"Glad to know you, Mr. Dare!" said the other, and he gave Richard's
hand a tight grip, but at the same time cast a sidelong, inquiring
glance at Norris.

"He's a green one," murmured Norris, as he brushed past. "Don't you
think we have it cozy up here?" he continued, turning to Richard.

Richard was not prepared to answer in the affirmative. His introduction
into the place, even though his curiosity has been small, was a
disappointment. The room had been nicely furnished once, but the carpet
and the furniture showed signs of much wear, and the pictures of which
Norris had spoken proved to be several of a remarkably "loud" sort,
but of no real artistic value or excellence.

"Many of the boys here to-night, Springer?" asked Norris.

"Foley, Nichols and two or three others. Will you take a hand in?"

"Maybe; I'll see in a little while."

"My night at the door," growled Springer. "I hate it."

"Never mind; as long as we can't pay a porter some one has got to do
it among us. I'll get my book," added the shipping-clerk, glancing at
Richard.

He entered the next room, closing the door carefully behind him. Richard
thought he heard the clinking of glasses within, but he was not sure.

In a few moments Norris reappeared.

"Come in!" he said. "The boys would like to know you."

Not dreaming of what was to come, Richard accepted the invitation.

He found himself in a small room, well lighted. The air was heavy with
tobacco smoke, and the fumes of liquor were not wanting. But what
astonished him most was a group of five fellows seated at the center
table, playing cards, with several piles of money in front of them.

"They are gambling!" he thought, with something like horror. "I wish
I was out of it."

"Gentlemen, my friend, Mr. Dare," said Earle Norris. "Come, sit down
and make yourself at home," he added, slapping Richard on the shoulder.




CHAPTER XIX.

THE LAUREL CLUB.


Richard felt decidedly uncomfortable over the situation in which he
now found himself. It was so unexpected--it had been so forced upon
him that he did not know what to do.

"Come, take a hand in," repeated Earle Norris, offering him a chair
at the table and at the same time removing his hat.

"Thank you, but I do not play cards," replied Richard coldly.

"Oh, you'll soon learn!" returned the shipping-clerk. "Come, sit down,
and I'll give you a few points."

"I don't care to learn," was Richard's firm reply. "I never gambled
in my life, and I don't intend to begin now."

"Say, Norris, what do you want to bring such a fellow up here for?"
asked one of the players, with a scowl. "We were just having a jolly
good game, and don't care to have it spoilt."

"Oh, that's all right. I'm aware of that; but Mr. Dare is a new-comer
to New York, and I'm only showing him around a bit."

"We don't want any one here who is going to give us away," put in
another player. "Harrison, your cut."

"I'm quite sure Mr. Dare won't be so mean," said Norris. "Come, make
yourself at home."

But during the last few minutes Richard had been doing some heavy
thinking, and the conclusion of it all was that he had better get out
as soon as possible. He had nothing in common with such a crowd, and
to remain might place him in an awkward if not dangerous position.

"I thought you only wanted to get a book?" he said to Norris.

"So I did; but now we are up here we might as well stay awhile and
have some fun. It's early yet."

"It's not early for me," responded Richard. "I promised to be back by
nine o'clock, and it must be near that now. Just give me my hat."

For Norris had taken his guest's hat and placed it on a hook beside
his own.

For reply, the shipping-clerk pulled Richard down into a seat.

"Don't be a fool," he whispered. "We won't hurt you. All the fellows
here are gentlemen. No use of offending them."

Richard sprang to his feet.

"I don't want to stay, and that's all there is to it," he exclaimed.
"If your friends are offended by my going away, why I can't help it.
I didn't come up here of my own choosing in the first place, and I
claim the right to leave whenever I please."

"Oh, you do, do you?" sneered Norris. "Well, we'll see about that."

And he placed himself between Richard and the door.

Richard grew pale.

"Perhaps I'll have to fight my way out," he thought. "I suppose this
is nothing but a gambling den. Well, I'll fight if it comes to that,"
he finished; and his eyes flashed with determination.

"Come, Norris, none of that," said a tall young man, who sat at the
head of the table. "No one shall be forced to stay here against his
will. You should have found out if your friend cared for this sort of
thing before you brought him."

It was seldom that Don Wimler said so much, either at the club-rooms
or outside, and every one knew he meant every word.

Earle Norris's face fell.

"Of course, if Dare won't stay, he needn't," he said slowly. "I only
thought I was doing him a favor by bringing him."

"I hope, Mr. Dare, that you will not speak of what you have seen here
to-night," went on Don Wimler. "It might place us in an unpleasant
predicament."

Richard hesitated. "If I do, it will only be so far as it concerns Mr.
Norris and myself," he replied. "I have no desire to hurt you or the
others."

And going to the door Richard passed swiftly through it to the outer
room. Norris was after him on the instant.

"What do you mean by saying you may tell on me?" he demanded, with an
evil look in his eyes.

"I meant just what I said," retorted Richard. "I may be green, but I'm
not so green as you take me to be. Let me go."

Norris had taken a tight hold of his shoulder.

"You shan't go till you promise to keep the thing quiet," he replied
grimly.

For reply, Richard gathered himself together and gave the shipping-clerk
a shove that sent that individual sprawling to the floor.

Before Norris could regain his feet, Richard had unlocked the outer
door, and was speeding down the stairs.

"I made a failure of it that time," muttered the shipping-clerk, as
he slowly arose to his feet. "But we'll get even yet, and more than
even, too!"

Richard breathed a sigh of relief when he emerged once more upon the
street.

"I'm glad I found Norris out, any way," he said to himself as he hurried
along. "I think I can safely put him down as a bad egg."

