A Young Inventor's Pluck Part 11

"It's mighty slow work," he said to himself: "but it's bound to wear away sooner or later."

Presently a heavy step sounded outside on the stairs, and a moment later Andy Mosey pitched into the room.

He was in a sad state of intoxication, and his face was red with anger.

"Been tellin' foine sthories about me!" he exclaimed. "Saying I sthole yer match-box an' set foire to old Gray's house! Oi'll fix ye!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BEEN TELLIN' FOINE STHORIES ABOUT ME!" HE EXCLAIMED.

"SAYIN' I STHOLE YER MATCH-BOX AN' SET FOIRE TO OLD GRAY'S HOUSE! OI'LL FIX YE!"]

He held a heavy stick in his hand, and as he spoke he brought it down with full force on Jack's head. The young machinist went down like a shot.

"Tellin' loies about me!" continued Mosey, as he dragged the half senseless body to the water's edge.

"Help! Help!" cried Jack, in a feeble voice.

But his cries were of no avail, and the next instant the young machinist was being swept by the rus.h.i.+ng tide down the stream, to the roaring falls below.

CHAPTER VIII.

SOMETHING ABOUT THE MODEL

Deb grew anxious when seven o'clock came and Jack did not put in an appearance. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances, she would not have minded it, but the events of the past two days combined to make her worry more than usual. She sat by the window, watching the stream of people returning from work, and then, when it was half after the hour, put on her hat and descended to the street below.

She walked slowly in the direction of the Redrock road, in hope of meeting her brother. At the end of three blocks, she came face to face with Mont Gray, who had just been finis.h.i.+ng up some accounts at the tool works.

"Where are you going, may I ask?" he said, with a smile.

"To meet Jack," replied Deb. "He ought to be home by this time."

"Perhaps the work took longer than he expected," observed the young man.

"You know he hates to leave a job until it's done."

"Oh, I know that. But I wish he would come, anyway; I can't bear to have him away now."

"Depend upon it, he can take good care of himself," added Mont. "Come, shall I walk home with you?"

"I suppose I might as well go," returned the girl, slowly, and turned back. "Oh, I'm so awfully nervous," she added.

"Your troubles have been too much for you," he answered, kindly. "They would have been for almost any one."

Though Mont's capital was, as we know, rather limited, he was anxious to help Deb and Jack all he could. Yet he hardly knew how to broach the subject.

"Did you--did Mr. Hammerby call again?" he asked, hesitatingly.

"Yes, and gave us a three days' notice to quit," replied the girl.

"He----"

"He shall not put you out!" exclaimed the young man, vehemently. "It's an outrage! It's bad enough for my uncle to believe your brother guilty, but to put you out----"

"But we are not going," continued Deb.

"I don't blame you. If I can help you----?" he began.

"No, you don't understand," returned Deb, quickly. "It's real good of you to offer help, but we don't need it," and she told him of the money Mr. Benton was to pay over on the following morning.

"I'm glad to hear you're going to get some cash out of that man,"

remarked Mont. "Although even so, he made a sharp bargain with Jack."

A few minutes later they reached the house.

"Will you come up?" asked Deb.

"I haven't time," he replied. "I've got to do an errand for my uncle.

Maybe afterward, if I have a chance I'll take a look for Jack, and come up with him."

"Oh, I wish you would," she returned, "I know it's dreadfully silly for me to be so easily worried, but I can't help it."

"Oh, it's all right, I suppose. If I was in his place maybe I'd like to be worried about, too," and away went Mont, whistling quite a merry air.

The young girl entered the kitchen and lit the lamp. It was now half-past eight, and as the people of the neighborhood were hard workers. who retired early, the streets were comparatively quiet.

She left the supper dishes upon the table, and putting some extra coal into the stove, set the tea and other things so that they might keep warm.

It was a dreary evening for her. She did not care much to read--actual life interested her far more than books--and now all her thoughts were centered on Jack.

"It's a pretty long walk from that farmer's place," she kept saying to herself. "But he will come soon, oh, he must come soon."

Her reflections were broken by hearing an unknown step upon the stairs, followed by a sharp rap at the door.

Hardly knowing whom to expect at this hour of the night, she bade the person enter.

The newcomer was Dennis Corrigan!

Deb did not know the man. She had seen him on the streets, but though he was fairly well dressed, she was not taken by his general appearance.

"Does Jack Willington live here?" asked Corrigan, with a hasty glance around the kitchen, to see who might be present.

"Yes, sir," replied Deb, and then realizing that the man might have news for her, she continued quickly: "Did he send you?"

"Yes, Miss. He said I was to get a model that he had here."

This a.s.sertion surprised the girl. What in the world could Jack want with his model this time of night?

"Where is my brother?" she asked.