folly of indulging in such silly nonsense as he calls it. Guess the high-brow Mr. Loft never was a boy himself. He must have been fed on Greek grammar and ancient history when he was six years old. He makes me tired, that’s what. But go on and tell us what you’ve been thinking up, Phil.”

“All right, I will, fellows,” replied the one spoken to. “In the beginning I want to say I’ve already talked the matter over with Mr. Holwell, Harry Bartlett, and Leslie’s Uncle Henry, and all of them took to the idea first rate.”

“Go on, and let’s hear!” called out several of the more impatient lads as they clustered around the speaker.

“Listen then,” said Phil, impressively. “After we get the Junior Club well started the idea is to have a library of our own, containing only such books as Mr. Holwell will have passed upon as being the right sort for boys to read. These can be filled with pleasing adventure such as all boys want, and at the same time be of a healthy, uplifting nature, and all our own.”

“Fine!” exclaimed Dan Fenwick, who was a great reader of stories of all sorts.

“We could buy the books ourselves with money we earned or had given to us,” declared Clint Babbett. “I know for one thing my mother will take to the scheme right away, because she hates to have me fetch home some of the greasy looking books from the public library. You see, she says you never can tell where they’ve been the week before; mebbe in a house where they have diphtheria or some sort of catching disease. Germs she hates the worst kind. Yes, she’ll be only too glad to help out.”