Retracing his way down Broadway the boy at length crossed over to Grand
Street, and directed his steps towards the east side.

When he reached the Massanets' it was quarter past nine. Mattie let
him in, stating that her mother and her brother had not yet returned.

Frank had told her of the street urchin and the letters, and she was
anxious to hear about the result of Richard's visit to Doc Linyard's,
trusting it had been good.

Richard related the particulars. He did not mention Norris; and finally
the talk drifted around to Pep, the street urchin.

"I feel sorry for him," said Mattie Massanet. "We must find out where
he lives, and see if we can't do something for him and his sick father."

"I've been thinking of it," returned Richard. "He is very shy, and
wouldn't even tell me his last name. But perhaps when he sees that I
mean him no harm he'll grow more communicative."

"We might go down and see his father on a Sunday," went on Mattie. "I
suppose the neighborhood in which he lives isn't a very nice one to
visit at night."

"I'll ask him if we can come."

There was something about Mattie Massanet that Richard liked very much.
She was gentle as well as lively, and sympathetic as well as full of
fun. She reminded him strongly of his sister Nancy in one way, and his
sister Grace in another. Indeed it was Mattie who made the Massanet
flat a real home for him.

Presently there were footsteps on the stairs, and in a moment Mrs.
Massanet and her son entered. They had been shopping over in the French
district, and carried several bundles.

It was now drawing towards ten o'clock, and only a few words were
spoken before the good-nights were said.

In the upper hall Richard asked Frank to come to his room, and giving
his friend a chair and seating himself upon the edge of the bed he
told of his adventure with Norris.

"I have suspected Norris of something like that for several months,"
said Frank. "I was tolerable sure that he was spending more money than
he was making now. He must be an expert player or else an unfair one.
I suppose he thought as long as he got you there the rest would follow
easy enough. I'm glad you didn't give in. If you had, he or his
companions would have won every cent you had, and perhaps have placed
you in debt to them."

"What would you do? Tell on him?"

"Williams & Mann ought to know what kind of a fellow their
shipping-clerk is," replied Frank. "Yet one word about it may cost
Norris his position. Suppose you wait a day or two? Watch how he acts
and think it over."

Richard thought this was good advice, and told Frank he guessed it was
just what he would do; and on this conclusion the two separated.

Far better would it have been for both, however, if they had taken
their information to the firm at once. Later happenings will explain
why.




CHAPTER XX.

TROUBLE BREWING.


In the morning Richard went to work as if nothing out of the ordinary
had happened. It was not until after dinner that business called him
down to the packing-room, and then there were several others besides
Norris present.

Yet the shipping-clerk evinced a strong desire to talk to Richard
privately, and finally accosted him just as he was going up the stairs.

"Say, I hope you'll let what happened last night pass," he said in an
undertone. "I only wanted to show you a little of life here, and didn't
dream you'd resent it as you did."

"Well, next time you will understand that I mean what I say," returned
Richard sharply.

"I know I was to blame," went on Norris humbly. "But to tell the truth
I'd had a glass of champagne at supper time, and my head wasn't as
clear as it should have been. If you say anything of it here, though,
I may be discharged."

"Well, I won't say anything unless something more happens," Richard
replied. "I don't want to get any one into trouble. But I'll tell you,
Mr. Norris," he went on, "I think you're on the wrong track. Take my
advice, even if I am younger than you, and steer clear of the Laurel
Club."

"I'll think of it," replied the shipping-clerk, turning away.

"I guess I've shut the young fool up," he muttered to himself. "He
might have placed me in a decided fix if he had told all he knew."

Of course Richard reported the interview to Frank. Indeed the two were
now deep in each other's confidence, and no such thought as keeping
the matter to himself would have crossed Richard's mind.

"Perhaps it will teach him a lesson," said Frank. "But I doubt it.
Better keep an eye on him."

Later in the day Mr. Mann came up to the stock-room, looking very
black. He asked a number of questions about some books that had been
sent to Troy four days before. "The party that received them says there
were five or six sets of Irving's works badly damaged. Do you know
anything about it?"

"No, sir," replied Frank promptly. "Those we packed up were all in
first-class order."

"Well, there was some damaged stock here."

"Yes, sir, quite a good deal that was soaked by that water-pipe bursting
three weeks ago. But Mr. Williams ordered us to sort it out, and it
was all sent to the second-hand dealer's last week."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, sir. Dare, here, helped me ship it off."

Mr. Mann turned to Richard.

"That's so, Mr. Mann," put in the latter. "And I remember well that
before the last box went down we hunted high and low to see that nothing
that was damaged in the least should be left behind."

"Well, it's mighty queer how those people in Troy should get twenty
odd volumes of damaged stock. We'll have to make a reduction in their
bill, I suppose. Be careful of the goods shipped in the future."

And with this retort Mr. Mann took the elevator and went below.

"I can't see how those people could have got a single damaged volume,"
said Richard when the head of the firm had departed. "I remember that
box well, and every volume in it was perfect."

On returning to the Massanets' that evening Frank heard bad news. An
aunt had died over in Port Richmond, on Staten Island. His mother had
gone to the place at once, and wished her son to come to the funeral,
on the following afternoon.

"Of course I'll have to go," said Frank to Richard. "I'll stop at the
store on my way down and let the firm know, and also help you enough
to get along while I am gone."

This Frank did. He readily obtained permission from Mr. Williams to
be absent, and at ten o'clock Richard found himself in sole charge of
the stockroom.

There were a number of important orders to fill, and the boy worked
like a beaver to get them done in time.

