W

ITH a sudden premonitory whir, the sitting room clock struck nine. Bob Brownell started in his chair by the fire and arose, exhaling his breath sharply as he did so. He glanced around the room and a sly look came into his eyes.

"Why not help myself to a part of it before Mike comes?" he murmured. "He'll think Joshua sent it away at the last minute."

He pondered the matter awhile, breathing deeply. His eyes narrowed as he asked himself another question: "Why not all of it? I might as well be a whole hog as part."

Carefully he considered the proposition, glancing uneasily around the room as though he half-expected some eye was upon him. Finally he tiptoed across the room, took a box from the mantel-shelf, and opened it. He fumbled for at moment, then brought forth a key. Laying this on the table, he drew out a shapeless object which gleamed redly in the light of the kerosene lamp. At first he stared at this curiously, then as if fascinated. His breathing became audible and he ran his fingers through his hair with a nervous gesture. For perhaps ten minutes he stood there and stared at the shapeless object which lay in the palm of his trembling hand. At last, as if awaking from a trance, he replaced the article in the box, threw the key in after and put the receptacle back on the mantel.

"No," he ejaculated, "I'll not double-cross Mike. I hope I've got a little honor left. 'Honor among thieves.'" he soliloquized.

"Well, that's better than no honor at all. If it wasn't for Mike I'd give it up. Joshua's been good to me. And then that little. I wonder why he kept it? Did he-?”

He broke off suddenly and strode across the room to the front door. Placing two fingers in his mouth, he sounded a piercing whistle. A moment of waiting and an answering call came from somewhere in the darkness outside.

Bob stood in the doorway waiting. Although it was October, the night was not cold; yet he shivered. He shivered until his teeth clicked together as he stood in the doorway waiting. A full moon spread its light over the landscape and rendered far distant objects visible. Bob could plainly see the hay barn in the south meadow one-half mile away. There was a shadow on the north side as though the sun were shining.

Somehow the moon affected Bob curiously. He did not feel at all comfortable. A vague fear oppressed him. He tried to assume a blasè manner, but many disturbing thoughts came into his mind. One thought that persisted was of the shapeless object that he had just held in his hand and that had gleamed redly in the light of the kerosene lamp. He laughed nervously as he rolled a cigarette.

"Must be I'm moonstruck," he murmured. "I've heard of such things."

A shadow, which had detached itself from the woods below the garden, was coming up the road. The shadow speedily resolved itself into a man and entered the dooryard.

"All to the mustard, Bob?" "Yep, the coast is clear. Come along in."

The man entered the room and gazed about curiously. "Great night for our getaway," he growled harshly. "Where does the old boy keep his kale?"

The newcomer differed materially in appearance from the one who had admitted him. His red face, bull neck, projecting chin and shifty eyes indicated as plainly as his words that he was of the criminal type. A striped sweater and a cap added to the effect.

On the other hand, Bob presented the appearance of one who was a novice in crime. His meager seventeen years was evident, and the awe and admiration with which he regarded his companion could not be suppressed.

"They haven't been gone an hour," he said tremulously, "but I guess it's safe. They won't be back until midnight. Big supper with speaking and all that. It's our chance."

He tried to talk big, but his manner was not as confident as his words would indicate. "Do you suppose they can trail us, Mike?"

"Trail nothin'. These rubes around here don't know they're don't know they're alive. Lead me to the filthy lucre."

"I'll get the key to his box. We don't want to take the box, do we, Mike?"

"Naw, we don't want the box, but we want the long green, pronto. Get the key."

"It's in the little wooden box on the mantel. He keeps all his keys there."

The youth crossed the room, took the key from the shelf and opened it. He picked out a key, then hesitated as his eyes were attracted by the other object within the receptale. A strange look came into

the breakfast table. The lad was supposed to have gone to the field, but in reality he lingered in the kitchen and heard all.

"Joshua, I don't like the way Bobby is acting lately," Mrs. Brownell had announced. "He's getting to be tough. He swears at the team dreadful and he associates with that Mike McGee, who was once in the reformatory. He seems to take to such company. I think he crawls out the window nights and goes away with Mike. And this morning I found a revolver under the straw-tick of his bed."

"What did you do with the gun, Martha?"

"Left it alone, of course. I dasn't touch it. What does he have it for and keep it hidden that way?"

"I'll have to look into the matter, Martha."

"I should say it's about time. I'm afraid you made a mistake in picking him up the way you did— slam-bang, without any investigation. He's got bad blood in him, I'll bet. And the Bible says 'blood will tell.' He's older now than he was and it's beginning to crop out."

"No, Martha, the Bible doesn't say that. It says, however, that 'the way a twig is bent so will the tree be inclined." I know I took a big chance, picking him up that way, but he looked so much like our Bobby used to that I was just drawed to him. Maybe he's got bad blood-wouldn't wonder 'n he had but we caught him young and have tried to train him right. He'll get sick of the company of Mike after a while."

"It's risky, Joshua. I'm getting afraid of him. We hadn't ought to keep him any longer. I'm glad we didn't adopt him."

"Maybe you've been reading the same magazine article that I have,

Martha. The one by the eugenic chap. He said that no matter what the environment, bad blood would show itself that a boy with bad blood would be a bad man. Now that don't seem fair. A boy can't help how he is born. I'd just like to prove by Bobby that the writer chap is wrong; sometimes at least."

"I tell you it's risky, Joshua— keeping him any longer. That pesky Mike ain't putting any good ideas into his head."

"As for Mike," Joshua had resumed, "he's sort of a hero to Bobby. Boys naturally take older boys who can tell big stories of what they've done. I happened on 'em-on Mike and Bobby-one day when they were fishing and Mike was telling the most goshawful story of how he made a monkey out of a constable on a certain occasion. It's hero worship, Martha. But let's give the boy another chance and make environment win this time."

And the next day-this day-at the dinner table, Joshua had announced: "Bobby, Mother and I are going to the Grange supper tonight and won't be back until about midnight. I wish you'd stay home. I've got that six hundred dollars of hay money in the house yet and I'm a little nervous about it; although I guess there's no danger. You won't be afraid to stay alone, will you?"

"Oh, no," he had promptly answered, "I'll answered, "I'll be all right. Go ahead. I'll watch the the house. I wasn't going out tonight anyhow."

And now here he was at the parting of the ways.

"Well, fer de love of Pete!" growled Mike, "wot's der matter wid yer? Wotayer standin' there lookin' at dat old mitten fer? Froze to it? Throw me der key if yer can't move. I want ter git me hands on dem shekels."