"I'm so glad for the chance to do something for Frank; he has been so
kind," said Richard to himself. "Besides, some day I may wish him to
do me a like favor."

Richard was careful that there should be no mistakes, and it is perhaps
needless to state that he had both eyes wide open for damaged books.

While hard at work, with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, Mr.
Williams appeared. He was quite an old man, and in many respects much
pleasanter than his partner.

"I came up to see how you were making out," he said. "You will have
your hands full, trying to do two men's work."

"Oh, I guess I can manage it," replied Richard pleasantly. "I wouldn't
want to do it very long, though," he added.

"I'll give you a hand," said Mr. Williams. "This used to be my work
years ago, and I still like it."

"Here is an order from Pittsburgh I can't read very well," said Richard.
"I'd be much obliged if you will help me on that."

"All right. Give it to me."

In a few minutes employer and employee were hard at work together. Mr.
Williams had not intended to stay very long, but he became interested,
both in the work and in Richard, and it was only when, two hours later,
a message came for him, that he went below.

"He is a nice man," thought Richard, when Mr. Williams had gone. "I
am sure he would not have treated Mr. Mann with more consideration
than he did me. No wonder Mr. Joyce called for him first the day he
brought me here."

A little later Earle Norris came up.

"Hello! alone?" he exclaimed.

"Yes."

"How's that?" Thought Massanet was as steady as clockwork.

Richard told him why Frank was absent.

"Oh, that's all right," said Norris.

"What brought you up?" asked Richard.

"I came up to see if Martin's order from Pittsburgh was filled yet.
It's got to go first thing in the morning."

"There it is; been done half an hour ago," replied Richard.

He did not think it necessary to add that Mr. Williams had filled it.

"All right; send it down at once," replied Norris. "Rather tough,
making you do all the work," he added. "I'd strike for higher pay."

"I am very well satisfied with the way I am treated," returned Richard.

Norris disappeared, and a moment later Richard sent the crate containing
the goods down on the elevator to be packed up below. After that he
worked steadily until six o'clock, at which time he had the satisfaction
of knowing that every order sent up had been promptly and correctly
filled.

Richard found Frank and his mother already at home when he reached
there in the evening. The funeral of Mrs. Massanet's sister had been
a quiet, but sad affair, and Richard saw that no one was in humor for
much talking, and all retired early.

Frank was not a little astonished in the morning to find that Richard
had done all the work so well, and also that Mr. Williams had helped.

"I declare, between you, you'll soon be cutting me out of a job," he
laughed.

"Oh, I hope not," returned Richard. "If I'd thought that, I surely
would not have worked so hard."

"Oh, it's all right," replied Frank.

"If I ever go into business for myself," he thought, "Richard Dare is
just the clerk I want to help me. He is bright, and not afraid of work,
and those are the fellows who get along."

Frank Massanet's one idea was to some day own a bookstore of his own.
He understood the trade thoroughly, and with the proper location and
a fair amount of cash he was tolerably certain that he could make such
a place pay. His savings amounted to several hundred dollars now; he
was only waiting for the time to come when they would be at least a
thousand. Then he intended to strike out for himself.

The two worked on steadily through most of the day. Late in the
afternoon a boy came up from below.

"Mr. Mann would like to see you in his private office," he said to
Richard.

The latter was surprised at the announcement. Since he had gone to
work he had not been called for once before.

"What does he want of me?"

"I don't know," replied the boy. "He is awful mad about something, and
has sent for several of the others."

"I can't understand it," said Richard to Frank, as he put on his coat.
"I don't know of anything that has gone wrong."

And considerably worried, Richard descended to the ground floor, and
knocked on the door of the private office.




CHAPTER XXI.

RICHARD IN TROUBLE.


Richard found Mr. Mann alone. The gentleman was seated at his desk and
greeted the boy coldly.

"You sent for me, I believe," began Richard.

"Yes," replied Mr. Mann, "I want to have a little talk with you." He
gazed at Richard sharply. "How long have you lived in New York?" he
asked.

"Two weeks, sir. I was only here two days before I came to work for
you."

"But you are pretty well acquainted with the place?"

"Not very well, sir. I was never here before. But I think I can find
my way anywhere quick enough, if you wish to send me on an errand,"
he added, thinking Mr. Mann might possibly have some commission for
him to execute.

"No doubt you could," replied the gentleman dryly. "But I don't wish
to send you anywhere. You are an orphan, I believe. Where do you live?"

"I board with the Massanets."

"Does Norris board with them, too?"

"No, sir."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Mann gazed at Richard severely.

"I thought you two were good friends," he said.

"I hardly know Norris," replied Richard. "He is certainly no friend
of mine."

Richard felt that the present would have been a good time to tell what
he knew about the shipping-clerk, but remembering his half promise to
the latter he remained silent.

"You may go," said Mr. Mann, briefly; "but stop. Have you any keys
belonging to this place in your possession?"

"Keys? No, sir."

"Oh, all right."

"But--what made you ask that?" began Richard, considerably perplexed.

"I wanted to know, that was all."

"We have no keys of anything up in the stock-room," continued the boy.

"I know _that_. You can go to work," Mr. Mann snapped.

And Richard passed out.

"Either that boy is perfectly honest or else he is the most accomplished
actor I ever saw," thought the merchant when left alone.

"Well, what's the trouble?" asked Frank, when Richard reached the
stock-room. "I hope you haven't been discharged."

"No, it's not as bad as that, but I--I don't know what to make of it,
and that's a fact."

The stock-clerk listened carefully to the story Richard had to tell.

"Depend upon it there is something in the wind. You had better watch
Norris; he may be getting you into trouble."

"I half wish I had told the firm of Norris's actions," said Richard.

"Perhaps it would have been best," replied Frank.

On the way home that night the two met Pep. The urchin had evidently
been waiting for Richard, for he ran up at once.

"I've got something for you, Mr. Dare," he exclaimed, and shifting his
bundle of papers he drew out a silver dollar from his ragged clothes.
"Here is one of de dollars I owes yer. I'll have de odder one in a few
days, I guess."

"Did you earn it?" asked Richard, without taking the proffered coin.

"Yes, sir, honestly too, sellin' papers."

"And how is your father? Any better?"

"Not much, sir. That pneumony hangs on so."

"Perhaps you had better keep this money. You may need it for medicine."

"No, sir, I'm earning enough to buy that now. I want you to take this.
I'd feel better if yer did. If it wasn't fer dad I a-given it to yer
long ago."

"All right then." Richard slipped the coin in his pocket. "I'd like
to see your father once, and see how you live. Maybe I and my friend
here, Mr. Massanet, can help you a bit. Can I come?"

Pep hung his head.

"We live in a garret, and you'd find it mighty dirty. Nobody with good
clothes has got any right there."

"We won't mind the dirt," put in Frank eagerly. "Only let us come. I'm
sure we can help you some."

"Where can we meet you, Pep?" asked Richard, seeing that the little
Arab wavered. "I suppose we can't find your home alone very well."

"Guess you can't. We're in a heap down our way. I dunno," the last in
reference to the meeting. "Just wherever you two gentlemen says. You
was so kind I guess dad won't mind my bringin' you."

"Suppose you come up to our house," suggested Frank. "Will you do
that?"

"Yes, sir, if yer want me."

"I do. Come to dinner at one o'clock, and we'll take something along
for your father." Frank described the location and the house in which
he lived. "Do you think you can find it?" he concluded.

"Walk right in de front door wid me eyes shet," laughed Pep. "You're
mighty kind," he added soberly.

"Will you come?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure?" put in Richard.

"I will, 'ceptin' dad's so sick I can't" replied Pep.

In the evening Richard and Frank took a walk, first up town and then
down Broadway. On the way the boy pointed out to his friend the building
in which the meetings of the Laurel Club were held.

"I wonder if Norris is up there to-night," observed Frank. "Suppose
we stand here in the shadow for a while and watch who goes in and comes
out."

Richard agreed to this, and crossing the street they took a stand
directly opposite the entrance to the place.

Here they waited for perhaps fifteen minutes.

At the end of that time along came Norris, arm in arm with another
member of the club.

"There he goes!" exclaimed Richard, as the two went up the stairs.

"There is a man watching them?" added Frank, as another individual,
who had come close behind the others stopped at the corner. "Wonder
who it is?"

"He's coming over here," said Richard. "We'll get in this hallway and
see him as he passes. I suppose he's a stranger to us."

Near by was a dark hallway, partly open. Both of the boys stepped into
it, and an instant later the stranger went by.

When he was gone Frank uttered an exclamation.

"I saw that fellow talking to Mr. Mann in the post-office only a few
days ago! I think he is a private detective."

Richard gave a start.

"Then I see it all," he groaned. "That man knows of Norris's doings,
and as he has seen me in his company he thinks I'm in with that crowd,
and has probably told Mr. Mann so."

"Very likely that's the case," admitted Frank, after a moment's thought.

"It's an awful fix to be in," continued Richard. "I don't know how I
can ever clear my name. Even if I tell what I know about Norris I have
no proofs to show that I didn't go to that place willingly."

"That's true. You're in a bad light at the best. It's a shame! I'll
tell you what you do."

"What?"

"There is no reason why you should suffer on Norris's account. He is
no friend of yours, and has been trying to lead you astray. Who knows
but what, if he is left alone, he may not try some day to get you in
even deeper? I'd go to Mr. Williams and tell him the whole truth."

At first Richard demurred. He did not wish to "tattle" on anybody,
and, besides, not having a forward nature, he shrank from the exposure.

But Frank soon talked him out of this, and by the time they reached
the Massanets' home Richard decided to "have it out" the first thing
in the morning.

But upon reaching the store the following day a disappointment awaited
him. Mr. Williams had gone to Boston, and would not be back for several
days.

"I hate to tell Mr. Mann," said Richard. "I guess I'll wait till Mr.
Williams returns."

"I wouldn't," replied Frank. "I'd have it off my mind at once." But
the thought of facing Mr. Mann was not a pleasant one, and the boy
hesitated. While deliberating upon what to do the office boy appeared.

"Mr. Mann wants you down in his office right away," he said to Richard.

"What, again?"

"Yes, sir. Told me to tell you to come right down."

"Oh, Frank, I'm sure something is wrong!" cried Richard, when the boy
was gone.

"It looks so," replied the stock-clerk. "Never mind. Remember you are
in the right, and keep a stiff upper lip."

Much troubled in mind, Richard slowly descended the steps, and entered
Mr. Mann's office. As before the gentleman was alone.

"You wish to see me, sir?" began Richard, and somehow his voice trembled
in spite of himself.

"Yes, I do," replied Mr. Mann coldly. "I wish to tell you that your
services are no longer required. Here is your salary for this week.
You can leave at once."

Had Richard been struck in the face he would not have been more taken
aback than he was by this short and cold speech.

"But--Mr. Mann--I--" he began.

"I want no words with you," interrupted the merchant. "You understand
why you are discharged as well as I do."

"Yes, but I'm sure--"

"No words, sir. Don't you understand me? I wish you to leave instantly,"
cried Mr. Mann irascibly.

Richard colored.

"I'll go," he said. "But let me say that I consider you are treating
me very unfairly."

And with tears of indignation in his eyes, Richard left the office.




CHAPTER XXII.

RICHARD VISITS MR. JOYCE AGAIN.


"I'm discharged, Frank."

Frank Massanet dropped the books he held in his hands. "Discharged!"
he cried. "Surely, Dick, you don't mean it!"

"I do," replied Richard. "Mr. Mann has given me my wages for this week,
and says he wants me to leave at once."

"But how--what did he have to say? What did he accuse you of?"

"He had very little to say. He said I knew quite as well as he did why
I was discharged."

"But didn't he give you a chance to explain?"

"No; he wouldn't let me say a word. I tried to, but he shut me right
up."

"It's a shame," exclaimed the stock-clerk, indignantly. "I never thought
Mr. Mann could be so unfair." He hesitated a moment. "I'll do it; yes,
I will," he went on, half to himself.

"Do what?" asked Richard.

"Go down and have a talk with him. He's in the wrong, and ought to be
told so."

"No, no, don't go down!" cried Richard in alarm. "I could plainly see
that he was in a bad temper, and you'll only get yourself into trouble."

"I don't care, it's--" began the stock-clerk with flashing eyes, that
showed up well the force of character within.

"No, no!" repeated Richard. He would not have his friend get into
trouble on his account for the world. "I am much obliged to you for
wanting to help me, indeed I am, but I'd rather leave the thing as it
is."

"What will you do?"

"I hardly know yet. I'm completely upset and want time to think."

"You're not going to sit down and calmly submit to it, I hope?"

"Indeed I'm not. Mr. Mann has cast a slur on my character, and I'm
going to remove that, no matter what happens afterwards."

Richard washed his hands and put on his coat in silence. Frank Massanet
sat on the edge of a packing case and watched the boy thoughtfully.

"I wonder if Earle Norris has been discharged?" he remarked. "If any
one was to go he should have been the person."

"I don't know," replied Richard. "I'll try to find out as I go down."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know that either. I must think it over."

"Never mind; remember what I said before; you're in the right, so keep
a stiff upper lip," returned Frank.

When Richard went down he passed through the shipping-room. Earle
Norris was hard at work, sending off orders. He looked surprised, or
pretended to, as the boy entered.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, "Off early?"

"Yes, I am," returned Richard briefly.

"How's that? Got a vacation?"

"Yes."

The boy did not care to be further questioned, and so quickly left the
building.

"Reckon he's discharged," muttered Norris under his breath. "So far
Harrison's scheme works well. Now I must use my wits to clear myself."

"Norris does not act as if he had received bad news," thought Richard,
with a shake of his head. "I can't make it out. There is something
behind it all, but what it is, still remains to be seen."

Richard walked down Beekman Street and then turned the corners of
several other streets. He had no definite plan in mind, and time seemed
at that particular moment of no great value.

Finally he found himself in the neighborhood of the leather district,
and determined to call upon Mr. Joyce.

He was not long in reaching the latter's warehouse, and a moment later
found himself in the merchant's office. As usual Mr. Joyce was hard
at work at his desk. He looked surprised at Richard's entrance, but
finished the letter he was writing before he turned around and spoke.

"Well, Dare, dropped in to see me?" he said pleasantly. "Have a chair."

"Thank you, Mr. Joyce. Yes, I--I have come to see you," said Richard,
hardly knowing how to begin. "I want your advice," he added.

"Yes? Well, you can have that, I'm sure. How are you making out at
Williams & Mann's?"

"I was discharged this morning."

"What!"

Mr. Joyce's face betrayed resentment, anger, pity and curiosity, all
in one.

"But believe me, sir, I am not to blame," went on Richard hastily. "I
have done my work, and more, faithfully, and Mr. Mann would give no
reason for discharging me."

"But there must have been some reason," exclaimed the leather merchant
flatly. "No one sends away an efficient clerk without cause."

"Well, I can't make it out," replied the boy. "That's the reason I
came to you. I'm sure I haven't done anything wrong, and I haven't
been negligent."

Richard's earnest manner had its full effect upon Mr. Joyce.

"Well, tell me your story," he said. "Tell me every word of the plain
truth. Unless you do that I can't help you a bit."

So Richard told of everything that had happened since he had gone to
work--of his intimacy with the Massanets, his acquaintanceship with
Earle Norris, the adventure at the Laurel Club, and all. Mr. Joyce
listened in silence until the boy's story was concluded.

Then he put a number of questions, to make sure that nothing had been
left out or covered up.

"I can't see how you are to blame," he said at the last. "You did wrong
not to let some one know how this Norris had treated you, but you have
done nothing, as far as I can make out, to warrant dismissal. I will
go up and see Mr. Mann in a little while--just as soon as I finish my
morning's work. Will you go along?"

"If you think I ought to. Mr. Mann wanted me to get out though, and
talked as if he didn't want to see me again."

"Never mind. Everybody is entitled to a hearing, and Mr. Mann is
probably laboring under a false impression."

In half an hour the two were on the way. Richard's heart beat quickly
as they walked along, for in some manner Mr. Joyce's presence inspired
him with confidence.

When they reached the store Mr. Mann had gone out for lunch. In a few
minutes, however, he returned. He greeted Mr. Joyce with cold
politeness, and then frowned openly upon Richard.

"Say, Mel, what's the trouble here?" began Mr. Joyce, diving right
into the subject at hand. "My young friend says he has been discharged
without warning."

"We have paid him his week's wages," replied Mr. Mann stiffly.

"So he says, but he wants to know why you discharged him. He says you
acted as if something was wrong."

"Well, something _is_ wrong," admitted the book-merchant; and
then he added in an undertone: "I meant to send you word about it. I
don't care to have the boy aware how much or how little I do know.
Send him out, and I'll tell you the whole affair. The boy is not so
innocent as he looks."

"Bosh! I told you before I knew an honest face when I saw it, and I'll
wager he's as honest as the day is long. Dare," continued Mr. Joyce,
turning to Richard, "just go outside in the store and wait for me."

"Yes, sir."

Richard went out as directed. In the short time that he had been with
Williams & Mann he had come but little in contact with the clerks
downstairs, and they hardly knew him, and now allowed him to stand
around as though he was a stranger.

The dismissal made him feel strange, too. He wished he could go upstairs
to Frank, but he did not know how soon Mr. Joyce might want him. He
wondered how Frank was getting along, and who the firm would get to
help him.

A short half hour passed. It seemed like an age to Richard.

Then the private office door opened and Mr. Joyce called for him to
come in.

Hardly knowing what to expect, the boy entered. Mr. Joyce closed the
door carefully behind him.

"Well, Dare," began Mr. Mann, "we have talked your case over pretty
thoroughly, and while there are some things in your conduct that I
don't like, yet I admit that perhaps I was hasty in judging you. I did
not care to explain all I know for reasons you may learn later. You
may go to work again if you wish."

"Thank you, sir," replied the boy, nearly as much surprised at this
sudden turn as he had been at the first. "But I--"

"Never mind, now. I know there are many things you would like to know,
and which, perhaps, I ought to explain; but for the present you will
have to let that pass."

"I'm willing to, as long as it comes out right in the end," replied
the boy. "Thank you, Mr. Joyce, for your kindness," he added, turning
to the leather merchant, and then withdrew.




CHAPTER XXIII.

STRANGE DISCOVERIES.


Frank Massanet was surprised and delighted to have Richard come to
work again.

"You have indeed a good friend in Mr. Joyce," he remarked when the boy
had told him what the leather merchant had done. "One such is worth
a thousand of the common sort."

During the afternoon Earle Norris had occasion to come up to the stock-
room. He started back upon seeing Richard at work.

"Why, I thought you had taken a vacation!" he exclaimed.

"So I did--for an hour," replied Richard, and without further words
went on with his work.

"Why, I thought--" began the shipping-clerk.

"What did you think?" demanded Frank, coming forward.

"Why I--I----" stammered Norris. "What business is it of _yours_?"
he added rudely.

"You thought he was discharged," went on Frank. "You've been trying
your best to get him discharged."

"Who says so?" demanded Norris, but he turned slightly pale as he
uttered the words. "I say so. I don't understand your scheme, but
that's what you are trying to do; and I warn you that you had better
quit it."

It was seldom that Frank Massanet spoke in such an arbitrary way, yet
it was plain to see that he meant every word he said.

"You're mistaken," returned Norris, hardly knowing how to reply. "But
it's only natural that you should stick up for your mother's boarders.
They help support the family, I suppose."

And with this parting shot the shipping-clerk hurried below.

In the middle of the afternoon Mr. Mann sent for Richard and asked the
boy to accompany him to an office on lower Broadway.

"I wish you to keep our visit to the place a secret," he said. "I might
as well tell you something is going wrong at our place. Goods are
missing from several departments and we cannot trace them. They are
taken by some one in our employ, but there must be a confederate
outside."

"Did Mr. Joyce tell you about----"

"Norris? Yes; but I knew that. I thought you were in collusion with
him, because you were seen in his company."

"By that detective, I suppose."

"Do you know him?" asked the book merchant, in much surprise.

"Not much; Frank Massanet told me of him."

And Richard related the particulars.

"But did not Norris try to get me out of a position?" he added.

"Yes--no--I don't know." Mr. Mann contracted his brow, and then a light
seemed to break in upon him. "He did cast suspicion upon you, but I
thought that was only done for effect--I couldn't exactly understand
it."

"Perhaps he wished to get some one in my place--some one who would aid
him--that is, if he is the guilty party. Who had my place before?"

"A tall young man named Springer. He was discharged for incompetency.

"Springer!" exclaimed Richard. "That was the name of the doorkeeper
at the Laurel Club. He and Norris are great friends."

"Ah! Then I see it. Hold up! We received two applications for your
position only last week."

"What were the names?" asked the boy, deeply interested.

"I have them here in my note-book," replied Mr. Mann, feeling in his
pocket. "Do you remember the names of those you met at that club?"

Richard thought a moment.

"Harrison, Foley, Nichols and Springer, I think. I'm pretty good at
remembering names," he returned.

Mr. Mann got out his notebook.

"Here they are!" he cried. "Andrew S. Foley is one, and Henry Nichols
the other." He jammed the volume back into his pocket. "It's as clear
as day. There is no necessity for your going with me now. You can
return to the store; but remember, not a word of this, even to
Massanet."

"I'll remember, sir."

When Richard returned to the stock-room, his friend, of course, wanted
to know what was up, but the boy only replied that it was all right,
and that Mr. Mann had requested him to keep silent.

Throughout the entire establishment there appeared to be the feeling
that something was about to happen--what, no one knew.

As the two boys were returning home that evening, they met the street
urchin Pep, who greeted them politely. He had a bigger bundle of papers
than ever, and seemed to be prospering in his street trade.

Nevertheless, he had a sober, earnest look upon his countenance that
caught Richard's eye immediately.

"What's up, Pep?" he asked kindly.

"Dad's worse, sir," replied the boy. "I don't think I can come up
Sunday, 'ceptin' he gets better."

"Wouldn't you like us to come down, any way?" asked Frank.

"I would, yes; but he wouldn't. His head ain't right, and he don't
want no one around 'ceptin' me."

"Well, will you come up to the house, and get some nice stuff I will
give you? Some eating and the like?" continued Frank.

"Yes, sir; thank you."

"I'll expect you. Good-by."

"Good-by, sir. Good-by, Mr. Dare," cried Pep. "Oh, say," he added,
running back, "I reckon I can give you that other dollar by Monday."

On Saturday afternoon, as they were starting home early, Frank unfolded
his scheme of one day going into business for himself.

"I would like to see you do it," cried Richard, "and make a big success
of it, too. You deserve it, Frank--such a good fellow as you are!"

A few minutes later a funeral of some old soldier passed. There were
several coaches, and then a post of Grand Army men. The sight was a
sad one to Richard.

"My father was a soldier," he said to his companion. "He was shot,
too," he added, with a sigh.

"Yes?" said Frank. "Then your mother gets a pension," he added, after
a pause.

"No, she does not. She ought to have one, but we cannot get our claim
passed. My father let it rest so long that when he did try he could
find no witness."

And Richard related the full particulars of the case. Frank Massanet
listened attentively.

"I think, as your sister Grace says, I'd turn the whole country upside
down before I'd give up the hope of finding a witness," he said. "Why,
it would amount to several thousand dollars! A small fortune!"

"I'm going to try as soon as I get settled," replied Richard. "I haven't
any money to do anything with yet."

"I'd advertise as soon as I could afford it," suggested Frank. "And
I'd write to the secretaries of all these old soldiers' organizations,
too, giving your father's full name and what he belonged to."

"That's a good idea," exclaimed Richard. "I'll do that this week. I
have plenty of time in the evening, and can get the addresses from the
directory."




CHAPTER XXIV.

PEP'S HOME.


Sunday morning dawned clear and bright. Richard was naturally an early
riser, but the unaccustomed sounds in the streets awoke him at an even
earlier hour than he usually arose, and when seven o'clock came, and
the Massanets assembled for breakfast, they found that their boarder
had had quite a delightful walk.

By ten o'clock the Massanets were all ready and bound for church.

When the congregation was dismissed, Richard and Frank hurried home
ahead, wishing to see if Pep had come.

They found the street urchin waiting for them at the door. He was very
pale and nearly out of breath.

"I was thinkin' you'd never come!" he gasped. "I run all de way, and
went upstairs, but couldn't find nobody."

"What's the matter?" cried Richard. "Is your father worse?"

"Yes, indeed; a heap worse. I was thinkin' he was goin' to croak last
night."

"I'll go right down with you."

"Shall I go, too?" put in Frank hesitatingly. "I'll go willingly if
you want me."

"I dunno," replied Pep slowly. "Dad don't want no visitors. I was only
going to get Mr. Dare. But I reckon you can come. Dad won't know de
difference. He ain't right here."

And the street urchin tapped his forehead significantly.

Rushing upstairs, Frank got out a basket and filled it with a number
of things that Mrs. Massanet and Mattie had prepared. He was down again
in a moment, and then the three, guided by Pep, hurried off.

It was far down on the east side, through streets that are narrow,
dirty and notorious for crimes of all kinds, that the boy led them.

"'Tain't no nice walk to take," he said, "and you're dressed too good
to go through here after dark. If you come ag'in put on yer old clo'es;
da won't notice you so much."

"I'm glad that your sister isn't along," said Richard to Frank, with
a shudder. "I never dreamed of a place as wretched as this."

"Mattie knows how bad it is," returned Frank. "In her mission class
she has several children from the Italian quarter, and that's every
bit as bad as this."

"Here we are," remarked Pep, as they came to a narrow court. "Dis is
my street. Da calls it de Fryin' Pan, 'cause one of de houses took
fire last year and ten people were burnt up."

On this Sunday morning the Frying Pan was alive with people, Jewish
tailors and cloakmakers, who were enjoying a bit of needed rest. They
filled the doorways and the steps, and down on the pavement the children
ran around, shouting and playing games.

Picking their way among the latter and the heaps of dirt and streams
of filthy water on all sides, the two boys followed Pep to the end of
the court. Curious eyes gazed after them, and open remarks concerning
their presence in that locality were not wanting.

But to these the two paid no attention, though both were glad enough
to escape into the hallway of the tenement to which the street boy led
them.

"Look out for de stairway," cautioned Pep, as they ascended the first
flight. "It's mighty rotten, and you kin break a leg widout half
tryin'."

Up and up they went, until finally they stopped at the door of a room
on the top floor and in the rear.

"Here we are," whispered Pep. "Let me go in alone first, and see how
he is."

The street urchin opened the door and went inside. In a moment he
reappeared.

"He's asleep," he said. "You can come in."

The room was part of a garret, with a sloping side and a dormer window.
Opposite was a large brick chimney with an open fireplace. Near it lay
a mattress on the floor, and upon this rested a man.

He was apparently nearly fifty years of age. His face and form were
terribly shrunken, and his untrimmed hair and beard and generally
untidy appearance made him a repulsive object indeed.

"That's him," whispered Pep. "Glad he's asleep. Hope he don't raise
no row when he wakes up."

Just then the man turned and moaned to himself.

"Water! Water!" he cried.

"Have you any?" asked Richard.

"Yes, but 'tain't fresh," replied Pep. "I'll get some."

And catching up a pail, he ran out of the room and down the stairs.

"That man has a raging fever," declared Frank, after a careful look
at the sufferer.

"There ought to be more ventilation here," said Richard, "I'm going
to open that window."

For the dormer window, the only one in the place, was tightly closed.

It was no easy job. The window had probably not been opened for some
time, and stuck obstinately. Finally it went up with a bang, and a
draught of fresh air swept into the place.

"It's a pretty stiff breeze," remarked Frank; "but too much is certainly
better than too little."

The noise had aroused the sick man, and, opening his eyes, he stared
at the two boys.

"Ah, I've caught you!" he cried. "Pep! Pep! Bind them--don't let 'em
get away Where's the water?--

  "Water, water everywhere,
  Upon the deep blue sea;
  Water, water, here and there,
  But not a drop for me!

"That used to be Doc's favorite song. Why don't you give poor Tom a
drink? Where's Betty? She'll give her brother what he wants. Oh, Pep,
Pep, don't leave your dad to die of thirst!"

Richard uttered an exclamation, and grasped Frank's arm.

"That man is Tom Clover!" he gasped. "He is Doc Linyard's lost
brother-in-law!"




CHAPTER XXV.

TOM CLOVER.


For a moment Richard could not realize the discovery that he had made.
Could this weak, delirious man be Doc Linyard's brother-in-law, the
one for whom the old sailor had been searching so diligently and so
unsuccessfully?

If such was the fact then his visit to Frying Pan Court would
undoubtedly be productive of more than one good result.

"What makes you think he is the man?" asked Frank Massanet, with
considerable astonishment.

"Because he mentioned his own name as Tom, and I know Betty is the
sailor's wife's name," replied Richard.

"He doesn't look very respectable," went on Frank. "He isn't a relative
for even a man like Mr. Linyard to be proud of."

"He may look better after he's shaved and washed and fixed up a bit,"
returned Richard; "that is, if he gets well," he added, in sudden
alarm.

"Pep, Pep," went on the sufferer, "where's the water?"

"Here you are, dad, nice and fresh," and Pep entered with his pail
full. "Whew! but he does drink a pile!" he added to the two, as he
held a cup to his father's lips.

"I've brought something you can give him," said Frank, going to his
basket and depositing the articles upon a rickety table that stood in
a corner.

"And we'll send a doctor around here, too," he added. "You haven't had
one lately, I guess."

"Not this week. He charged too much, and he wouldn't come if I didn't
pay aforehand," replied the street urchin.

"Pep, what is your full name?" asked Richard abruptly.

The boy was silent.

"Why won't you tell me? I don't want to hurt you."

"Dad said afore he got sick he didn't want people to know it; that's
why," exclaimed Pep finally.

"Why not? He's honest, I'm sure."

"Honest? Bet yer he is! But he don't want his old friends to know how
he's come down."

"Oh!" exclaimed Richard, a new light breaking in upon him.

"Then you were better off once?"

"'Deed we were when marm was alive, and sister Mary. When they died
dad went on a spree--the first and last one--and spent what money was
left after the bills was paid. Then he sold our stuff and we came here,
and I got into the streets."

"How long ago is that?"

"'Most three years. It's been tough times since then."

And Pep suddenly raised his coat sleeve to wipe away two big tears
that had started to come down his cheeks.

"Did you ever know anything of an Uncle Doc?" asked Richard suddenly.

Pep gave a cry.

"What do you know of my Uncle Doc?" he exclaimed trembling. "Oh, Mr.
Dare, did he--did he--"

"What? Send me here? No; but he is looking all over for your father.
Then your name is Pep Clover?"

"Yes, sir. But how did you find it out?"

"Your father's talking led me to think so. I'm glad I found you for
there is money coming to your father. How much I don't know, but quite
some."

"Money coming to him?" Pep's eyes opened widely. Then suddenly his
face fell. "Yer foolin' me."

"No, I'm not. It's money from an uncle in England, left to your father
and your Aunt Betty."

Pep gave a whoop. "Hooray!" he cried, with a wild fling of his arms.
"How much is it? As much as twenty--as fifty dollars?"

"Yes, a good many fifty dollars," replied Richard with a smile.

"And kin dad have a nuss and medicine? Maybe they'll let him in the
hospital if he pays, hey? And I'll get some new clo'es, and then they'll
let me come and see him."

Pep rattled on as if the idea of sudden wealth had turned his head.

"I'll go and tell your uncle," said Richard at length. "I know it will
be a big surprise to him."

"Kin you find the way from here and back?" asked Pep anxiously.

"I don't know," replied Richard doubtfully. "I wish you could come
along."

"I would, only--" and the urchin pointed to the mattress. "Go ahead,"
put in Frank. "I'll tend to him while you are gone, I don't think I'll
have any trouble."

"Dad gets mighty cranky sometimes," returned Pep, with a doubtful shake
of his head.

"Never mind; I'll manage it. You won't be gone over an hour, I guess,"
added the stock-clerk to Richard.

"I think not; that is, if we can find Doc Linyard. His place is no
doubt shut up and he may be away."

A moment later Richard, accompanied by Pep, went down into the court
and made their way to the street beyond. The urchin was all eager
expectation, and if it had not been for Richard, for whom it was hard
work to keep up as it was, he would have run the entire way.

In a few minutes they were down on the Bowery, and passing Park Row,
the only lively spot in lower New York on Sunday, they crossed Fulton
Street and so on down to West.

As Richard had anticipated, the Watch Below was closed. Doc Linyard
did not keep his place open on Sunday, excepting for an hour or two
early in the morning.

"I'll have to see if I can knock him up," he said to Pep.

And raising his foot he kicked several times on the lower portion of
the door.

"Something like the first night, when I got lost," he thought to
himself. "What changes have occurred since then!"